Crocuses, wildflowers and Pussy Willows are blooming. It was like Spring in February. So Furman and I took a ride to Philadelphia and learned about the Wister Institute and the Nikon Small World Exhibition there.
The exhibit was small (pun intended) as in Nikon Small World, so we had plenty of time to wander around and learn a little about the Wistar Institute before heading back outside and searching out lunch. Things had really heated up. Hard to believe that people were walking around sleeveless and in shorts, IN FEBRUARY.
There were people all over. We should not have been surprised that we were asked to wait or enjoy the bar at the White Dog Café when we ended up there on a whim. Too hungry to wait and not interested in the bar, so we walked next door, where we were immediately seated at an available outdoor table. We ordered traditional Philly food at the New Deck Tavern. Yupper, a Cheese Steak with onions and mushrooms for me and Shepherds Pie for Furm. Soooooo goooooooood.
Like gravity the fog pulled me to the river.
I gazed toward the rising sun burning through and it kissed my face warm.
My arms reached out in salutation.
My body folded forward in a bow and then straightened for a courtesy.
I thanked the Sun and the River for every happiness bestowed on me so far.
A single drop fell into the light before me.
Furman had a birthday this week. He doesn’t seem to be affected by them much. I’m ramping up for a big one. These ten year markers just keep getting better for me. I’m happy to make them.
We celebrated his 56th all weekend. Friday we went to Café Chobra for Lunch and then over the River to the NJ State Museum for a TOY WORKS exhibit. As it goes NJ had a lot more to contribute to toys and games then Monopoly. The exhibit, although fascinating, was disappointingly small. So we had plenty of time to wander the museum. As much as I would have liked to escape the current political climate I could not. From the toys to the art to the objects on display, time and time again I was reminded of the great contributions immigrants have made to this country.
Saturday we went back to Trenton and enjoyed a lunch celebration with Aaron at Malaga, a Spanish Portuguese place on Laylor Street. This place has been here for over 25 years and in that time I have watched Chambersburg change from a place where Italian immigrants settled to a place where many Latinos call home.
I am third generation American. My line goes back to eastern Europe. My mother told me stories about how her grandfather came over from Europe on a boat to avoid being conscripted into WWI…I never learned if he came over legal or not. My father told me stories about how he communicated with his grandmother. He spoke to her in English and she understood him and she spoke to him in Yiddish and he understood her. I don’t know how his grandparents arrived.
I have always marveled at my own good fortune at having been born in the land of the brave and the free. I sure hope that time is not running out on the American Dream for future generations. The Dream of free and public education, that my grandmother, my father, my sister and myself all had the pleasure of growing up with and then contributing to in various ways as employees. The Dream of Freedom of Religion…and it being separated from the State. And the best dream of all, the one where ANYONE with a will and a way can make something out of nothing. Yeah, I sure hope time has not slipped so far into the future that the dream of coming to America to make your fortune has faded into the past.