Good morning. I'm waking up in my old bedroom in my Mom and Dad's house. I'm in the desert. I drove out for my Mom's birthday and some Mexican food. I found an old photograph of my Grandpa holding me in his arms in Halifax Nova Scotia in August of 19 and 60. I wish he was still alive. He was from Hungary and immigrated to Canada. The immigration folks changed his last name from Polcz to Poltz when he crossed over to Canada land. He was forced to fight on The German's side in WW1. He left and picked lettuce in Ontario Canada and raised a family. He had huge hands and played the harmonica and drank white wine. In his thick accent he used to say "sa'right" for it alright.
"How you doing Grandpa?"
He bought me and my Sister Kath harmonicas and taught us how to play songs. Grandma would make donuts with real lard. She said lard was the secret ingredient and that it would make us strong. We would play harmonicas all day and eat donuts and listen to stories from Grandpa who wouldn't pick lettuce if his family wasn't going to be fed by the bosses. He said that the workers had a saying: "No pork no work no pie goodbye!" He would rhyme the word pork with work to make work sound like pork. Try saying it. It's fun! It's makes work sound like a new word.
I love this picture. It makes me feel safe.