Wednesday, July 3, 2013


It was an Italian wedding on a Saturday.

Jim, Bogdan, Gunther and myself were all invited to the wedding of his daughter.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that the father was Octavio Barrusso. Octavio worked the railroad ever since its inception.

So we, the four of us, went to the church wedding and later that day to the wedding reception. The reception took place in a large Italian Social Club hall in Dunmore.

We had a long walk up Mulberry Street and then cut over the Nayaug to Dunmore. However the walk was worth it. It was the best reception I had ever attended. There were cookies (some of them quite hard but tasty) and a never ending table of food; chicken, several pasta dishes and assorted delicacies whose names I did not know and can not pronounce for you.

After the reception we spent a lot of time telling Octavio what a great time we had and what a good father he was to put on such a great reception for his daughter. We talked and laughed and hugged Octavio and he cried and laughed all at the same time. What a nice man Octavio is.

We finally departed and went to Jim's house. Nobody was tired. Maybe we were all excited over Octavio's reception. On the other hand I think we were all thinking about what made Octavio such a good man. He was humble but never backed away from a challenge; intellectual, physical or emotional. He just faced things and dealt with them.

At Jim's house someone finally said what we were all thinking. "What makes Octavio, Octavio?"

"He is always quite emotional" said Jim.

Bogdan agreed and wondered if that was harmful to Octavio's health and would he live as long as the average person.

I said that sometimes I get emotional but it doesn't last long. I added that sometimes I don't even know what I get emotional about.

"Come on Wally" said Gunther. "You have to know why you get emotional."

I told him I did not know and told him of two instances.

The first one was when I was walking home from a fishing trip on Roaring Brook. It had been a nice day and the evening was cool. I wasn't thinking about much of anything. I looked up and above the mountains was this beautiful reddish-orange sun. A few wispy clouds decorated its edges. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed by something that I can not explain. It felt as though my heart was so full of joy that it would burst out of my chest. It was more than a pleasant feeling; it was passion. To this day I can not explain it.

The second time was after I had left a girl friends house. We had talked and had a great time simply enjoying each other's company. Once again I was walking home and I had this feeling that the whole world was right, that I would be very successful and that I would make some kind of great discovery or invention. Again this passion of joy had overcome any thoughts or signals from my surroundings as I walked.

Gunther eyed me with great suspicion but said nothing.

Then Bogdan piped up and said "Hey - - - that has happened to me too. Not just like you said but the same type of feeling without reason."

And Jim said it had happened to him several times also.

Gunther finally spoke. "I have never had anything like that happen to me. Everything has a reason and I think it all through. It appears as though you guys sometimes live in a pipe dream."

Maybe he was right. I hadn't invented anything or become famous; but I was still happy with my life. Maybe that is good enough.

We talked about it for hours on end. Before I knew it the sun was starting to come up. I excused myself and said I should be getting home. We all departed Jim's home at the same time and went our separate ways.

The sun was not up but its light carried over the mountains. It had awakened the birds. I was so happy just to be alive, to be up before the sun, to hear the birds singing to me, to have been able to share good times and good conversation with friends; it was such a great and emotional feeling. I can not describe it.

It wasn't as emotional as that time I blubbered and wept at the Fourth of July Parade in downtown Scranton. I can't explain that one either so don't ask me to.
©W. Tomosky♠

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