If thou shalt not covet thy neigbor’s lunch were a commandment, I would still be atoning for my lunchroom jealousies from 6th grade through 12th. I salivated for Rosemary Antonuzzo’s lunch every single day. Made by her Mom Millie Antonuzzo, Ro’s lunches represented to me the best possible ingredients ever to have been placed between two slices of bread (make that Italian bread) and packed into a brown paper bag.
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A few weeks ago I took my grandchildren to the movies – three, who of course each needed his or her own box of popcorn. The kid behind the counter measured them out and then asked me for $16.50.
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My friend Michael and I have, on more than one occasion, sung to one another on the phone. No love songs, no Broadway. Just two early baby boomers trying to cobble together the lyrics to songs we were raised on by progressive parents who believed in the messages the songs taught. Neither of us knows anyone else who played these 78s until there were no grooves left in the plastic records.
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I picked blackberries the other day. Nothing unusual about that. Most every day I go to the local fruit and vegetable mart, ask, “Blackberries good today?” and decide whether to pick a small container or a large one.
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