When i was a little kid,my grandmother ate sardines
out of a can and my grandfather drank his beer slowly
shaking a little salt in each glass.
These were my "good ole days".
I often sit and i wonder why a memory so small
has stayed with me for so long.
I think its the memories that surround those.
A focal point?A foundation?
It makes me think of when he would play
his harmonica and say this is "Danny boy"
Listen and stop kicking the chair.
And so i would listen and look through his box car Willie albums.
And to his war stories.When he was a prisoner of war.
When he would go from home to home looking for morning eggs
from the houses and farms along the french country side.
The chap stick he would eat off of the ground.
Because he was so hungry.
Shaking a little salt in his beer!
I still try to fry my potatoes the same way she did.
My grandmother would never let you answer the phone.
So as a teen you just had to sit back and watch her
hang up on your friends.
Because she didn't know who it was and she couldn't hear to well.
The way she always had a way to make sure i had shoes on my feet.
Even if they were from the second hand store.(value village)
Every now and then i eat toast with my cold cereal.
it remind me and i feel like im sitting at her kitchen table
at ten o`clock on a Saturday morning.
We, I never got to go to the park.
or to the movies.
or to McDonalds.
Or to a theme park.
Or a mall.
We never needed these things.
We had stories with salted beer.
And toast with our cereal.
And onions with our fried potatoes.
He died when i was 15,her when i was around 24.
We really miss them.
The foundations of our family tree.
I hope my grand daughter has the same memories of me.