November 1st is All Saints Day, a national holiday in Italy, where all saints are honored and on November 2nd it is “Il Giorno dei Morti”, the day where all those that have passed are remembered and celebrated. This tradition dates back before Christianity to the Roman Pagans and today for many Italian families it has become a time to celebrate and honor the lives and memories of those close to them who have passed on and have not been forgotten.
If you’d like to know more about ‘Ognissanti’ All Saints and All Souls Day in Italy click here and here…
I dedicate this post to all those who have lost a loved one and continue to honor and remember their lives, memory and spirit. I write this post for my grandfather, Mister Fee-leap…
He had these eyes that mirrored the colors of the Mediterranean Sea and their depths matched. When he looked at you, he looked through you, inside of you and knew exactly who you were. He always read people well and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. “All I really know is that we live and we die.” He said this when he got the news that a close friend had died. Those words rang an uncomfortable and cold reality to my ears. It seemed so sad, simple, and somewhat cliché’ of a phrase but it was his truth-its how he reacted to the news. My grandfather raised me and I learned the value of nature, its beauty and its rage. I had gotten philosophy lessons and words from Socrates to Nietzsche before I was even able to read Where the Sidewalk Ends. He had taught me to experience the moment, to be in the present before the trend of the New Age movement. “I’m meditating, “ he’d say, with one hand placed on his forehead as he sat at the kitchen table. He called it meditating. I thought he looked more like stone, marble maybe like Rodin’s statue of the Thinker. He looked worried.
His passion was clothing. He was a tailor; somewhat of a dying profession today but back then it was quite profitable. He made business suits for businessmen and eventually businesswomen. Years after, I was shocked and surprised to see all these men and women at his funeral; it was like a revolving door of memories. People I had known as a child running around in the clothing store, zigzagging through hung cotton of gray, blue, brown and black. He never once scolded me. That’s what they all were saying. “Do you remember the time you knocked over the mannequin?” “I remember when you spilled your Coca-Cola on Mr. Frank’s brand new pants. Mr. Fee-leap never said anything.” That’s what everyone called him. Mr. Fee-leap. “God, that man loved you.” I listened. I remembered. I knew and I know.
If you’d like to know more about ‘Ognissanti’ All Saints and All Souls Day in Italy click here and here…
I dedicate this post to all those who have lost a loved one and continue to honor and remember their lives, memory and spirit. I write this post for my grandfather, Mister Fee-leap…
He had these eyes that mirrored the colors of the Mediterranean Sea and their depths matched. When he looked at you, he looked through you, inside of you and knew exactly who you were. He always read people well and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. “All I really know is that we live and we die.” He said this when he got the news that a close friend had died. Those words rang an uncomfortable and cold reality to my ears. It seemed so sad, simple, and somewhat cliché’ of a phrase but it was his truth-its how he reacted to the news. My grandfather raised me and I learned the value of nature, its beauty and its rage. I had gotten philosophy lessons and words from Socrates to Nietzsche before I was even able to read Where the Sidewalk Ends. He had taught me to experience the moment, to be in the present before the trend of the New Age movement. “I’m meditating, “ he’d say, with one hand placed on his forehead as he sat at the kitchen table. He called it meditating. I thought he looked more like stone, marble maybe like Rodin’s statue of the Thinker. He looked worried.
His passion was clothing. He was a tailor; somewhat of a dying profession today but back then it was quite profitable. He made business suits for businessmen and eventually businesswomen. Years after, I was shocked and surprised to see all these men and women at his funeral; it was like a revolving door of memories. People I had known as a child running around in the clothing store, zigzagging through hung cotton of gray, blue, brown and black. He never once scolded me. That’s what they all were saying. “Do you remember the time you knocked over the mannequin?” “I remember when you spilled your Coca-Cola on Mr. Frank’s brand new pants. Mr. Fee-leap never said anything.” That’s what everyone called him. Mr. Fee-leap. “God, that man loved you.” I listened. I remembered. I knew and I know.
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