Big sandwich Saturdays

My friend lives basically across the street from the Agostini bakery in Old Forge. And rarely goes there for freshly baked bread.
If I lived where he does, I’d be across the street every morning. And weigh 350 pounds.
We laughed about this over breakfast recently at Marie’s restaurant on McAlpine Street, between Duryea and Avoca. Agostini’s bread is offered as a French toast option there. It’s decadent.
Loaves of Italian bread bring back memories of Saturday afternoons when my sister Sheila was, I suppose, a senior in high school and I a freshman. We’re talking more than 50 years ago. She’d often head to the neighborhood store, just a few doors away, and come back with a loaf of Italian bread and an assortment of cold cuts.
She’d slice the loaf down the middle, fill it with minced ham, spiced ham, pickle loaf and other such sodium-filled processed meats, add slices of tomato and cheese, pack it with lettuce, slather one side with mayonnaise, and then cut it in half, resulting in two gigantic sandwiches, one for her and one for me.
Not one thing about that sandwich appeals to me today, except for the remembered joy of hanging out with my sister.
Afterwards, she might try to get me to dance with her. Sometimes I would, sometimes not. On those occasions, she’d dance with the refrigerator. Which I always found pretty cool.
I still have my big sister, thank God. Our other sister, Barbara, passed away 15 years ago. I miss her every day. And often wonder where she was off to on those Saturdays of the big sandwiches.

Ed Ackerman