Gratitude

Text To Be Done

Introduction by Philip:

We all have a box or a bag of trinkets, pictures and memories of our lives somewhere.
This song celebrates how precious these memories are.

   The actual song itself is available only in spoken form, as requested by Philip.

Hi, my name is Reet, and this is my story called “The Value of Money.”

Hello, everyone. I have a story to share with you today. It is a personal story about my very early years, around actually 4 years old.

Growing up in a small town named Stratford, one of my earliest memories was being allowed to walk, myself, to a nearby grocery store, about 400 feet from our doorstep.

I had all my pennies and a couple nickels saved in my piggy bank.

There is something about winter which I really love.

It feels sleepy, resting, in a sense meditating.

It seems to give an upspoken permission to just relax – to have some time for yourself.

All the colors are muted - grays and washed-out browns. And the trees are laid bare, to show a visual essence language written by their shapes, their intricate and poetic lines, all outlined with lacy fine twigs around the edges. At sunset, they glow orange.

The sun is hazy, diffuse behind a gray sky – you may even think it’s the moon.

For more information about Amla Mehta and her work please visit https://www.amlaspeaks.com

Artwork by Bruce Zboray www.bruce-zboray.artistwebsites.com


I love stone walls.

I live in New England and pass many stone walls on my daily walk.

Some are very neat, crafted with an artistic eye and fitted very precisely in beautiful patterns, like big rock, little rock, little rock, big rock. They’re cemented together.

We had been saving for a sunporch for a long time. Finally, we came up with enough for two fellows who could just work on the project after their actual jobs. We grabbed this golden opportunity.

When the project began, we were excited, taking pictures step by step. It was predicted to be completed in six months.

However, something happened that no one had predicted or expected: the COVID-19 Virus came to Connecticut. It seemed the world changed, overnight. Our windows and other materials that were to be delivered were not arriving. It was a difficult time for all.

I thrive being around people with imagination.

People who can see things that aren’t there yet and talk about them as if they are real right now. Like cars that fly, a practical end to hunger and healing sounds that work infinitely better than chemical drugs.

People who can create – pictures, music, dance, inventions.

People who can see the world in a better way.

Without these people, I feel lonely. Yes, my wife and children fill a kind of loneliness, for which I am very thankful.

Grandpa always wore a three piece suit with a white Oxford shirt. In the heat of summer, he removed the vest. In the winter, when he went on his daily walks, he added a topcoat and a fedora to his outfit.

Two blocks from his house was a small grocery store where my brother Mike worked as a manager.

Every day, grandpa, in his late eighties, walked to the store to visit Mike and to pick up an item or two.

One of our favorite summer days was blueberry day.

We’d put on old clothes, our straw hats, then gather our baskets and make our way to the Jones’ Family Farm in Shelton. We’d hitch a ride on the “berry ferry”, and be driven out to the blueberry bushes.

Blueberries are easy to pick and practically popped into our small baskets. When our small baskets were filled, we’d dump them all into the big basket and fill that up. The camera was always on hand.

After the picking, we’d drive to Huntington Center and have lunch and dessert at Sassafras Restaurant.