my good morning

One of my very first memories is of picking string beans in my Grampo's garden. I remember reaching way up high to pick them... so I must have been just a toddler.

Today I spent the day with Grampo. We headed out to the garden while the morning air was still cool, and he and I stood there just sort of surveying things. Breathing in the smell of that little patch of earth is comforting to me. When I was little it was my whole world.

I put my coffee cup in the old wheelbarrow and reached down (not up) and picked a string bean. "Hey piccolina," Grampo said. "We'd better pick those, before they get too big."

So we squatted down together, making our way down the row, our fingers fumbling in the leaves to find the slender fuzzy beans and snapped them off one by one, until we had a basket full. I had my cell phone in my pocket--my telefonino, as he calls it--and I took a picture of him. He was very proud to have his picture taken with a telephone, and gave me a good smile.

Even as I was in the moment I was aware of its fragility... how dear, and fleeting these times are. I thanked God for the blessing of such a morning, and put my arm around my Grampo, who asked me if I still remembered how to make zucchini bread now that I live in the city.

I do. And we did. And it was good.