A short Sunday

A short Sunday is what you get when you sleep until 11:30 a.m.

Part of my short Sunday included grocery shopping at my tiny neighborhood Giant Eagle, which, if I don't exactly love, I favor, because it is familiar and has only two self-checkout lines. The rest have people at the cash registers

I know the cashiers and the baggers by face, if not by name, meaning I know which ones I prefer and which ones to avoid. Today I learned the face of a new bagger to avoid; he tossed items in my bags willy nilly, with me repacking almost as soon as he plopped a bag in my cart. But most of the people there are nice, they seem all to have worked there for a long time, although I haven't seen the Sikh cashier checking anyone out lately.

In September 2008, my friends Carol, Virginia, Ellen and I took a girlfriends trip to Paris. One of the nicest experiences of the trip was buying our dinner the first night at a street market near the apartment we had rented in St. Germain des Pres. We bought a whole roasted chicken, some fabulous roasted potatoes, green beans and a baguette.

It was so much fun choosing our food and having it packed right in front of us.

I'll always remember from having lived in France when I was a kid seeing moms head home in the evenings with string bags full of provisions for the evening meal and the ever-present baguette. My mom once took us to Les Halles, now demolished, and, because I was little, I remember being awed by things like skinned pig heads in the meat cases. As a grownup, I am certain I would have appreciated the atmosphere more. In Pittsburgh, the Strip District comes close, but for my money, Cleveland's West Side Market is the place to shop on Saturday mornings.

Memorial Day 2009

Two things related to remembering.

Carl and I drove to Elyria this weekend to visit Mom and Mary. Arrived late afternoon on Friday and got up early Saturday morning to go to the West Side Market in Cleveland. What a place! So old world.

The main market building, with beautiful convex tiled ceilings, a minaret type post at one corner and crowds bustling about, is an adventure in crowds, sights and smells. Meat vendors sell sausage, pigs feet, apple cured bacon, seafood, pasties and sandwiches. Each shop inside is marked by a glazed terra cotta marker. G12, H6.

We all split up, C and I right off stopped for a brat with sauerkraut after strolling through the produce market. It was all too tempting. Bought too much and so overstuffed the car on the way home today. Berries, melon, pineapple, chiles rellenos, fried rice. Dangerous, dangerous! We also bought fixings for a delicious dinner last night. Fresh pasta, sauce and sausage. Edye came over and we had a lovely meal.

On the way out of the market, I noticed a small group of demonstrators, standing vigil against the wars -- if that's what you can call them -- in Iraq and Afghanistan. One was a Vietnam vet. I took some video but what I emailed from my cell phone  is about two seconds long. Basically, they are there every day, to remind people of the sacrifices and cost of our efforts in those places.

Second thing. Listening to the radio on the way home, in range of Pittsburgh's WDVE FM station, the DJ played a request for Richie Havens' "Handsome Johnny," anthem to young soldiers who go to fight old mens' wars. I had never heard it before.

A third thing. I remember my Dad and my brother, Chris. Dad was gone just before Memorial Day in 1995 and Chris not too long after in 2005.

 Your loss always makes me melancholy this time of year. We had a wonderful dinner out with Dad at Jim's before he died and a great Memorial Day party with Chris and Edye six weeks before Chris, too was gone. I miss both of you more than I can say.

And to all others: Thank you. And I wish you all were home and had never been away.