Friday, June 23, 2017

Birthday Time!

Today is Husband's birthday, and we are going to celebrate whether he wants to or not. Minnesota son and Fio have arranged to pick up a chocolate cake from Papi's Pies and take it to the rehab hospital where Husband is recovering from knee-replacement. Then we will party, party, party. That's what birthdays are for.

Fiorella is a birthday nut. Her parents always recognized hers with gifts and joy, but she looked around and realized there could be more to it--like a decorated cake and a big party. Thus, when it came time for her own children's birthdays, she went all out. She did the same for everyone else's birthdays too, like those of her parents-in-law, who weren't big celebrators. But Fiorella wouldn't let them off the hook. Every birthday, the family drove over to their home with a decorated cake and sang "Happy Birthday" to them. One of the nicest--and saddest--things her mother-in-law ever said was "Fiorella taught us to enjoy birthdays."

Fio will get into heaven on that.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

Morning, Noon, and Night

Fiorella lives by lists and systems. Her major lista is the one she writes down for the next day (manana), but she also consults her calendario. Her sytems include such things as feeding la perra her daily pildoras--Fio puts a gob of peanut butter on the handle of una cuchara o tendedor (spoon or fork), sticks una pildora in the mess, and presents it to Sonia, who eagerly gulps it down.
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If there's a body count category for the Mexican telenovela awards, La Piloto will win it hands down. Not only have the extras died like flies, but several of the minor characters have also been killed off. Of course, our heroine is in peril--again. The only way she could save the life of la bebe de una amiga (who had been killed) was to surrender herself to the sadistic Santamaria. Of course, she was rescued by Dave and her friends, but not before Sanamaria, quien no es un santo, strung her up by her wrists and branded her with a red hot cattle iron. Her scream could be heard all the way to Hollywood.
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The day is surprisingly cool for central Texas in late June, and the house is quiet. Maybe Fio can get through a couple more chapters of her work-in-progress before anyyone gets back to the house. Ah, pandemonium, I know you well.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Sleeping Quarters

First, Husband went to the hospital for a knee-replacement, then to rehab, and now he'll be coming home on Saturday, and next week he'll start in-home therapy. Earlier, Husband had told Fio he would be able to walk upstairs when he came home, which meant he'd be able to sleep in the master bedroom, but now it looks like he'll have to stay downstairs for a while, which means he'll sleep on the couch, and Fio, who usually sleeps on the couch because Husband flails in his sleep and accidentally hits her, will have to sleep upstairs. Of course, there is a downstairs guest bedroom, but Minnesota son, who has braces on his ankles, can't navigate the stairs any better than his father. Fio may end up wrapped in a blanket on the floor.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Time Off

Gonna be quick
'Cause feeling sick
Naught to say
But have a good day.

Monday, June 19, 2017

Mixed Bag

Running late today, but everything is upside down and round-about in Fiorella's life right now. Minnesota son is here to help while Husband is in knee-surgery rehab, but every time Fio turns around, something else goes wrong, like this morning, when she discovered her car battery was dead.. But then there are the good things, like Son jump-starting it for her and, then sending her out to drive around the neighborhood to make the sure the engine understood it had been recharged, which, of course, meant that she stopped on the way back to the house to lay down a few rocks that had been rattling around in her trunk, and a neighbor spotted her putting the rocks in place, stopped, and promised her more rocks.

WIN-WIN!


Sunday, June 18, 2017

Remembering My Father

Fiorella's father was a hard worker out of necesssity. When he was thirteen months old, his father was killed in a coal mine accident, leaving his mother to support their three children. Times were tough until she and one of her sisters got the contract to clean the schoolhouse. Of course, Dad and his brother and sister were expected to help. One of Dad's most poignant memories was looking out the window while he was sweeping the floor and seeing the other children at play.

As he grew up, Dad picked up odd jobs around the neighborhood, like killing chickens and herding cattle down to the river and back. And after graduating from high school, he took the inevitable bus ride from Osceola Mills to Akron and scored a job with General Tire, eventually becoming a foreman, then being sent to Waco, Texas, to head up the biggest department in the plant.

Dad played as hard as he worked. A born athelete, he played basefball and football in high school, added golf, tennis and bowling when he hit Akron, and, in Waco, established a company golf league and bowling league. Fio remembers the rows of sports trophies lining the garage shelves.

But best of all, Dad was a sweet father. His eyes glowed with warmth when he looked at his children, and Fiorella always knew that she was loved.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Rest in peace. May you bowl 300 in heaven.



Saturday, June 17, 2017

What's Up With Fiorella

 You may have noticed that yesterday's poem went through two modifications before Fio was satisfied with it, That's how it goes--anything Fiorella writes or paints is subject to revision until she gets it right. But why does Fio rhyme so much, you ask. Because rhymes are always whirling around in her head like a swarm of demented fireflies--buys/size/lies/tries/dies/guys/highs/pies/rise/ties/thighs/ies/wise/ 
shies/stys/guise. And then there are the half-rhymes....
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The elctronic world has passed Fiorella by. She writes on una computadora, uses email, and knows how to text, but that's it. On the other hand, she can also write longhand, use a landline, communicate by letter, and even start a fire without turning on the gas, so maybe she'll survive in a hut out in the woods somewhere.
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The ecoles must have closed down for summer vacation because France, which bolstered Fiorella's readership to flatteringly high numbers, has deserted her again. You know Fio's theory--that English professeurs are using her blog to illustrate Ameican colloquialisms.
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The end of La Piloto is near. The villains have been winnowed down to Yolanda's former lover, his current girlfriend, the crazed colonel, la bruja, and a crew of disposible extras. No dramatic death scenes like the ones in El Color de la Pasion, though. Just bang, bang---you're dead.
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The temperatures are climbing here in central Texas. It's going to be a 100-degree week so think cooling thoughts in Fio's direction. She was not born for hot weather. Remember her genealogy.


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