Thoughts As Winter Fades

 Another reminder this morning of one of the slight nudges that over the years made me question the depth of my faith and belief when I was young and impressionable. Dan Fogelberg sings in a song from the seventies:

“There is no Eden

Or heavenly gates

That you're gonna

Make it to one day

But all of the answers

You seek can be found

In the dreams that

You dream on the way”

  I used to play that song on my radio show all those years ago. Something obviously resonated with me back then. Little hints as to my jagged trajectory to develop or find a meaning, or no meaning, to it all keep popping up lately. And there are lots of little mind freezes that over the years have helped steer me along and have kept me pondering existence. Am I any more clear on the meaning of life now than I was forty years ago?  Maybe a bit, but maybe not. Like Socrates, all I really know is how much there is that I don’t know. 

  Rereading some Joesph Heller he writes,

 “So much of misfortune seems a matter of timing.”

 Very true. I read that in high school and it’s stuck with me. 

  I read a tribute to an old friend of Dad’s on iBerkshires.com the other morning and it really struck a chime. The interview was with Cheeso Massaconi. He’s ninety-seven. It was a tribute because Cheeso was a soldier in WWII. He saw brutal active duty the memories of which still distract him. But I knew none of that growing up. To me, and Mide, he was just one of Dad’s coolest pals. Besides having the best nickname ever, he was the guy who bought us ice creams at Wahconah Park after we found his wallet under the bleaches. Twice at the same game! He was the guy who when we visited his house in Cheshire showed us around the garden and let us play with his hunting dogs. He fed us pickled pike and polenta and venison. It was wildly exotic for us. It was the first time I ever had polenta and Mide and I loved it. Hearty homemade Italian peasant food. It would be twenty years before I had it again in a fancy restaurant. And it wasn’t as good as Cheeso’s. 

  And those famous ice fishing derbies every winter. One on each of the big lakes; Cheshire, Onota and Pontusuc. They were great fun. Our group would have at least twenty people. Charcoal grills were brought out and Cheeso and his brother would cook spicy Italian sausages with peppers and onions, venison steaks and noodle soup. We ate well out on the ice no matter the weather. On the days when the wind whipped us and snow swirled from a slate sky we huddled around the grills and Colman stoves only occasionally venturing to our tip-ups to skim the ice from the holes. But there were other days, too. Clear sunny days with a blue sky so bright that it almost blinded us. We would catch a bunch of fish and sometimes fry them up right there. Little filets of perch cooked in butter. People came and went all day on ice skates and skies and snow machines. Sometimes we caught a lot of fish and sometimes we caught nothing. I don’t ever remember winning any of the tournaments but we sure had good times. 

 So it’s heartwarming to see Cheeso is still going strong, doing some fishing and spending time in his garden. I imagine he’s also still making his homemade wine although the article didn’t mention it. Because, of course, of all the secrets to a long and healthy life include sipping red wine on occasion.  

A wild red rose

Petals fading one by one

So painfully shy