In August, Cole will go off to Pennsylvania College of Technology, up north in Wellsboro, PA, near the Grand Canyon of PA.
He'll study electronics. Like his dad, a peerless car mechanic, Cole is good with his hands. He's very tall like his mom's side of the family, six-two.
Mike Kramer and Scott met in grade school. For the first time I met the whole family:
Doreen is the oldest. She's married to Jeff. She has two kids Jason, who's very tall and can barely walk since he fell and broke some bones, and whats-her-name who's going to be married. Altho the Kramers are Jewish, none of em married Jews, but this girl who will be married looks Jewish with her dark locks. She is absolutely gorgeous!
Her future husband is a nice guy who was wearing a Phillies jersey. Yesterday:
Jimmy Rollins stepped to the plate in the fifth inning of Saturday's 7-4 Phillies win over the Chicago Cubs at Citizens Bank Park and ripped a line-drive single to right field for his 2,235th career hit, which moved him past Schmidt as the franchise's hit king.
Scott told me Schmidt was there to shake his hand.
After Doreen comes Mike.
Then comes Wayne who drove up from Maryland in a shiny white car.
White, said Scott, shows the dirt, black shows the dust. Scott's thinking about buying a used Honda Fit which is black, not his preferred color.
The youngest is Stacey, who's married to a Philadelphia cop, Hank somebody or other.
On the way home from their house, Scott asked me, Think I should've married Stacey? They had one date and then Scott ran for his life.
Mike and his wife Donna made potato salad which was my fave thing at the party. Let's hear it for potato salad!
That called for a second injection of 10 units of insulin.
Scott loved the roast beef which they bought from Sam's Italian Market. I ate the meat balls, which were delicious.
Scott wrote Cole a generous check and included my poem. I purposely used the word "mazel tov" which the kid has probly never heard in his life.
MAZEL TOV ON YOUR GRADUATION
A Cinguin, syllables 2-4-6-8-2
He leaves
his Legos
behind.
Amazing things trans-
pired.
Child no more. Working man.
Go Cole!
Today Scott n I crossed the Tacony Palmyra Bridge and drove to Evesham Township NJ for the Father's Day Celebration with Danny and Debbie Rohrer. I was disappointed I forgot my camera but you can snag some photos off FB, like Danny above.
He works at Parx Casino. His wife Debbie has the 'itches' and can't fall asleep. Her doctors are terrible and can't find what's wrong.
Loads of people there this afternoon.
I gorged myself on one organic hot dog with mustard and a cheeseburger with only one half of the bun with onions and tomato and ketchup - mmmm-mmmmm good - and Carol's deviled eggs. I stopped at two, although her nephew Zack had six. He's about 13.
The birthday cake - Matt had his last b'day as a teenager - he's going to art school and wants to have his own line of men's fashions - so it was his b'day as well as Natalie's my mom/law who will turn - yikes! - 80 next year. She shore don't look it!
The cake was from Shop-Rite. Vanilla cake with chocolate frosting. Very rich. Very delicious.
Scott, I said, please give me my insulin pen again. I shot another 10 units, then when I got home I took my sugar, which was a decent 146, and got on the bike to lower it.
This morning I called my son Dan to wish him a Happy Father's Day. I wrote a poem for him, posted it on FB. Two hours later no one had commented on it - so I pulled it off.
HAPPY FATHER’S DAY
A cinquin, syllables 2-4-6-8-2
For one
raised by Mom a-
lone, you did right by your
Grace and your Max. They call you
DADDY
Dan told me a hilarious story about Max. Somehow Max had gotten hold of some Baking Soda. Dan grabbed the box from him and then noticed Max was standing in an ankle-high pile of it.
Then Dan couldn't find his eyeglasses. "Anyone know where my glasses are?" he asked.
Shortly thereafter, Max produced them.
Reminded him of awhile ago when Dan poured Grace a bowl of Blueberries. When he returned to the table, they were gone. Hmm, he wondered, did he really pour them out or was it his imagination?
A week later he found them. They were in Grace's play-stove.
Oh, before you read my poem, a note to Roberto:
When I watched the Pledge-thing on PBS, guess where the phone greeters were from?
THE TERRI LYNNE LOKOFF FOUNDATION. There was one beautiful young Jewish woman who I imagined might have looked like your sister.
BETHAYRES MARKET
Scott was
driving so I
watched
the Irish-green leaves
of early
summer overhead
and like
a giraffe,
stuck my
head into a
huge
highway of leaves
that
tipped the sky
We turned
left and passed
the
little stores
we know
like the back
of our hands
The Dairy
Queen
the pizza
parlor
with
slices that made
you drink
all night
the Remax
realtor
where we
dreamt of
living in
ranchers atop
hills
with views like
the green
pastures
of Vermont
Then we
saw it!
As
shocked as if
a corpse
lay naked on
the table:
white
paper covering
the huge
windows
of the
market
our
chorus of woe
and
indignation
soared
from the car windows
onto the
asphalt
which puddled
with our
tears
Bethayres
Market
has
closed!
Bethayres
Market
has
closed!
Let us
bow our heads
in remembrance
and sign
the obituary
notice on
Legacy.com
I shall
always remember
the
kindness of the sales clerks
One,
David Oliver, whose toothless
brother
was in a group home
tardive
dyskinesia shaking his
bones
the lady
who sold me Jewish
rye with
seeds – save me one,
I’d say
over the phone as I
raced
over
the roast
beef sandwiches we ate on
the bench
out front
never
dreaming
never
dreaming
all we’d
have left were
memories.
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