The Family Garden

For Uncle Mike

I come from a family of gardeners. For generations we have tilled the soil, planted and harvested our bounty to the family table. Rows of fine flowers have lined our yards, a symbol of pride for those who reside there.

My grandfather Armando and grandmother Rose planted a garden so vast it would feed an entire family with enough to sell to the local grocers, to provide money for the things they could not grow. Ripe tomatoes and hot banana peppers remain the staple of family recipes to this day.

My grandmother Eva and grandfather Perry once raised a garden to sell by truck. Years later, as a child, I wandered the strawberry beds, the apple trees, the rhubarb patch and marveled at the many wonders growing there. Small hands shelling peas into the white porcelain bowl and snapping beans for the next meal, while hearing the stories of Eva, are treasures that reside in my mind’s eye.

My mother has spent her life tending to the family garden, providing beauty to us all. A favorite photograph of my daughter at three, sitting proudly by the flowers that she helped her grandmother plant, resides in the family album.

With the end of the hoe I break through the crust of the earth that has formed there. The many months of snow have passed and the earth lies here, waiting. With hoe and rake I work this square of ground, picking out the dead, the rocks, the sticks, the leftover root systems, clearing the way for new life. With a push and a shove, I start the first row, looking down to check for depth and then up again. The first row is the most important. It must be straight. The others will follow.

I crawl between the rows; placing the seeds, then with bare hands, gently cover them as if they were my children. As each row is complete I stand up to look it up and down searching for imperfections. I pound a stake on which to place the seed package, a guide for future reference.

There is something so special about this process, so special in creating living, flowering greenery from this dirt, where nothing stood before. Tending to these seedlings each day, builds to excitement as the first lettuce leaves push forth and the bean creatures poke out their ugly heads. We have done this for centuries, digging this earth, planting our seeds, and then waiting, watching in wonder as these beings push forth as if it were the first time.

As summer passes, I will spend my evenings picking through these rows, planning dinner in my apron, like my grandmothers before me. Perhaps a crisp salad with scallions and a banana pepper, a sauce of tomatoes with fresh basil, or an omelet with baby asparagus will be the choice today. I look and listen, as the plants call out to me.

Keep Pushin On

I would not have wanted to miss this morning, with the snow outside my window. It would have been a shame not to be here, in my kitchen sipping coffee, while listening to soft music. I treasure this moment and I am thankful.

I think of an old friend who has died. I see his young blue eyes and mischievous grin as I chop the vegetables. I wonder where the years have gone and I cry a little as I remember what once was and ponder what could have been.

I would not have wanted to miss the phone call that I received last night from my son announcing his engagement, a sign of so many good things to come. As I stir the soup I think of wedding plans and children.

I think of this old friend and all that he will miss now that he has passed from this life so early. I am sorry for him and for all that he has lost. I am sorry for his family and for the friends who remember him like I do.

I would not have wanted to miss the wine, conversation and song that we enjoyed last evening with old friends and new, around the kitchen table. Each day I will celebrate and roll with the changes.

I think of this old friend as he was at twenty, full of hope and confidence. He loved life and REO Speedwagon. This is how I will remember him.

I would not have wanted to miss this moment, as I put my thoughts on paper, and listen to the wind chimes outside my window. I am home.

Keep on Rollin.

Twenty Six Letters

Twenty-six letters
provide possibilities,
an infinite selection
of words carefully chosen,
arranged to mold sentences
layered one upon the next
to shape prose.

Words peppered with punctuation,
seasoned with personality
become characters, whose actions create the plot,
artfully presented to form the novel,
the reading of which spawns ideas that beget
greater ideas, combined together
to incite opinions, illustrations, song.

Phrase and verse evoke emotion;
move the listener from laughter to tears,
provoke anger and may sway the reader
to the other side, or not.
Power comes in words selected,
crafted, and composed from only these
twenty-six letters.

Everybody's Fine

A film starring Robert De Niro,is a remake of the Giuseppe Tornatore film Stanno Tutti Bene that is written and directed by Kirk Jones

Widower, Frank Goode, is readying himself for a holiday visit from his four children when the phone starts ringing. The cancellations roll in, each one with a different excuse. Frank does not take this lightly and sets out on a road trip to pay surprise visits to his offspring in order to get closer to them, to know them better. Little does he know that he hardly knows them at all.

The Goode family has many secrets. They only give their father the often embellished good news and spare him the true details of their lives. Frank Goode worked at an ordinary job fabricating the plastic coating that covers telephone cables. He, like most parents, wanted more for his kids and was not afraid to push them. Thus the push and pull of expectations and independence from them has driven each of the Goode children far from home.

Robert De Niro is believable as the aging father. We have come to accept him in this role since Meet the Fockers. His former mobster persona allows him to realistically portray this father figure that everyone seems to fears just a little bit. We understand as they all strive to please him even if the way to do this is to stay away.

Drew Barrymore, Kate Beckingsale and Sam Rockwell give adequate performances of three of the Goode children, even if they do seem a bit stiff and fake. After all, that is the point. They are playing characters who are themselves acting, playing a role. These are not genuine folks, but characters that do not delve much below the surface for fear of being exposed.

The visual effects of the film add to the storyline. As Frank Goode sees each of his children, a flashback to what they looked like as children appears as they speak to him. What parent does not at times, look into the faces of their grown children, only to see the small child they once were. We miss these little people so and would welcome the chance to turn back the clock and spend some more time with them. We can identify with Frank Goode as we wish we could take back some of the hours spent at the office or in front of the television, and spend them sitting around the family table as we savor each moment.

The image of the telephone lines are used throughout the film. As Frank moves from city to city, his children relay messages about him and the fate of another sibling. The phone lines illustrate how they are all connected even as they live apart.

Frank travels along in his favorite state, oblivion, until a series of events unfold that force him to admit that everything is not fine. The movie illustrates with clarity, a character who like so many people, pass through much of their lives with blinders on. It is only when a life and death situation occurs that he faces reality and is able to accept the truth about himself and others.

This film is two parts drama, one part mystery, with a dash of comedy for good measure. Although it has not drawn much in the way of critical acclaim or box office success, I enjoyed it for its simplicity and for its message. Savor the present for it is too soon past,and learn to accept life the way that it is.