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While my wife and I were in the Apple store looking at Apple watches, we glanced over to the table next to us. The salesperson was obviously blind. Behind the counter was another person who had no arms. It was reminiscent of the year before (in another Apple store) when we purchased a MacBook. The entire transaction with our deaf salesman was accoumplished by typing questions and answers back and forth. We remarked to our salesperson how great Apple was to hire people with "disabilities" in jobs that would be difficult for them to perform. Our salesperson then related a story about a customer who came to the Apple store to buy an iPhone. She had been

Striving to create a great cup of coffee at home was always a passion for us.  Living in a small town in North Carolina didn't make it easy.  The nearest source of "quality" coffee beans is at least an hour away.  That meant making sure we had enough beans on hand to get us through to the next trip to the big city, stocking up with deteriorating beans to make sure we didn't exhaust our supply, or using institutional type coffee from our local grocery store until we could replenish our stock. Even buying beans from the gourmet shops in the big city didn't guarantee a great cup of coffee.  Who really knows how long the

If you think about it, someone my age (70 years old, but at this time I was 69) I should never have even considered the purchase of a Mangle (a rotary iron).  The life expectancy of a rotary iron (also referred to as a mangle) is 30 years on average and many more years.  Unfortunately, I have no one in my family who shares my passion for ironing to will this great machine to. So, it made no sense to entertain the idea of owning one. But circumstances led me to consider the purchase of that neglected appliance. I had always been intrigued by my grandmother’s portable IronRite.  It sat on the lid of her chest

It was a different time during the “Great War”. Feeding a family of nine was a daily grind; rationing and a barber’s low wages forced Vincenzo to take drastic measures. So, to him, cooking a rabbit was a necessity, not an option. That didn’t matter to Nick who couldn’t bring himself to consume his loving pet. “Mean”, was how Nick described his father to me. “I hated him!”

Born in Italy in 1885, Vincenzo had come to the United States and soon married Anna, an Irish girl who was disowned by her parents because of that marriage. In those days, “good” Irish Catholics didn’t intermarry, especially Italians. Even though they were both immigrants and both lifelong Catholics; it was a cultural taboo. Anna’s defiance meant she never saw her family again.