Smoky Waters—A poem

Today, I would like to present a guest on my blog. Russ Kelly is my third favorite poet, after Walt Whitman and William Butler Yeats, and he has kindly given me permission to share his latest poem with all of you. I hope you enjoy it as much as I.

Water that smokes

Falls of spring

Falls of power

Falls of silk

Falls of Paterson.

Wheels turning

Wheels of power

Wheels of rail

Turning turning

Wheels in time.

Bricks of muscle

Bricks of sweat

Bricks of clay

Bricks to build

Looms of history.

Water to smoke

Falls to wheel

Apologetic Update

I would very much like to thank all of you who have continued to pop in with the hope of finding something new to read. Although I haven’t answered your many comments, please know that they are extremely appreciated. I feel very badly about my lack of response, and ask your forgiveness.

The reason for my negligence is that I have been buried with a series of translations, but there seems to be a bit of light, and I hope to be able to start dedicating a little more time to my personal life, which will include shooting a few hoops everyday to prepare myself for a challenge I will be facing in August with a delightful young friend of mine. I’m excited about this, because, although I’m not the world’s best hoops players, I can shoot a few, and the exercise will be good for me.

There are so many things I want to write about, including a series about animals I have known. Of course, I may not always be very regular—my daughter is FINALLY flying here to Brooklyn to spend a couple of months with me; I am so jazzed! There are so many things to show her here in New York, and of course, her Aunt Jo Anne is coming to see her – an added blessing, indeed!

So, I hope that you will forgive me for not showing up as often as I would have liked; I assure you that I will do my best to be more active with my writing. Until then, take care!

“W” is for Why

The other night I was watching TV and a commercial for a well-known bank came on. There is a cute little girl who, when asked if she wanted cash back, the little girl’s usual response was “NO!” This time, the little girl responded, “YES!” After the big celebration, the little girl throws her hands up in the air and says, “WHY?!”, throwing the questioner into a panic.

How many of we parents HAVEN’T gone through the years of “WHY?” with our children? To be truthful, how many of us can claim to have never driven OUR parents nuts with the “Why” questions? I know my parents would always give a sigh of relief if I limited my whys to a maximum of 3. Of course, that didn’t happen nearly as often as my parents would have desired.  

When I reached the venerable age of 8, my parents decided that the time had come to invest in a set of encyclopedias. It helped answer questions such as “Why do the stars shine at night?” “Why do airplanes make sonic booms?” Why do fish live in the water?” “Why do swallows return every year to the same place?” Of course, it also inspired new questions that went unexplained, “Why are little girl different from little boys?” “Why do we have to grow up?” Why don’t airplanes fall from the sky?” “Why are my hands different from each other?”

Sonia’s whys were a little different: “Why doesn’t Papa speak English?” “Why did the castle fall down?” “Why don’t I have any brothers and sisters?” “Why isn’t Ale my sister instead of my cousin?” (I asked this latter question myself, from time to time, but that’s neither here nor there…)

I have new whys these days, like “Why do we have to get old?” “Why don’t politicians practice what their constituents preach?” “Why do people hate others that are different from them?” "And my favorite “Why can’t I find an answer to my questions?”

Do you have any favorite “WHY?” questions asked by yourself or someone you know? Why don’t you share them with us?

“T” is for tasty Italian Frittata with Onions

A frittata is the Italian version of an omelet. You can use any variety of fillings, as with any omelet, but the difference is that the filling is actually mixed up into the eggs at the onset of cooking and the eggs are not folded in half, but left flat, even when turned over.

Ingredients for 2 people:

• 4 eggs
• 2 sliced medium onions
• 1/2 cup+ grated parmesan cheese (the more cheese you use, the fluffier the frittata is)
• 2 Tsp. butter
• a very small amount of milk
• salt, pepper, hot pepper to taste

Procedure:

Melt the butter and sautee the onions in a medium sized sauced pan until soft and translucent. While the onions are sautéing, beat the eggs and mix in the cheese, milk and spices. When the onions are ready, add the egg mixture and stir lightly. Let cook until the top is almost dry; turn the frittata over and and let cook an additional minute, or until lightly browned.

Remove from  pan, cut in half and serve. You might like to serve a green salad with it and, of course, bread is an absolute must—no self-respecting Italian is able to eat any meal without bread.

 

“S” is for Sonia

You may wonder why I have decided to write about Sonia. Sonia is my daughter, the one and only. She is also one of the most important people in my life; she holds a position that no one else will ever hold. When my ex-husband and I were first married we had decided that we would like to have 10 children; however we had been married 4-1/2 years before Sonia was born, and no others followed. It hurt, but all-in-all we thought if we could only have one, she was the one; it was like having 10 children all in one: 10 times more beautiful, 10 times more obedient (well, okay, maybe only 7 times ), 10 times more intelligent, loving, sweet – 10 times more anything than any other child. She was also 10 times brattier, when she put her mind to it.

Sonia was born in Bologna , but we moved to Mistretta when she was two months old. A few months after we arrived, I was standing in the post office holding her in my arms. There were a lot of people in line before me, but someone with an earlier number offered me his seat. Just after I sat down an elderly woman who was on her way out stopped by to tell me how beautiful my little girl was. She asked a few questions about Sonia – how old was she? where was she born? But the best came when she asked, “What’s her name?” “Sonia.” “Sonia? What saint is that?” Knowing the Italians as I do, I know that most Italian names come from saints and that they all have Saints days, so I responded, “My mother; she is a true saint.” She looked at me quizzically and then left, shaking her head.

Sonia started saying Mamma when she was about 4 months old, but said what could be construed as an actual statement when she was about 10 months old. We had a beautiful Brittany Spaniel pup named Rover, who would go out every evening for his walk; I usually let him go alone, because I had problems walking even at the best of times and when you walk in Mistretta, you’re walking uphill even when you’re walking downhill. Moving right along, I started calling and whistling, when suddenly I heard this little voice calling from upstairs, “Rover! Rover! Bow wow! Bow wow!” I couldn’t believe my ears, she was so sweet.

There are so many stories to tell about my girl, like the time she and her friend disappeared, and was then brought home by her uncle who worked in the community park; the two cohorts in crime had decided they needed a change of venue, and had taken off when I was in the restroom. They were two…Then there was the time she memorized her favorite book so well that it seemed she was actually reading it; she even turned the pages in the right place.

I remember her first day of school; she was so excited about going that she got dressed in two seconds flat and finished her breakfast even faster than that. When we got to her classroom, there was another little girl who was very much afraid and didn’t want her mamma to leave (Sonia kept saying, “Go home Mamma, go home”). Sonia went over, introduced herself to Rita, took her hand and they went and sat down at the same desk. They shared that desk all the way through to the end of the second grade.

Sonia loves animals, especially dogs, which is a very good thing; she and her father were always bringing home orphaned puppies. One time we ended up with a litter of 10 puppies that had been thrown into a trashcan; Sonia and I tried and tried to keep them alive, but it turned out that the person who had thrown them away had also thrown them against a brick wall first. They all died, and we both cried for them.  Her favorite dog of all time was Freccia, an Italian hound that her father had brought home for her. (see the photo on the left). Freccia slept with Sonia as a puppy, and when she grew up and had puppies of her own, she decided that the best place for them was on Sonia’s bed. When Sonia informed her that that was NOT the best place, she carried them UNDER Sonia’s bed, where she kept them until they were old enough to face the cold.

Sonia is all grown up now, but she is even more beautiful, sweet and loving than before. When I moved back to the United States, she elected to stay in Italy. I miss her very much and I hope she can feel the love I have for her. 

“R” is for Recycling

Recycling has become a way of life in many countries of the world. We recycle bottles – both plastic as well as glass – paper, cardboard, aluminum cans, by taking them to established recycling centers. We even recycle clothing, furniture, books and other useful items, by donating them to charities such as Good Will or the Salvation Army or, in the case of clothing, passing them down through siblings.

Unfortunately, not everything that could be recycled is, for various reasons. Sometimes it’s a case of lack of thought or caring, laziness, or perhaps even not having an accessible recycling plant. In this case, many times, non-biodegradable products are left wherever they fall. A couple of weeks ago, I went to the local shopping mall; there is a wooded area just before the area that, I was appalled to note, had become a depository for vacant flying bags, that hung – waving in the wind, from the branches.

Unfortunately, the practice isn’t limited just to woody areas. For years the news has referred to accumulations of plastic refuse found in rivers, lakes, oceans and seas, but in the last few years, news of a gigantic “garbage patch” or “plastic soup” floating in the Pacific Ocean has come to light. Although references to a solid island of plastic that could be walked on is an exaggeration, the fact remains that the patch truly exists. The problem of the patch is not just esthetic, but is also a danger to human, animal and plant life. Thousands of sea animals and birds die each year as a result of ocean pollution and ingestion of plastic. Clumps of plastic garbage block waterways, sea turtles mistake floating plastic bags for jellyfish (which are a large part of their diet), animals become entwined in floating debris. Another problem is that there are a large number of invasive creatures are able to “hitch-hike” on the plastic floating on the ocean’s surface, creating an imbalance in the ecosystem. 

Part of the garbage patch problem is caused by the unavailability of plastic bag recycling centers. It’s true that we can avoid bringing new bags into circulation by reusing the same bags over and over until they wear out and then use them as trash bags. However, this still puts those bags into the environment. And some of those bags are so thin that stores use two bags to give them more strength, which actually doubles the amount of bags in circulation. What, then, can be done to eliminate the problem of plastic bags?

Several states have tried putting into act a law prohibiting the use of plastic bags. The latest in the list is the Big Island of Hawaii. With a large part of its income deriving from its beautiful coastline, Hawaii can ill-afford with plastic-locked beaches. One response to not using plastic bags is to use paper bags. However, as the site save the plastic bag mentions, there are at least two very good reasons for using plastic bags rather than paper bags. The first is that plastic bags are much stronger; paper bags are easily split, especially if they should become wet. The other would be in distinct conflict with plastic bag pollution: saving trees.

My mother spoke of a solution that she had heard of, and which I agree is a rather fun way of recycling plastic bags: cutting the plastic bags into strips and then using the strips to crochet different reusable, water-proof items. Cutting the strips is time consuming, especially when you have a LOT of bags , like I do. I’m presently working on making strips, but I have also started crocheting a rug for the bathroom floor, but have plans to make a large, extra-strong shopping bag, and maybe even a laundry bag for carrying to the Laundromat. One group of people created a beautiful “mosaic” out of bags fished from the ocean, to remind people to care for the environment.

Plastic and glass bottles can usually be recycled, but those quart and gallon milk bottles can also be used for storing dry legumes or rice. Glass bottles with interesting shapes could also be implemented in making interesting vases or artwork. Use your imagination, and you’d be surprised just how fun recycling can be. And just think, we can save the oceans and the trees, with a tiny bit of inventiveness, good sense and good will.

 

Sources:

• Save the Plastic Bag
• http://www.seeturtles.org/1128/ocean-plastic.html
• Plastic Bags are not indigenous to the Pacific Ocean
• http://io9.com/5911969/lies-youve-been-told-about-the-pacific-garbage-patch

“Q” is for Quilting

The following is a work of fiction. Sort-of.

The quilter riffled through the endless boxes of swatches, searching for the perfect pieces that would enable the quilter to make the most beautiful quilt ever made. So many colors, so many shades, so many patterns. Which shape for each color? The greens, the browns, the blues, reds and yellows, stripes, polka dots and flowers, with triangles, squares, diamonds and rectangles. So many choices to be made. The long process involved placing each swatch next to another, switching them around until each color fit in softly with the next.

Once the colors had been chosen – ruby-red, grass green, sunny yellows, dark, velvety blues and rich browns – and the shapes for each color decided, the quilter took took the scissors in hand and carefully cut around the templates, making sure the number of pieces matched the required amount. Hundreds of colors, thousands of pieces, each piece, each color essential to the whole, without which the quilt would be incomplete.

In and out, in and out, the quilter moved the needle with an even rhythm as the quilt came together with invisible stitches. Cutting the last thread, the quilter breathed a deep sigh, stood up and shook out the wrinkles and watched as his masterpiece spread to its full length. He stood and stretched out his tired arms and pronounced “It is good.”