Stripmalling [antikvár]

Johnny Carson, Shag Carpet, and Polyester My first memory is of Johnny Carson, shag carpet, and polyester. It is of my grandfather and the smeli of whisky and tobacco. It is of the chattering voices of my mom, dad, and grandmother echoing from the kitchen of my grand-parents' apartment. It is now, through the necessary unreliability of memory, about my grandfather's character, and his hopes and his failures. He was a writer of respectable success, in southern Italy. He wrote in his dialect, Calabrese, and in "proper" Italian. He wrote lighthearted poetry — light verse. He loved to laugh and to make others laugh. He was what you might call a "B-level" writer. Not a famous writer, but recognizable in his time. When he moved to Transcona ťŕom Amato, he left his modest famé, became a labourer at the CN Rail shops, and supported a family of seven on his wages. He always wore a suit to work. He never gave up his identity as a gentleman and a writer. I often look at his books and think of the hopes and failures we share. When I realized I could write, I promised myself that I would never let anything get in the way of the work. It was a stupid promise. But I have kept it anyway. My grandfather and I are in the living room. The wooden-framed télévision lights the space. The shag carpet is mustard