During my adolescent and teen years I never picked up a green thumb on the farm, nor did my Father impart any farming information, particularly if it had anything to do with flowers.    Momma often tried to interest me by letting me pick out annuals to plant and decide in what design a flower bed should be made.  Back then I remembered thinking that picking out plants and designing was okay, but it would be even better if I could be inside making cinnamon  rolls.  It was a fine state for a young person growing up on an Iowa farm and so the years passed and my ignorance of plants continued.

When we first moved  here Momma encouraged me to to make flower gardens and plant as many flowers as I could.  We had already discussed flowers in Arizona before arriving and I had ordered two bush roses and purple day lilies from The Morton Arboreutum  through my sister.  Today I look at those plants and think how lucky I was because I didn’t know how to plant a rose.   I planted them while my Mother was in the hospital that first year and they have beome the most dramatic of all my flowers when they bloom.

The first couple of years she sat on the porch, in the front of the house, while I attempted to turn soil and amend it as well as, planting flowers!!  I was thankful she was there because some days I had no idea what I should do.   Little by little, hint by hint, technique by technique Momma told me how to garden.

Slowly, these stunning sights of Spring were noticed by me in the garden.  They  became more poignant as I told my Mother each day what I had done in the garden.  Momma lay in her bed, with head turned so she could hear every word, would stop me and interject he thoughts, her likes, dislikes and stories about her perennials she left in Iowa.   She often said that the main ingredient to a successful garden was love and then lots elbow grease!

Momma loved all flowers, although her favorite flower was the rose, in particular she was partial to The Abraham Lincoln, deep red rose, a white, Empress rose just tinged in the palest of pink and the very charismatic Yellow tea rose.  Each summer she looked forward to the many bouquets I brought from the gardens, but none of that would not have happened if she didn’t give me her love for making it all happen and appreciate how much a garden of colorful flowers can give you back.

It was  during the second summer Momma started having difficulty getting out to the back yard and all the flowers I had in the back yard were off the patio.  If you sat at the kitchen table you wouldn’t even know those incredible bush roses were there.  Momma missed her flowers and that year I dug up a very large portion of the back yard to make a thirty foot long flower garden that wrapped the patio in a changing, fluid shape perfectly spaced so that when you were at the kitchen table the front border of the garden appeared to be just above the patio wall.

Momma and I shopped many days for flowers to fill up this giant bed, although, she and I decided that a miniature apple tree on each end of the bed would be great.  We chose Macintosh, Momma’s favorite for apple pie, baked apples and canning.  Below one of the apple trees became a huge strawberry patch.  It is the same today and the strawberries, even in the  chilly, “April Showers” are getting ready for their first harvest of fruit and are showing many little white flowers.

Spring came this year not many days ago.  Yes, prior to now there was a premature, weatherman Spring and there was the official start of Spring that was followed by freezing temperatures, snow, sleet, rain, more rain, snow and rain.   Finally, April Showers began, much the same as when I lived on the farm many years ago.  There are days of rain and chill, a sky where clouds then break and warm rays of sun fall across the land, then possibly very windy days or nights are filled  with more rain or fine showers and finally a small group of warm, warm days with bright cumulus clouds up above will arrive.  Yes, it was that way this year and even though I should have been out earlier the gardens are fine!

As I begun my task of cleaning up my garden and yard I began humming an Italian song that my Momma and I always listened to every afternoon, as well as, her other favorite Italian Folk songs.  It wasn’t until after my Momma passed away that I realized what the song, Al Di La, was all about.  Al Di La is a place, far, far above the clouds, that to guess where it is you must follow the sky up and up and weave your way thru the clouds.  Never stop the journey, just keep going as you eye can see.  Then in your heart you have come as close to Al Di La as you can in your life time;  Al Di La is a place where a loved one (one  you miss very much)  waits to guide you on to Paradise,  when you arrive from your final journey.   In the years prior to your arrival, Al Di La, represents to you the reality that you yearn for the past to become real again, although, you admit it can only be the stepping stone for you one day.

I realized why I hummed the song because I felt Momma was there guiding me, up there, far, far above the white, voluminous, cumulus clouds.   At that moment I felt peaceful to know she was there and as I babbled to my garden, I shared everything with her as I always did.

As I chattered on,  I first pruned the dead, perennial stalks and uncovered the little roses from their insulation of Canadian Peat Moss.  Next, as I worked from one side of the first bed to the other cleaning off leaves and as I did the Spring came to me.  There, under the debris,  were the center of my perennials with  tiny shoots of new life.  In my way, they greeted me and we had our  first individual chats for the season.

They are Spring, the little hidden,  leaves signaling new life   When I was finished all of the plants had little faces, smiling upward.  The next day, after a night rain, I went back to the big bed and found that even more Spring had arrived for me.  The rain had allowed the little leaves and stalks to triple their size overnight.  They are amazing,  they have returned to me one more year to please and bring color and texture to my garden.

Momma knew all this and simply gave me some hints, or told a story, as she imparted her knowledge of gardening to me.  Now Momma still guides my hand as she watches far, far above the white, voluminous,  cumulus clouds in a place that is called Al Di La.

It is Momma’s birthday, April 22 and even though she may not be physically here, Momma is with me today to celebrate her life and remember how much she enjoyed the many parties I gave her on her birthday. Even when I was young, Momma loved her day, especially if my sister and I planned something. As a very young boy I used to think for weeks to determine what my Sister and I could do to make the day special for her and then we spent an equal time trying to decide what was a perfect gift, a gift just for our Momma.

There was more than one time our funds were not as abundant as I thought they should be. Momma was always willing to give me a little money. I used to think I was pulling a fast one on her, but as I grew up I realized Momma always knew what I was after.

After Momma and I moved to Arizona, following my father’s death, the real parties began for her. The first big splash was for her seventy-fifth birthday, a day Momma was very nervous about having it arrive. It was the only time Momma didn’t yearn for tomorrow. Earlier in the year all three of her sisters felt she would never make to seventy-five. There Mother died when she was seventy-four and for some ridiculous reason they felt Momma would leave first and follow in her Mother’s footsteps. Sadly, Momma did leave before they did, but they had to wait an additional dozen years for it to happen. I often wondered if they knew how mean they were when they suggested that to her.

In the years following Momma had many wonderful parties and she never was hesitant to have another birthday. Her birthdays were like her tomorrows. They were something that she needed to keep looking forward to rather than dwelling on the past. Even last year, her last birthday with me, was joyfully embraced by her. Momma always adapted and that day her strength was paramount. She had just been in the hospital, very frail and barely could speak loudly, yet she was ready to get dressed, sit on the sofa, rather than stay in bed. It was Momma’s day and the hair, makeup and dress had to be perfect for her. When we sang Happy Birthday I lit candles on a plate of pastel White Chocolate Nips as Momma’s cake. Her swallowing had become very weak and she was not able to eat, yet even those little nips with candles were very special to her.

Momma was and is a very special person. I shall never be able to equal her in humor, wisdom or compassion. She has always been my guiding light and continues to be. Many days I know my Mother’s hand help direct me through what I am doing. I know Momma is here with me now as I write and as I prepared the movie that will help share our special feelings during her memorable birthdays over the last decade.

Please join me in sharing my memories–

The “Chick” house was preset for the new little birds with a thick layer of shaved wood chips.  In the center of the room was a gray, metal, warming brooder, an octagonal, tent-like structure that was centered by a large, electric light to produce a warm area for the chicks.  Around the brooder was two stations with water, although the bottom tray of the water feeder was very narrow so the little chicks couldn’t get in and drown and two or three narrow feeding trough where finely ground bits of corn and oats were put three times a day.  The inside of the room was very warm, a slight, sweet, smell of wood and oats, mixed with the fragile smell of tiny little warm bodies covered with fluffy down.   While the eye and the nose received little gifts while little feet climbing up legs or twenty little wings fluttering at your ankles teased the sense of touch.  The most surprising was the gentle, sound of little peeps, each singing its own song, yet combining into a soothing sonata comparable to one for the wind instruments.

Warm under the Brooder!!

Very tasty oats they feed us!!!

Until I grew old enough to understand the importance of being careful as you entered the Chick House, I was told not to enter the room.  The first time I accompanied my Mother to help her when the chicks  arrived I was anxious to see them for the first time.

After the first minute inside the house I understood what the concern was.  Little, tiny chicks become frightened very easily and instead of running from you they encircle your feet and you need pick them up and move them before you can take a step.  Later on they get used to you and won’t panic.    After that first visit I never asked to go for a very long time.  As I grew more agile and less intimidated by stepping on them I found the little chicks fascinating.  To pick up a dozen or so tiny little, squirmy, chirping chicks, while trying to get under my arm or in the fold of my coat for protection is a mighty experience.

As the weeks passed and the weather turned warm, the little babies grew not only in size, but developed new coats that signified if they were a rooster or a hen.   Momma only wanted Rhode Island Reds.  She said they had the tastiest eggs and the roosters were the most tender. I couldn’t argue because our eggs and fried chicken was much tastier than our neighbors.  Not only were they tastier, but also as they grew they were much prettier than a plain, old white hen or rooster.  The Rhode Island Reds were very sassy strutting around in shiny, red brown feathers, bright yellow legs and feet and beautifully formed tail of long feathers.  The males, always chic, strutted around with their bright red, combs and wattles.

Hen on the right , the Rooster on the left,
These are full grown, a little older than I write about,

but just as nice looking!!!

Depending upon how fast they grew, usually by the end of June, my Father would let Momma know it was time!!   I knew what that meant and I shuddered each year.  From that moment all I could think of was after the young roosters grew, developed their own unique personality, strutted proudly through the crowd of young hens and tomorrow—well first take another look at the young stud!!

By the following evening there would be a dozen less “studs” freely enjoying their budding existence.  Just before sunset, Momma, Daddy, Sherry and I headed for the younger Chicken House.  Each of us would return to the yard near the Woodshed with three aspiring stars.  Before I put my three in the wooden cages I waited for Momma to put hers in.  Then she would take two of mine while I petted the third rooster in my arms.  My Father would yell if I dallied long so each good bye was as quick as could be.  After they were locked in the cages I sneaked another little pet and bid them a good night.  Now I think how ridiculous I was –why would I ever bid them a good night!!

The next morning I was awakened by “Thunk—scritch—slump!”  Next came a rustle of feathers, the tone quickly slowly until it stopped.  I covered my head because I didn’t want to count…….I didn’t want to know how many more to go…………..I knew and I didn’t want to remember that with each rooster Momma would take them one by one from the cage, walk over to the huge old maple tree and while holding them down onto the bark with her left hand the hatchet swiftly came down with the right hand.  First it went through, then pull the hatchet across the bark and then use it to push the head off to the side.  Whenever I mowed I tried to stay away from the bottom of the tree.  The bark had permanently been stained red by decades of murder!!!

Murder yes, to a young person, but as I aged I realized that was how we got much of our food on the table.  I never liked what happened and for weeks after I pined for Momma’s fried chicken, but I refused to eat!!  But the best was to come.  After I knew the axe had dropped for the last time I quickly got out of bed, dressed and ran down stairs.  My sister already was with my Mother helping her carry the roosters into the summer kitchen.  My job was to put away the cages and clean up the yard and the hatchet.  Then, while my Mother and sister prepared the rooster to be take to the locker in town to be wrapped and frozen, I was to take charge of making dinner and supper.

The Killing Tree!!!

I had that wonderful, easy job because what was too happen in the summer kitchen was even worse than hearing the thump of the axe.  When I was young I tried helping my Mother do the things she needed to do.  First she dipped the roosters in boiling water to loosen the feathers.  The smell was indescribable or so I thought.  Next she had me   sear the pinfeathers from the rooster by holding the raw skin close to an open fire.  Now I was getting a little nauseous.  Not only did it smell like flesh burning the damp feathers combined to give you the effect of a dead body in a sauna.

Even though I was holding my own at this time, I didn’t look forward to anything, although I wasn’t sure what was going to take place.  I was standing near my Mother as she took a huge, sharp knife and cut the bird open.  She did this with such ease.  I watched with horror, disgust and a new wave of nausea.  I had never smelled warm innards and the warm, strange odor really did carry with it an aura of death.   Immediately following that first cut I grabbed my stomach and barely made it outside to let my breakfast out!!!

Momma was worried, came out to me and told me it was something that I had to get used to and in time probably wouldn’t even be bothered by it.  Well, the little man decided to give it another try and so returned to have my sister show me how to cut the gizzard in half and clean it.  I asked Momma what was in that gizzard……as she answered me I took my second trip out to the yard.  This time I really felt sick.  It was the last time I was expected to help inside the summer kitchen!  God works in wonderful way!!

Ah, nonetheless, I yearn for another piece of Momma’s fried Chicken!  It was the best!!

They, almost anyone, tells me time makes all the difference. Others wonder why I still mourn. Thankfully others, especially here–those I have on my blogroll,  give support and patience. If they only knew you, I think your reaction to death and the way you handled the times in your life when you lost someone close, would present a much different scenario than I am living. But, there are significant differences in the way that we see ourselves and life. You never had a mother or other person like you. You provided me with stability and strength, but more importantly consistency in love. You only had yourself to depend upon early in life and that helped you Momma, whereas I have had you as my anchor and now I float, still trying to find just the right place to light.

When Sherry and I were at your grave arranging the flowers I waited as long as I could to talk to you. Finally, as you saw, I just laid on the new sod and started talking, just as I always did. Momma, the sod was like grass letting me see you clearly, yet also as I looked up and to the horizon I felt you there and knew you were watching from far away. Its strange, but Sherry can’t face you are not here and refuses to enter into grief. The day you talked with her to watch out for me comes to me all the days since you left. She never visits, nor calls. Just like when you were here Momma, nothing changes much.

Momma, I shall miss you always. I shall never stop talking to you. I shall be with you again  one day and then this chapter of my life will be laid to rest.   It is my belief, only mine since you know we have a couple atheist around, that I will see you in Paradise. If I didn’t have that belief I don’t think I could make it through the days.

I bid Ciao for now, send you my love and now I shall end this letter like every letter you ever wrote to me.

Love,

Buzz
for ever

and

ever

and ever……………….

My room was pleasantly dark when I heard my Mother call my sister.  Within the layers of blankets I was warm and comfortable, whereas my room and the rest of the upstairs was unheated, in the old farmhouse.  The winter outside was quiet, but for the last few days snow continually fell making it a winter wonderland and then temperatures plummeted well below zero degrees Fahrenheit.  I snuggled down into my covers even further.  I didn’t have to be up for at least an hour.  It was five a.m.  and Momma and Sherry were off to the beauty parlor.  It was my sister’s wedding day and I promised Momma I would be up by six to get breakfast for my grandmother and aunts.  I knew my father was already outside checking if the lane to the main road was open.

Momma and I prepared the food for the luncheon buffet prior to her family arriving for the wedding.  I arranged the buffet table and set chairs up in all the rooms.  There wouldn’t be much time to do anything after we arrived from church and the wedding mass.  Even the bar was set up on the kitchen counter, waiting for Uncle Felix, to tend after he arrived at the brunch.

The day before the wedding was a flurry of activity.  Momma and her Mother made sandwiches and other goodies for the evening reception in town.  I was in town decorating the hall for an evening reception, covering tables and transforming the dull room to a cherry place for a wedding reception.  The deep cranberry red and silver wedding colors helped the room immensely and the very tall, almost too large wedding cake gave a good focal point.  When we were nearly done I went home to get Momma to check if everything was done and to bring all the food and store it in the refrigerators.  We were all ready, unless of course some disaster came along.

As I forced myself out of bed, I feared the worst that could happen was that the weather would bring new snow to block the lane in the next few hours.  It did not take long for that to happen.  We were used to it, but then again on a wedding day it would not be good.  As the first light of day broke over the horizon and I smiled and said thanks to a good day.  Within the hour the sun’s rays fell upon the blanket of white snow causing it to twinkle and shine.  The temperature was twenty-five below.  Everything was rock hard and without any wind.  On a day like that in Iowa, without the wind and with a strong sun you can go out side without a winter coat and not worry you will freeze.  My sister had lucked out on her special day!!

Just as soon as I finished helping my Grandmother, I ran to change my clothes.  Shortly after Momma and Sherry arrived back home.  As I walked into the kitchen, Momma’s deep, brunette hair, as always, stunningly framed her face.  Sis stood before the mirror tugging on a hair or group of hairs that she felt should have been put some place else, yet we all thought her hair and style were just right.  Nope, don’t say that to my sister!!

Time was running out and my sister needed to get dressed.  Once again her room was filled with huffs and puffs and groans and cries.  Most people would have thought a disaster occurred, but Momma, Dad and I knew Sis was Sis.  Soon on you learned that Momma tried her best to help when trouble sounded, sometimes she won and sometimes nothing could help!    Momma  hurried to finish dressing and quickly climbed the stairs looking striking in her Jacqueline Kennedy style navy blue wool suit.  She always looked good in clothes, particularly because she varied in size and always slipped into a size five or six easily.    After a short time, Momma and Sis were able to get her dressed.    As she walked down the stairs, once again I said how much she looked like like Elizabeth Taylor, although on this day I wondered if  Elizabeth Taylor could have ever worn white velvet dress  to any of her weddings on  a cold winter day.

Daddy drove my sister to the little country, church ten miles away for the ten am mass, in a big car he had loaned from the Ford dealer.  Momma and I went to the church separately so that we could sneak out and get back to the farm and get the luncheon ready.

Before long, my cousin and I were at the altar along with the other attendants.  My cousin and one of the male attendants already irritated my sister.  Margaret Ann, my cousin wore black nylons.  She was told many times flesh-toned nylons.  The male attendant was asked to only wear a navy blue or black suit.  As we stood there I thought, “Yes, he does stick out in his pale gray, slightly, ill-fitted suit!

Check out the Black nylons and grey suit.  To bad the picture isn’t better!!!

I am to the right of Mr. Gray Suit!

Yet, brothers are brothers and smugly, I thought to myself—“see you needed me to be in the party because Margaret Ann and I are the only Catholics.”   In those days, God forbid, if there wasn’t a Catholic in the wedding party.

It was time for my sister to come down the aisle so I put my childish thoughts in my pocket.  The organist was playing an Interlude, stopped and began playing the processional when–(just after a few notes–)

The lip is just beginning to curl!!!

No music……….just a church filled with silent, waiting people, silent without a whisper or the sound of organ music.

One second                                thirty seconds

one minute————

A minute and a half                 a lot more seconds………………………….

I looked at my sister and father.  Sherry’s lip was bit as usual, and I saw my father give her a tug.  She balked, another tug—he looked determined.  She looked steadfast.  Then a father-daughter passed between then and with another minor tug my sister started down the aisle with out music.  She desperately tried to smile, but it’s difficult to do that when you want to kill someone.  Next the priest gave a little clap, a moment passes and the organ is heard.  My father smiled, my sister still had murder written across her face, the priest looked as if he were praying thanks and my Mother, well that’s Momma sitting there only looking at my sister with love in her eyes.

As the mass ended and my sister and brother-in-law headed down the aisle, the wedding party followed them to the church’s entrance.  At the door I quickly exited the church to get the car for Momma.  As I returned my sister and husband just emerged from the church and as they came down the steps the guests threw rice and those little, glazed Italian Almonds, which seemed like little, deadly rocks when they hit you in the head.  To this day I cannot imagine why they are at every Italian wedding.  Now I stay away when someone throws them.

The luncheon was well received; in fact there were so many guests, uninvited guests.  Every one who knew my new brother-in-law came even though they were not invited to the luncheon.  Then, the attendant in the light gray, ill-fitting suit had a few more drinks than he should.  My Uncle had to cut him off at the bar and I had to get my brother-in-law to get him out of the house.  Funny, it was my sister who got him out of the house.  She grabbed his tie and just kept walking until he was in the car so that someone could drive him to a motel.  She was always good at taking care of things—throughout my grade school and high school Sherry always took over when a bully came by!!

The cake was big but almost all of it was eaten!!  (I ate a lot of it!!)

Happily, the evening reception was uneventful and fun.  My Father took my sister and new husband back to the farm, as well as, my Aunt to help my sister change for her honeymoon.  Shortly after their arrival, my Aunt who was on the first floor, heard one of my sister’s very, very upset shreeks.  Aunty also knew Sherry and instead of smiling and then going, she took off at break neck speed  to  find out why my sister called with such a tone.   One step, five steps, almost where she could see my sisters room.  The door was open and my sister was tearing her suitcase apart.  As Aunty arrived at step 20 and rounded the bannister she raced to the room.  Sherry looked up and screamed,

“Someone stole my lace panties.”

My Father arrived next and he and my Aunt tried to persuade my sister not to let it bother her, that it was more important to change and they would figure out everything later.  Finally, Sherry was ready and were on their way to their honeymoon, while my Aunt and Father continued to question where the lace panties went.

Momma and I arrived afterward.  My Father told my Mother what happened.  Momma looked upset yet needed to check with everyone that was arriving and make sure they had all they needed to go to bed.  Eventually, Momma went in to check on her Mother and sister.  While chatting she went to the bureau drawer, reached in, paused and exclaimed–”Panties and my fifty dollars-that is just too much to take tonight.”  Immediately she had the culprit in her mind.

She  turned and explained what she meant and even though she did not accuse anyone her family did not take the news well and wild, Italian, Fortino bicker session began.  In record time, my father was in my Mother’s bedroom and told everyone to go to sleep and if they could act like  this, then in the morning they could say good bye.

The next morning early, Momma’s family was packed and leaving.  Kisses at the door were less warm.  As the last relative left, Momma closed the kitchen door, leaned back on the door and said to my Father,  “Well, I hope the crook never sleeps–I will get to the end of this!!”

The caper of the panties and the money never was solved and Momma never forgot.

She Knew!!!

Sousé beat me to the far side of the kitchen and sought to find his feeding and water station.  Immediately, a loud call from the master sounded……..this time  a demanding meowed,  “MiNukNot”, which means for me to get down to business.  I quickly get him water, not in his water bowl, but another  and ask that he be patient because the cat food is in the car.  “MarRook,” he answers and I know he has given me limited time to provide him with dinner.  If I am not back before his time clock strikes,  I know he will tell me he has been waiting long enough for dinner!!

Yes, the little demon was so good in the car (well as good as good can be after he let a little warm drizzle flow while sitting on M’s lap)  and waited the last hour without food when I told him he would eat at home and not in the car.  As I set the food on the floor, he pushed my hand away and gives me a quick “Guark”, the meow which tells me  thank-you.   His simple response makes me  realize our little cat is as happy as I am to be back in our home, his house, my house,!!

Darkness arrives soon after and reminds me how tired I am.   One stair at a time will bring  me to the second floor and as I climb the stairs I peer down to look where my Mother should have been.  Instead, I see Sousé curled up, with nose under paw, on his love seat  sleeping.  I bid Momma Good Night and touch my lips to throw a kiss and then continue on to bed.  Hastily, I ready the bed and myself to jump in side.  As I fall asleep, burrowed deeply under the covers,  I think about “Home” and its relationship to humans and pets.

Home is where I belong, where Sousé belongs.  It gives me my identity, a locus of security and a point of centering in our world.  Home is where I can kick off my shoes, fall on one of the sofas to rest and ignore the doorbell if I wish.   This place of “home”  surrounds me with memories, freedom, levels of thought and an environment of safety.  It is the place that is born of family traditions, of gaiety and sadness, of humor and bittersweet moments.

When I think of it those elements are much the same for Sousé.  It is the place he feels the most secure, has his secret hiding places in all the rooms and a stairwell to race up and then down or sit on the balcony and call till I look at him!

Home brings our special likes to mind and often makes us want them again.  Home is my Mother’s ravioli, gnocchi and sauce.  It is her smile and outstretched arms.  It is my understanding  of my Mother’s faith in her God and acceptance and curiousity in M’s Jewishness.  It is my creativity in unique entertaining that one day you may enjoy and it is my thoughts that you feel when you look at the art on the walls.

Home is the essence of Spring and Summer as you walk through my roses, bend to take a whiff and have a thorn catch you by surprise and so you continue on to an array of wild lilies, miniature apple trees, fresh strawberries, a peach tree and a changing carpet of colors from all the rest of the flowers.  It is also to walk the weaving fence of willow and feel their wispy branches move in the breeze and understand the sound you hear is their spirit speaking to you.

Home is everything I want and provides everything Sousé needs!
.

June brought not only my birthday, but the possibilities of awesome and monumental thunder storms as I grew up on the farm in Iowa. When a storm approached it always seemed it came from nowhere; suddenly, far in the distance dark, gray clouds traveled toward the farm. Little, by little the azure blue skies with the fluffy balls of white, cumulus castellanus clouds were replaced by the fast moving angry arcus clouds. Soon all the stages of the storm begin and I, as a young boy waited anxiously. Unfortunately, when the storms blew in my Father often interrupted my reverie to latch gates and doors to make the livestock, chicken and pigs safe within their contained spaces..

I wasn’t too happy with needing to care for the barnyard creatures and with boyish thoughts felt they needed no protection. My Father’s watchful eye never let me think too long and begrudgingly hurried on to latch the gates on the fences and doors on the barn so the animals were safe from the storm and from their own fright of storms. Once done doing my duty, I quickly returned to my post to watch my impressive storm. Even if my parents called me to safety , I knew I could sneak away for the show!!

When the sky was entirely covered by the angry, gray clouds that caused the day to darken as if it were dusk, a hollow, sound of wind signaled the sound and light show to begin soon, the time that was my most exciting.

From the near distance, deep, bass rumbles of thunder reverberated across the barnyard. As the sound echoed over my head, bright white bolts of lighting cracked in the sky. The next moments were heaven to my senses and as I stood with a broadened smile and sparkling eyes, the first huge raindrops fell on my head. Each drop forcefully hit and splashed on my face. I knew that if I lingered I would be caught in a torrent of rain. Sadly, I turned and ran for the cover of the house, barely making it to the overhung porch on the summer kitchen. It was all to good to just ignore, so instead of going in the house, I went into the summer kitchen where I could lean my cheek against the old screen door, as though I was watching my lover dance before my eyes.

Now, much later in life I am still as intrigued by storms as I was in my youth, yet now I am always annoyed if I get wet as I watch!! As I often stand in doorways of businesses watching a storm play its complete symphony I smile and remember when storms were frightening to me and how that all changed:

All little children are put in bed far too early. I was four and Momma tucked me into the top bunk bed shortly after supper. Laying there I wondered when I would be able to stay up later. Momma told me when I was older I wouldn’t need as much sleep. I thought to myself that I felt like I had a whole bunch of sleep so why did I have to have it then. Finally, as little boys and girls do, I fell a sleep.

As I woke in the little bed, the room in the trailer was so dark and it felt like the our trailer was moving. Suddenly, a crack and boom sounded that scared me and as I came upright I banged my head on the handle that opened the ceiling vent in the room. It hurt so bad and when combined with the wind hitting the trailer the effect caused me to scream out in fear, Within moments, my Mother took me in her arms, singing quietly as she carried me in her arms to living room.

Momma sat on the sofa holding me tight. I remember that as I cried I played with the hem of her full skirt. It was a deep emerald green and eventually I moved so that I could lay my head on her lap and curl up next to her on the sofa. As she stroked and patted my blond hair she continued singing the simple little Italian folk songs that she always sang to us at bedtime. Regardless, I sremained upset because of the storm. Momma told me a story about how storms were made and why I should not be afraid of the sound or the wind. The story spoke of how God made heaven and earth and that the skies were there for us to get to heaven. Sometimes, even God got sick and the lightning and thunder helped him feel better. Once he started feeling fine he gives a gift back for our patience and endurance. The gift a beautiful, delicate rainbow that willl always surprise and please.

It may have not been the most creative story in the world, but it did calm me. The noise and cracks of light had a reason to happen and if it meant a rainbow all seemed better. From that time on I began to look at storms in a different way and became fascinated by them.

One day, while I was at my Mother’s apartment in Arizona, a storm of giant proportions quickly blew in. My mother sat frozen in her big chair. Next, the lights went out and I heard my Mother fidgeting in the chair. I asked her what she was doing. A tiny, suppressed voice finally uttered to get a candle lit and come to her because she hated storms!

Later we talked and she told me she had always been deathly afraid of storms, but she had no intention of letting me be afraid that night in the trailer, nor was she going to let me or the storm know just how frightened she was until the time was right. From that night on, if a storm was headed toward my Mother’s apartment, I quickly got her and brought her to my house so she wasn’t alone. With each succeeding storm, Momma always smiled and said, “Go Ahead, Go outside for a while—just be in here for the lightening strikes!!

No there isn’t much I do that Momma isn’t there or was there with me doing it.  If I wash clothes I then miss her doing the laundry.  Each towel perfectly folded on top of each other, smelling so fresh and fragrant.  Each shirt or pants pressed to the “t’s” and each sock alwys twinned with its right partner.  Some how my finished laundry is never as delightful to see, hold and smell as my Mother’s.

The passage of time may make these occasions seem less poignant in the future, but in a way I hope that it stays with an intensity that remains constant so that the tactile memories are still sentitive and clear.

Today a friend of mine asked me if my sister was like my Mother.  This led into a long and involved chat, because to answer the question simply is a “no”, but to be able to answer the question completely takes the time to give some interesting differences.  It was a pleasant conversation because I enjoyed finding some old memories to give exampes of the differences and similarities between my Mother and my sister.

As I reflect on so many wonderful memories, they do make my happy.  They also make me yearn for a touch or even the smell of cologne as you open her closet door upstairs.  More importantly, I am beginning to believe she is about, here or wherever, guiding and influencing the tasks and enjoyments my sister and I have. 

It is good to remember and yearn.  It is good to imagine the touch and actually remember tactilly what was felt on a past day.  All of that will lead me to smile brighter one day!!

Each week I do the laundry and you visit,

As I sort the clothes, I know it is you that guides me.

Put the Darks with Darks, Lights with Lights and I will remember

Whites are something different from the lights.

b 

Sis wrote this week that you are in her and with her

as she scurries to bake and cook, to dust and clean!

It is you, guiding and inspiring her on to do all the things

you loved to do and what always are not her favorite!

 b

No matter what I decide to do, suddenly I feel a guiding touch,

Warmly placed upon my hand, a touch that says to remember you.

Now when I take a pot, grab a cloth, chop a carrot I feel you say

“check and see and know that just may be some dust is still under the bed!”

 b

Your touch upon our grocery cart, leads us to memories of family meals made by you and

directs our course through the aisles, as we look upon the items on the shelf.

We stop for no reason, smile and see that certain something sitting there upon the shelf,

That certain something surely missed when we are at home.

 b

Then at a another time as we travel along, first a shoe catches the eye,

Then a sweater, a scarf or particularly for me, the glistening gems in the jewelry counter,

The glistening colors beckon me to stop, first to buy for you and then I know its not to buy,

It is a moment to take to remember and be with you.

 b

Your little hand guides us both along our way, in and out of the house.

During the day or in the middle of the night you visit to help me on my way.

But, just to say that it is even more than your guidance that I treasure and Sis remembers

It is that you are in our hearts each and every day in a very golden way.

 b

Let Sis set her table when company comes with your china, silver flatware and fine linen napkins,

Watch me when I bake a tender cinnamon roll and bring it to the table hot from the oven,

Your tender touch will always be upon our minds, hands, and memories too,

That guide us to do the best we can and brings to mind the hundreds of your dinners upon those plates.

 b

You my Momma, you will always be there with us every step of the way.

As we travail upon our new forged path with memories tucked with in our hearts,

You will be there guiding us on and helping us to find our way through the strange new time,

Realizing that you have never left, but rather you are just leading the way.

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Sweet Pea stood outside the little school house, trembling at the thought of walking down the road, arriving at home and then facing her Momma. She was so upset because the teacher, not her Momma, told her she no longer would attend school. “Why?” was all she could say and that took all her effort. The stern, not to pleasant teacher quickly stated it was impossible to teach people who stutter and to go on home and understand that her Mother agreed with her.  Little Sweet was in tears and couldn’t believe Momma agreed..

Within the next days, Sweet Pea realized what her life without school meant. Not only had she been deprived of completing a basic education, she was to become a working member of her large family. At eleven years of age it was hard for her to understand all the complexities of the decision to pull her from school, the only thing she felt was guilt–guilt for something she hadn’t done.   She knew her family didn’t understand her at all, in fact neither parent stopped her siblings from teasing or nicknaming her Pazzo l’uno, a colloquial term in Italian that meant, “The Crazy One”. She knew she wasn’t crazy, she knew she stuttered and she knew the names she was called and the words that were often spoken to her were hurtful to her.  Sweet Pea didn’t know what made her stutter, she knew the harder she tried not to stutter the more difficult it became to stop stuttering.

Day after day, without any rest, Sweet Pea cleaned the large grey house set by the railroad tracks, did the laundry and ironing for her Mother, as well as, cleaning the house and doing  other chores her Mother gave her. Day after day, little Sweet Pea became their Cinderella,  the tiny little girl was the one that now took care  of the family chores.   Sweet Pea often cried as she realized her hopes and dreams were impossible to achieve.  Her young mind often dreamed of the day she could study to be a nurse, yet now she knew this would never happen.   Stuffed between her sisters to sleep, she quietly prayed to God to understand what she had done wrong, to understand why she stuttered.   She thought that if she could stop, then she also could be seen like any of her other brothers and sisters.

As she grew older, only by a few years,  her Mother decided she should begin working in the outside world to bring additional money into the family. First it was the job at the grocery story restocking the shelves, sweeping and generally keeping the place clean. Then a second job was added ironing in a laundry.

The jobs kept her busy and with any free time she had she was still expected to help her Mother at home. Eventually, Momma became pregnant with her 7th child and Little  Sweet Pea was told she was  to be responsible for the  baby when it was born.  The child care started early in the morning before she went to work and continued through the night after she returned  from her second job.  Regardless of how tired she was, she knew Pammy depended on her.  As the years passed, Sweet Pea became recognized as  Pammy’s mother that their Momma, besides Momma was too busy with her eighth and final child.   It was a boy and oh how special Momma treated him and the other siblings spoiled him.   It was like two families, their’s and Sweet Pea and Pammy’s family.

The years past without Sweet Pea ever being able to go to social events or forming teenage friendships that help in the development of young girls. By the time 1940 arrived Sweet Pea was nearly nineteen and worked as a waitress,.  Sweet Pea was a funny waitress that still stuttered, chewed her fingernails and continued to give all of  her money that she earned over to Momma.

One day at the cafe  a very tall, well dressed man walked in. Sweet Pea noticed him but held back from staring even though she knew she was interested in him.   No,  good Italian Catholic girls did not show interest in men.

This man, Danny, kept coming back and always sat at  her table. Day after day she remained aloof, frightened to speak too much to him, yet she couldn’t help thinking it was nice that he was interested in her. Sometimes he was a little too forward like the day he said she looked terrible chewing her nails, but he had made a point that she couldn’t ignore.  And she was aware he never mentioned her stuttering.

One day,Danny arrived with a group of older men. Sweet Pea wondered who everyone was. She went to the table to take their orders and Danny announced that this was Shrimp, his own nickname for her, and that he had some long range plans for her. Next he made a point of telling her which of the gentlemen was his father and that the men were all cousins.   After they had eaten, Sweet Pea cleared the dishes and then began to offer them a refill of coffee.   As she asked Danny’s father if he wanted coffee, his hand patted her butt and said that he sure would like some.   Flustered and a little angry Sweet Pea  immediately responded by pouring hot coffee onto his lap, spouting out “Damn You” and running to the kitchen without looking back or ever returning to the table.

Two days later, Danny reappeared, sat at Peapod’s table and tentatively Sweet Pea came to take his order. Danny was just like he always was. He smiled, called her Shrimp and gave her his order.

In the weeks to come, Sweet Pea finally accepted his invitation to go to a movie. The movie opened the door and Sweet Pea and Danny started seeing each other.   She was delighted and never thought twice about Danny being so much older than her.    Danny showered her with little gifts.  She was awestruck when he gave her a half dozen real nylons, she knew what they cost and how hard they were to get.

Within a short time,  Danny became aware of Momma’s hold on Sweet Pea.  He never mentioned his disdain at how she was treated, but rather decided to leave it alone for Sweet Pea’s sake.  It was clear that he would let Momma Enzensio know that he thought Sweet Pea was special and that he would be close to her from now on. Soon after, he started buying her clothes, shoes and then came a a ChinChila coat and a fox fur coat.  Momma was beyond herself with jealousey.

Next came the war.

Sweet Pea was overwhelmed. Someone cared for her. Someone was there to protect her. Someone wasn’t going to let Momma get the best of her anymore. The tide was changing, yet Sweet Pea was saddened when Danny told her he was going to join the Navy and that for now he wouldn’t marry her or become engaged to her while he was gone. He was afraid that if he died she would decide to remain alone if they were married and he wanted her to be free.

The first year of Danny was at war, the loneliness Sweet Pea felt only was shown when she was alone.   She still worked and did the things Momma wanted yet, Momma’s control was a little less since metaphorically, Danny stood watching over Momma’s shoulder. Momma contained herself  until the day she found out Danny listed  Sweet Pea to get part of is salary each month.  The money went directly to the bank and momma could not touch it.  Next, Danny wrote a letter to Momma and Sweet Pea tell the both that Sweet Pea no longer needed to work, that she would be taken care of from then on.  He signed off by writing, “Shrimp, now you don’t have to work!” Oh was Momma annoyed.   Not only were her funds cut off, possibly her laborer would not help her with all the chores.

In the days and years that followed,   Sweet Pea  often locked herself into her room where she quietly cried and prayed her Prince would return to her.

Without notice, three years later Danny was at the door.

He was still in the Navy and he needed to visit his parents, but that didn’t damper Sweet Pea’s delight that he was home.

Early on a hot, rainy August  morning Danny and Sweet Pea vowed their ties to each other in the families’ catholic church.   Very shortly, Sweet pea would be Danny’s own “Shrimp” after she  walked down the aisle in a satin wedding gown with yards and yards of train.   Just before she began the journey to the altar, she looked out onto the parking lot from the little ante room she was in.   There in the parking lot Sweet Pea was shocked to see Danny’s aged Mother, Father and sister climbing the first steps into the church. Just recently Danny had said his Mother refused to be at the wedding. Danny had become Catholic and Mother did not approve.

When the ushers had seated the inlaws in their pews, the processional began. As Sweet Pea neared them, all she could think of was, “Why don’t they like me, what do I say?”    She held tighter onto her Pappa’s arm and in two more steps she was at the altar with Danny and let the worry pass for then. When the mass ended and she turned with Danny, Sweet Pea had little problem smiling at her  in laws.

As Sweet Pea entered the car, her worries returned momentarily, but once again the excitement of the day overtook her.   Her Momma had prepared a  breakfast and afternoon reception for the wedding party and there shouldn’t need to be worry.   At the close of the all the festivities , sitting in her room just after she changed from her gown to the  honeymoon travel suit, Sweet Pea took a moment to reflect upon her day. The one thing she was happy, appreciative of and surprised about was that her Momma, without being asked took over entertaining her in laws for the entire day. She never left their side which meant Sweet Pea never had to be alone with them. As she sat there thinking a rap sounded at the door. As she opened the she saw it was her Momma. Regardless of the past, Sweet Pea wrapped her arms around her Momma, kissed her sweetly and thanked her for the wonderful day she had given her, particularly in that she provided Sweet Pea with a day without worry.

The couple left the reception with rice and rose petals  being thrown at them and cheers from all to send them on their way to their honeymoon. That evening in St. Louis, Sweet Pea knew her world would be different from that night on–Her Prince Charming had saved her from the daily drudgery of work for Momma and Prince Charming, in turn would always adore his Cinderella until his dying day!

During the next fifteen years, little by little Sweet Pea stopped stuttering  It happened a little bit at a time, but she knew there was a significant difference in her when she was able to pick up the phone and say the word “Hello”, rather than an anguised “Yes”.  From then on the pace increased and within another two years a stutter was never again uttered.

When her Pappa died she had to attend the funeral alone.  No one accompanied her to the coffin and Sweet Pea fainted.  She was awakened by her brother’s calling her Pazzo l’uno.  When her Momma died her own family came for war.  Danny, her daughter and sister in law enjoyed sitting silently until a sibling uttered the shameful name.  Each were duly subdued by her family and as they left the chapel her sister-in-law turned to Sweet Pea’s family to say, “You all should be ashamed!”  It was the last day they were ever able to call her “Pazzo l’uno”.

Sweet Pea smiled warmly in the glow of her own families love!

For most of us Christmas is our special time of year. It is the time of snow, twinkling light, festive celebrations and hopefully a span of days that families are able to remember. There are dozens of ways Christians celebrate this day. Each area of the country will have little differences in what they may serve for Christmas dinner, when that is served, or even when the packages are open.

Christmas is so varied that I remember as a small child being continually confused between its meaning–there was Santa Claus, Jesus and St. Nick. When I went to church I thought I understood, but then in stores and in story books there were these other characters. My Mother tried her best to explain the differences in the meaning of Christmas, yet that understanding didn’t come until much later in my childhood.

Tonight Hannukah begins at sundown. In four short days Christmas will arrive. A busy time of year for most people and a time that because of being busy we may forget to tell the people that we are close to how important they are to us. It is a time of year that is to be filled with the warmth from our heart and share that warmth with others.

Hannukah also symbolises the light of religious, national and cultural freedom won by the Maccabee family for the Jewish people. If the Jews had been defeated at this time and their monotheistic religion obliterated, Christianity would never have been born, a very important point to remember when comparisons are made.

Kwanza, which is not a religious time, begins a week long celebration on December 26 and honors the values of ancient African cultures. The name Kwanzaa derives from the Swahili phrase ‘matunda ya kwanza’, meaning “first fruits”. The additional “a” was added to “Kwanza” so that the word would have seven letters, one for each of the Seven Principles, or Nguzu Saba, of Blackness. Each of the seven days of Kwanzaa is dedicated to one of the following principles. In order, they are:
* Umoja (Unity),
* Kujichagulia (Self-determination),
* Ujima (Collective work and responsibility),
* Ujamaa (Cooperative economics),
* Nia (Purpose),
* Kuumba (Creativity), and
* Imani (Faith).

Regardless which belief we have, individually the choice is special to us and our families. If our neighbors celebration is different than ours ask them to tell you about theirs. I am sure they are as curious of yours and you are of their festivities. Possibly we all should remember that saying Merry Christmas isn’t enough and that we need to include other seasonal greeting “Be Happy, Be Merry, May you enjoy Christmas, Hanukkah or Kwanza” or maybe we need to decide which individual celebratory greeting should be used——

Merry Christmas

Happy Hanukkah

May you enjoy Kwanza