It’s snowing again Mom. This is to make up for all those days the last two years we didn’t get snow. I remember the joy I would have as a kid seeing the snow fall on Grant Road. I remember waking up and looking out back to see the first falling snow. It was always exciting just to know we would have the day off and be able to have some good, clean (dirty) fun. When the street would get covered and night would fall, the silence was so serene. It was like the rest of the real world was so far away. I can always place myself back there. I remember vividly the really bad snowfalls we had in the 90’s. The entire street would be covered in snow. So much so that the street would have a nice 12” layer of snow to walk on. Before plow trucks were all the rage and the clean up started before the snow even stopped. I remember I would just go walking around with a sleeve of Ritz crackers, alone. The snow creating a winter wonderland. It was an age where I was transitioning from my Grant Rd friends to my high school group, so it was mostly me and my Nintendo games and Jason and Timmy. Right around the time before they moved to Garfield. I would come downstairs. Usually these days you would even be staying home. No chance any of our cars would be making it anywhere. Either some breakfast was cooking or maybe oat meal. Man. I could go for some oat meal as I type this. The radio playing 1060, spitting out number and school district like spitfire. We would all listen intently for 464. I would head out after eating and start shoveling something. It was just always so perfect. Quiet. Safe. No worry about the world. That’s really where I see you sometimes when I think of how many times I would come down in the morning and head out somewhere. Sitting at the table….reading your paper, having your coffee….an extra pot of 10 cups sitting on the counter. Such simple and cheap joys. I would be remiss to not mention a pack of Marlboros, but being that they just caused so much damage to you and many others, I would rather forget. I would remember your gate. You worked so hard at your job, but at home it was as if you simply glided around. In a robe or some comfy pants. Just doing things on the fly. Picking things up, putting them away, putting them in the wash, un-loading groceries, hanging things up. It’s as if you had arms of an octopus…or just generally hated seeing things all over. I can go either way with that stuff. Sometimes I just don’t care. We never had a messy house and I think you took pride in that. I get that now.  It was almost like the walls had hidden compartments for all the things you could store in that house. I laugh cause I remember the closet downstairs. It was like a place things just stayed for like a decade. A white skate here, an old board game there. I miss the old basement of the red and black rugs and paneling. It’s strange we don’t have many pictures of our house at that time. I mean we do, but more so for the humans in the pictures. Part of me just thinks, “if these walls could talk”. I know you wanted the house to be renovated, but you did the best you could with what you had. I know we definitely could’ve enjoyed some big old house on a few acres just to get away from each other. Ha. Then again, I wonder if that sometimes big houses allow for families to live separate lives, as they have their own spaces and no forced interaction. Who knows? I finished my program at Penn. All I wanted to do was tell you I finished. I just wanted to hear your voice. A voice I have known all my life, before I came into life. I wanted to send you a text about me being asked to be the speaker of the class and have you send me some funny text about being the HRH or one of the Kennedys or someone important. At work, I never feel important or necessary, so they fact they want me to speak, well, it means a lot to me. I hardly speak or even talk at work anymore simply cause I just hate what I am doing. I know that has to change. Well, that’s all for now. Maybe I will look for a radio replay of 1060 spitting the school codes, maybe if I close my eyes and wish hard enough, we can sit at the table over the Daily Times and some oatmeal and we can talk about our hopes and dreams. Maybe that’s part of my heaven. A place you just enjoy the people and places you have grown to love. Maybe the snow never stops falling….and we live on forever. Bobby



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