I have posted this many times before. I think it is appropriate to post this month as it is the anniversary of my father's passing, may he rest in peace.I had originally posted Wednesday Haiku..but I will post that on Thursday instead.
My father was a romantic.
He loved my mother and he loved her mother, who lived with us most of my life, very much also. He showed such a great deal of respect for her and for his own parents and as my maternal Grandmother said.."He is better to me than 20 sons".
My father was head chemist and vice president of a chemical company here in New Jersey who, for many reasons, later opened a soda fountain/ice cream shop that eventually became a stationary store in a tiny town, selling stationary to big business and cards and school supplies from the main store.
He took a beating money wise later on from malls and the big stationary chain stores.
But he was honest to a fault and ever the romantic who learned constantly. You never saw him without a scholarly work in his hands.
He would bring home boxes of candy to my mother and grandmother sometimes after work as a treat, one I would share in.
Once, I remember him walking home without his brand new coat because he had given it to the town homeless guy.
"Its only a block walk. It's not that cold out" he said standing there in his shirt sleeves.
A candy box was tucked under his arm for Mother that night when he came home.
He sat down to dinner as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
For him it was not out of the ordinary at all.
He wore his old one from then on. It was just as good he said.
Upstairs, in my grandmothers bedroom, inside the closet on a shelf, were old candy boxes filled with her crochet work (she made fillet crochet that was so beautiful ), news clippings of her friends deaths, births of grandchildren, marriages, cards from holidays, mementos and tiny souvenirs of times past. One was used to house her "good gloves" and "my good scarves".
I once asked her why she saved all those boxes.
"Oh, " she said, "its a shame to waste things".
"Yes", I said, "but you could fit this all in one or two hat boxes".
She looked at me with those pastel gray eyes , now half blind and said , "But there is so much love in these boxes".
