When we lived in North Bellmore, Long Island, Michael and I had a tenant, Mary Chiarello, who lived in the upstairs "mother-in-law" apartment. She was there when we moved in and we assured her she was welcome to stay. Mary was a spunky Italian woman, seasoned in all senses of the word. When my own grandmother died, Mary comforted me with empathy and a "facts-of-life" story about surviving her husband's death. Often, when we came home from work, the aroma of pasta fagioli or eggplant parmesean wafted through the house and was delivered hot with a warm smile and a joke to boot.
"You know, Sharon, I got a call this morning from another power company. These guys call all the time, trying to get me to switch from one to the other. So they asked, 'What oil are you using, Mrs. Chiarello?' and I told them, 'I use Wesson.' I don't think they'll call again."
I don't know if her work was original or "adopted," but here's another on a similar vein:
"I got a call from a company wanting to sell me some sewer line protection contract. The man asked me, 'How's your flow right now?' I had no idea what to say, so I told him, 'Sir, my flow is linoleum'".
Go Mary, Go Mary, Go Mary....
Saturdays when I sort the few medicines and many nutritionals I will take the next week, morning, noon, and evening each day, I am confronted by how quickly the weeks fly by. Sometimes I get caught up in thinking about the way time flows. I mean the way it flows in my head. Here's an image of how I see the various cycles of time - the days of the week, left to right; the months of the year, from top to bottom; the seasons cycling around.
How's your flow?