A Grand-Daughter's Summer Job

6/30/2017

Lulu has worn a lot of uniforms in her young life – from elite soccer teams in Pennsylvania.

In a year she will be wearing a college jersey.

Now she has a new uniform from another team, the Wegmans grocery chain, an institution in that part of the world. They screen and train their personnel well. Lulu’s brother George has been working there a few years, to help pay for college.

Lulu can start saving from her part-time cashier’s job. An A student, she wants to be a dermatologist. In the fall, she will make early-morning rounds with personnel from a local hospital, in a program for select pre-med hopefuls.

Soccer jerseys. Wegman’s uniform. Medical robes. Goal!!!
* * *
This just in on the family front: Another grand-daughter, Anjali, and family have driven from Sevilla to the Algarve, currently ensconced in a town named Lagos (Lar-gush). Anjali is not sending photos these days but we are getting the feel of the region.

Lagos, Portugal. Photo by Laura

Brian Savin

7/1/2017 10:50:17 am

I don't know Wegman's but I do know that family run groceries are pillars of our communites. For decades the Poricelli family ran three stores in Greenwich, CT, then two, then one, then.... They proudly gave jobs and scholarships to kids, created jobs for the mentally handicapped, and sold great quality food. Stew Leonard's has a similar reputation. The LaBonne family has three stores, one in Salisbury which is my current go to, and does the same. Great people. I will not like it when we get everything by drone from Amazon, and as long as there is local production and the Independent Grocers Association, I maybe won't have to. We've had the corporatization of our Congress, most of two political parties, most state capitals, the entire financial and media sectors, and I don't want to have to eat my meals with them.

Comments are closed.

QUOTES
More and More, I Talk to the Dead--Margaret Renkl

NASHVILLE — After my mother died so suddenly — laughing at a rerun of “JAG” at 10 p.m., dying of a hemorrhagic stroke by dawn — I dreamed about her night after night. In every dream she was willfully, outrageously alive, unaware of the grief her death had caused. In every dream relief poured through me like a flash flood. Oh, thank God!
Then I would wake into keening grief all over again.
Years earlier, when my father learned he had advanced esophageal cancer, his doctor told him he had perhaps six months to live. He lived far longer than that, though I never thought of it as “living” once I learned how little time he really had. For six months my father was dying, and then he kept dying for two years more. I was still working and raising a family, but running beneath the thin soil of my own life was a river of death. My father’s dying governed my days.
After he died, I wept and kept weeping, but I rarely dreamed about my father the way I would dream about my mother nearly a decade later. Even in the midst of calamitous grief, I understood the difference: My father’s long illness had given me time to work death into the daily patterns of my life. My mother’s sudden death had obliterated any illusion that daily patterns are trustworthy.
Years have passed now, and it’s the ordinariness of grief itself that governs my days. The very air around me thrums with absence. I grieve the beloved high-school teacher I lost the summer after graduation and the beloved college professor who was my friend for more than two decades. I grieve the father I lost nearly 20 years ago and the father-in-law I lost during the pandemic. I grieve the great-grandmother who died my junior year of college and the grandmother who lived until I was deep into my 40s.
Some of those I grieve are people I didn’t even know. How can John Prine be gone? I hear his haunting last song, “I Remember Everything,” and I still can’t quite believe that John Prine is gone.
-----
https://www.nytimes.com/2023/01/30/opinion/death-grief-memory.html
Jan. 30, 2023

A Grand-Daughter's Summer Job

Categories

Buy the Book