As our family reunion winds up, we spent last night gathered around looking through a suitcase of photos my widowed sister brought with her when she moved to the Inland Northwest several months ago. There were many shots of my now deceased brother-in-law, a challenging but sometimes charming Sicilian. We had more good times than we remember, someone commented. There were a lot of photos taken at wonderful Italian feasts around the table. Lots of cigarettes in the days when everyone smoked. Lots of wine. My sister commented that we only seemed to get the cameras out in the good times. Maybe that is best. We ended the night a bit sad at the lost family members, the lost youth, the times we likely didn't appreciate enough when they were happening. And then it was 10 p.m. and people were hungry and my sister made pork sandwiches, Italian style, in honor of our now deceased Sicilian who was famous for his cooking.

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