wp-plugin-bluehost domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /home4/susangib/public_html/blog3/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6114THE FOOT <\/strong> Mr. Zefferelli kept his amputated foot in a wooden box stored on a shelf in his closet. It had been cut off just below the knee because of an infection that wouldn\u2019t heal. He owned the grocery on the corner of Main and Seventh and I knew him since I was just a kid. My mother went there for the bread, my father loved his lean pastrami and I just went along until I was old enough to stop in by myself with a quarter for a lemon ice.<\/p>\n No one knew exactly how it started, a cut from a dropped knife, a stepped-on nail as he was sweeping up, a playful scratch from a kitty-claw that had just disemboweled a mouse. He told several different stories and each of us believed whatever we liked the best.<\/p>\n It gave him trouble so he sat in a corner directing traffic sometimes, his right leg propped up on a second chair, cash register on his lap. Sometimes he\u2019d be gone for a few days and the store would be closed. Then he\u2019d be back and hobbling around, his foot newly wrapped in bandages. When it became a case of life or the leg he made up his mind. And somehow he got it back and took it home.<\/p>\n It was horrifying. It was fascinating. It was a real life scary story. Mr. Zefferelli\u2019s phantom foot was the step we heard behind us in the dark. The groan on the stairs outside in the hall.<\/p>\n Mr. Zefferelli never got over missing his leg. About a month after the amputation, Mrs. Zefferelli put a notice on the store window that they\u2019d be closed the coming Saturday for a funeral service. All friends and valued customers were invited. They were going to finally bury Mr. Zefferelli\u2019s foot.<\/p>\n My father refused to go but my mother and I were there. She out of some sort of understanding, me out of curiosity. The church turned down the request for a Catholic Mass, but Mr. Zefferelli paid someone from another parish to come in and officiate.<\/p>\n Mrs. Zefferelli was sitting there solemn and a bit wet around the corners of her eyes. Mr. Zefferelli had the look of apocalyptic devastation. He just stared at the small wooden box as if his life was in it. I went over and held his hand. I told him I was sorry for his loss.<\/p>\n He heaved a sigh that shook me to my toes. \u201cThat foot has skipped along the hillside paths in Sicily,\u201d he said. \u201cAlong with its twin brother it stepped upon a ship and held me up through seas that rolled and boiled it to America. It found this little corner where we pinned our hopes and dreams to sell the freshest produce at the most honest prices. It took me up and down the stairs of the house we never thought we could afford. It chased the little boys I\u2019m proud to call my sons. It followed everything my heart asked it to do.\u201d<\/p>\n I thought about what he said and told him I understood. And now, when I am older, I really do.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" THE FOOT (for Hank, with love and understanding) Word Count: 529 Mr. Zefferelli kept his amputated foot in a wooden box stored on a shelf in his closet. It had been cut off just below the knee because of an … Continue reading
\n(for Hank, with love and understanding)
\nWord Count: 529<\/p>\n