Even though the computer says it's February 11th, it's still the 10th to me. I'm getting farther and farther off sleeping schedule. Aye ma mi.
I spent the last hour looking through old miscellaneous photos, trying to find a few of me and Selena to send her for her birthday. I laughed a lot at all the fond memories and got sucked into What-Once-Was-Land again. It was pleasant; I wished you went there with me.
Mr. Sciacca says our generation is too self-absorbed and consumer-obsessed. "Success is valued above sacrifice; the immediate is preferred to the ultimate; image is more important than substance." My Nonno and I discussed over dinner why anyone-- even in his generation-- would make anything from scratch nowadays. It's faster, cheaper, and good-enough to make it out of a box or use the microwave. How do we stand firm and confident in our shortcomings with a strong wind of insecurity and perfection blowing all around us?
I was cushioning Nonno in his lift chair, preparing him for his midday sleep, placing pillows every which way; angling and folding them to create the most pressure and softness I could. He mumbled, "Now I know what it feels like to be a piece of pottery." He's been saying things in a half-awake half-asleep state that I sometimes choose to ignore, because he's frustrated by everyone always asking him to repeat himself. But this one made me curious. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"A piece of pottery," he repeated. "Getting all packaged up."
I liked that.
I love you Stuart, thank you for being in my life! You are my light, and you shine so full and bright I can't help but smile from the inside out whenever I think of you.