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  • The Zingone Market always feels like a small town city store.
    It is a neighborhood and family operation.
    During all of the years that I have worked or stayed in the neighborhood I have stopped in at the market.

    I can count on feeling welcomed there.
    It is a routine that, when I am traveling makes me feel at home.
    It is the sort of store that has some of everything and good selections of it.

    I could pretend that the store goes on forever and that as I walk the aisles they recede into foreign lands and distant continents.
    One aisle sells memories, and another dreams.
    Clouds from summer are in aisle 12 and winter winds are on the last shelf to the left, by the relish.
    The first day of spring is over the counter, but you have to ask for it, and it comes in three sizes.
    The shade of a large tree on the hottest day of summer is over by the ice cream cooler.

    After work today I went to the market and bought food for breakfast, some yogurt, blueberries and bananas.
    I bought fresh bread and cheese for sandwiches to eat on the drive home.

    We might be making a stop along the way to the hospital in Portland to see my Father, or he might still be in the Belfast Hospital.
    I expect the unexpected now, and have had many dress rehearsals.
    This could be another one, could be a minor procedure, another “speed bump” on the road of life.
    He was working on his next story when I saw him on Monday, excited about the writing that is filling his thoughts that just keep coming.
    There is a sadness that has been with me for a long time now and I continue to grow into it, get to know it, explore the depths.
    I wander down the aisles of Zingone and select a jar of tears but also a box of smiles, assorted sizes, with little clusters of memories and dreams.

    We will drive early in this morning.
    That is all I know about the day because the Zingone store was out of crystal balls when I went in yesterday.
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