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Walt Whitman ponders on the path through the snow

2/12/14 18:28

This is my journal for the 10 days or so that Ali and Emma are in London, Paris and Madrid.  They flew off last night and while we were sleeping landed in Great Britain.  Earlier today, Ali called from London and said it was pouring rain.  She was on her way to dinner via the tube.  She also sent some texts, having spent the afternoon in Coven Garden.  She called later and spoke to Joe and Bella before hitting sack, it’s five hours ahead in London, and with the time difference and classic jet lag, she was exhausted.  I made tacos for dinner and in a little while will heat up an apple pastry served with vanilla iced cream.  The Talking Heads are on the radio, Little Creatures…are whatever the song is called.  Hope to watch It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World since Sid Cesar passed away today at 91.  Yesterday, we lost Shirley Temple, at 85 and just the other week, Pete Seeger, 94. I have to get downstairs and hang out with the bums, last night we went to Target to buy a toy for Joe which he needs as a prop for the play he’s in…and I was struck how articulate my children are and what a feminist Bella is.  At school one of her friends was selling something and told Bella that being a girl, she was able to get a discount and Bella said that was not fair, if anything both boys and girls should pay the same…amazing…

2/16/14 08:54

                I got out of bed about an hour ago.  Sleeping in till 07:00 is a luxury on the weekends.  It snowed yesterday and into last night, and even with the warnings, I didn’t want another day stuck inside the house.  Originally we were going to drive to Boston with Joe and Diana to see Mo Cheeks and spend two nights in Boston.  With the approaching storm and the threat that Boston was going to get the brunt of it, we decided it was best to stay home.  Who wants to be stuck in a hotel room?   Like I said I didn’t want to spend another day inside the house.  Besides the storm was slated for last night, but on the drive home after a visit to Book Revue and an early dinner at Munday’s on Main Street Huntington – we were the last patrons for the night, the car slipped a little in the snow in Kings Park.  I said, “Shit,” out loud and regretted saying it since Joe and Bella were in the car.  Thought of the Eddie Murphy’s line, “You heard the word, but it doesn’t mean you repeat it.”  I made the comment and Joe rolled his eyes, the budding teenager.  Before Huntington, we hung out at my parents for a couple of hours.  Bella asked Ma, “How did my father propose to my mother?”  The historical event took place in Huntington Station at a place where they hung out with their friends.  Think late fifties…Dad and Ma picked out the ring at the diamond center in New York City, after taking the train from Huntington and Ma picked three rings and Dad picked the biggest one.  I don’t think I heard that story before.  I knew the snow was going to come down as the day progressed so around three, I clapped my hands and made the announcement we were leaving, we made our way to Huntington.  Honestly, I wanted to stop at Walt Whitman’s house for a tour since neither Joe or Bella know who the great poet was….anyway after the meal we ran up the snowy sidewalks, cleaned off the car and drove back home around 5 PM, and pulled into the driveway in the dark, and I blessed God for getting us home safely.  Now Bella wants to know what are we doing today?
Ali called from Paris...having a grand time, loves the beauty of the city...Emma is in her glory...

                After church we drove out to Walt Whitman’s birth house in Huntington after I explained who Walt was.  One of the greatest lessons for many of us was the movie, Dead Poet’s Society…that will trigger more of their imaginations. Maybe they’re too young?  All of my children are history buffs which was passed to them by my father-in-law.  Once I said the house is a national landmark and a little more about the man, they hurried and got their jackets on and we were back out on the road.  I can’t say I have budding poets, but Joe is busy downstairs working on a play he is writing for the Theater Three One Act contest.  After walking through the rooms at Whitman’s house with another couple who joined us, and after our small group stood in the small bedroom where immortal Walt was born, and then going up steep stairs and checking the height of the snow outside the windows, kitchen, pots, tables and candles all homemade since there were no factories to make clothes or food, we walked in the winter air in single file through a narrow path the width of a shovel which cut through the snow…


Thank you for reading this.


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