My Uncle Primo Fiore, who died this month about three weeks shy of his 92nd birthday, was a man’s man. At one family get-together, when he was in his eighties, he shared a secret with me and my son, Adam, who asked his great-uncle what kept him so vigorous, robust, active, and full of life.
His answer: “Every morning when I first wake up, I thank God for giving me another day.”
I trust that Uncle Primo would forgive me for taking poetic license to speak in his voice. While it is a paltry impersonation of the original, I hope it does him some measure of justice.
Image Credit: Flower Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash
Primo’s Everyday Prayer
29 August 2022
Louis Vincent Balbi
When I wake and open my eyes, I say
“Thank you, Lord, for giving me another day.”
Slowly, I sit up.
Swing stiff legs over my bedside.
Purposefully, consciously
set my feet squarely on the ground.
Stand up to stretch,
straighten my back,
and extend my arms
to embrace this new day.
I imagine the morning hugs me back
and is the unintentional cause
of creaking, cracking joints,
rather than my years.
If my bladder allows
postponing the bathroom,
I get on the floor
to knock out some push-ups.
Maybe a few sit-ups as well.
Just to get the blood moving
and to pump up muscles
I have spent a lifetime building.
Outside the windows of my house,
proud of its history of hospitality,
love, laughter, and tears,
I see Long Island’s suburban trees
wearing the season’s colors,
green, yellow-gold, orange-red, brown,
or bare as Adam and Eve in the garden.
Leaved or not,
the trees point heavenward,
whether covered by sun,
dripping with rain,
or sheeted with snow.
No matter what the view,
I smile at a beautiful day.
And I believe it smiles back.