Halloween

Our gap-toothed pumpkin face is carved and lit
And witches' squadrons ride our windowpanes
While vampires, devils, ghouls--in counterfeit--
Seek treats or trickery at our door again.
My children hold me tightly by the hand
As I escort their Halloween debut
And shrink from every boisterous beggars' band
Because they fear the trumpery is true.
So I explain and soothe and hold them close
And tell them all is clever-made deceit--
Each Frankenstein, a playmate grandiose
Each ghost, a neighbor child wound in a sheet
But yet--a sound, a touch, a shadow--hark!
I glance behind my shoulder in the dark

Homegrown Firewood

Fiorella and Husband have been storing up firewood for winter. He discovered four dead oaks in a thick thicket of cedars a week back and the pruners and chainsaws were called into action.  We set up a couple of sawhorses near the edge of the western woods, and, over the next couple of days,  Fio hauled out promising dead branches while Husband sawed them into fireplace lengths.  Next, we loaded the logs into the trunk of Husband's car and delivered them to the firewood rings in front of the house. There's probably have enough firewood to last a mild central Texas winter, but we may cut and saw another long branch or two, just to be sure.

Fiorella loves being firewood self-sufficient. It's not just that supermarket wood is pricy, but that it's sawed and shaped to fit in small apartment-sized fireplaces, and Fio's fireplace is almost four feet wide. Also, there's something "Little-House-on-the-Prairie" satisfying about burning wood you've harvested off your own land.  In fact, Fio got so carried away by the pioneer spirit that she grabbed her pruners and hacked her way through the jungle behind the house, making a pathway to the huge boulders she'd spotted a couple of months ago, but couldn't get to because of the cedar.

The time will come when Fio and Husband will have to leave this wonderful untamed land, but not yet, not yet.

Out of It

Gonna be quick
I'm feeling sick
Truth to tell
I didn't sleep well
Have nothing to say
So go on your way
And have a nice day

Miscarriage

The heroine of Fiorella's telenovela had a miscarriage, which opened wide the memory gates that time had built around Fio's own miscarriage.

She remembers how, with her dripping blood all along the way, she and Husband had to wind their way alone through the entrails of the dimly-lit night-time hospital because her obstetrician didn't show up at the back door like he said he would. How she didn't know she was having a miscarriage and went into surgery thinking the doctor would make her bleeding stop and all would be well. How afterwards she was assigned to the maternity wing because the other wards were full, and some senile old nun doddered in and asked what she had, then turned huffy when Fio said she had a dog and a guinea pig. How when it was time for her to leave, the staff member helping her down the hall said the hospital wouldn't let her have a wheelchair because then she'd  feel sorry for herself. How one of her neighborhood friends told her that the miscarriage was God's way of saving her from having a deformed baby.

There are some of the better memories Fio has. The worst are even worse.

Three-part Adventure

Fiorella started the day by meeting up with an old friend of hers, a fellow poet, and they discussed the state of the nation, the country, and their own lives. Carol, who is more philosophically inclined than Fio, calls herself an old soul, but Fiorella suspects she herself is a newbie because that's the only way she can explain the stupid things she's done in her life

On the way home, Fiorella stopped at the post office to mail some packages, but time and time again, the self-serve machine rejected her so she had to get in line for counter service. The woman in front of her was on her phone, and Fio's ear caught a slight accent, so, of course, as soon as the woman finished her call, Fiorella asked her where she was from--PUERTO RICO! The woman had been speaking to her mother to see if the supplies she had sent home had arrived yet, and she told Fio that her parents were lucky because their home was built of concrete and they had a generator, although it would only run for about three hours a day. "Most people are not that lucky," she added.

When it was Fio's turn at the counter, her ear caught another accent. She looked at the post office man, then at his name badge (Hoang) and took a chance. "Vietnamese?" He looked surprised, but said "yes." Fiorella, of course, asked him how to say "hello" in Vietnames, and she thought he said something that sounded like "gau," which she dutifully practiced all the way home until she suddenly remembered that years ago Michele Bidelspach had taught her that "chao" was how to say it." Maybe the post office man was using a dialectal version or maybe Fio's linguistic ears aren't what they used to be. She's betting on the latter.

Obviously, sometimes the mighty lords og=f technology wli;; sometimes allow Fio topost a picture on her blog and sometimes they won't. Is she not paying the right tribute? What's going on--or not going on? What magic touch does Fio lack.

Yo y Mis Lentes

If you have a collection of plastic pill bottles you want to go to a worthy cause, consider Matthew 5 Ministries, 11060 Kenwood Road, Cincinnati, Ohio 45242. Used eyeglasses can be sent to New Eyes, 549 Milburn Avenue, P.O. Box 332, Short Hills, New Jersey 07078. Fio's just sent her boxes off and hopes you will consider doing the same.

Speaking of glasses, Fiorella has two new pairs. The way glasses disappear on her, she always has to have a back-up. She's convinced that when she gets heaven, all the lost glasses will come tottering toward her in a single accustory line.

But Fio, you say, why don't you get contacts or have your eyes lasered? Because I have permanent lenses by way of a cataract operation, Fio answers, and anyway, I think eyeglasses make my squinchy eyes look bigger and more limpid. Don't you?

Do you have graduated lenses, you further inquire? No, I tried those a couple of years ago and they didn't work at all. The optician said it was because my nose wasn't the right shape, which I've always thought was hilarious--and unique.

Besides, it's not as if Fio wears her glasses all the time--just to drive or watch TV. Otherwise, she fling them wherever they land. Oops--maybe that's the problem.

He Never Met A Stranger

Fio is her father's daughter. Dad always had a smile on his face. He talked to waiters, bellboys, people in cafeteria lines. No wonder his nickname was "Buddy," and he was president of his high school class. No wonder he moved upward at work, despite having only a class or two of college. No wonder he was able to organize bowling and golf leagues.

Fio is her mother's daughter. Mom had the eye and knew not only how to dress, but also how to decorate home and garden. She was a hard worker, devoted to her family, and particularly sensitive to the needs of children and old people. Musical-harmonica and piano by ear. Lovely singing voice, but shy about singing. Shy about people too, the axact opposite if Dad, but she was a dtermined PTA member both to help her children and because a PTA scholarship had helped her finish college. Spelling, loyal to PTa, perfect attendance.

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Fairytale 

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13 mins · 

Another one of Fiorella's posters, this time for a show she was in many years ago.

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Technology, Philosophy, Daughter, Sears, Drama

Fio never could have made it in the technology filed. It's all about algorithms, and she doesn't follow directions well.
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We are all the end result of how we've lived our lives.
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One of Fio's most cherished memories is of attending an award assembly at Daughter's middle school. Daughter, who was handing out programs at the door and was one of the awardees, greeted her with a hissing "Go away!"--which Fiorella treasures as endearingly teenage.
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What goes around comes around, and catalog shopping is back. Just like her mother ordered Fio's underwear from the Sears catalog many long years ago, Fiorella is now ordering her underwear online from Amazon.
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No, Fiorella does not watch fake drama on TV on in movies. She's got enough of the real McCoy in her own life.

Episode of Enlightenment

Fiorella dropped by the supermarket to pick up Halloween goodies yesterday afternoon, and apparently everyone else in town had the same idea because H-E-B was crowded to the gills. We were all rushing to and fro like frenzied ants, but suddenly, Fio stopped and looked around. This was a store full of people, real live people, not an ant pile, and each person was his own indivdual--and Fiorella immediately wanted to connect with every one of them . She wanted to introduce herself to them, to shake hands all around and exchange life stories, to admire their children, share their sorrows, congratulate them on their victories, and encourage their dreams.

Not that Fio did any of this--you'd be reading about her being hauled off by the cops if she had--but it was a wonderful episode of enlightment. For several blissful moments, she was as one with every single person in  the store.

Gait, Dog, Weinstein, Kelly, Melania

Fio had forgotten how much the orthotics had improved her gait, but now that hers are being sent away for repairs, she's in pain, specifically in her left leg. Yes, she's almost totally flat-footed on that side.
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Happy sixth birthday to Sonia Dog. We celebrated by taking her through the Dairy Queen drive-through for a Puppy Cup, then singing Happy Birthday to her. She seemed grateful--for the ice cream if not for the singing.
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That Harvey Weinstein stuff. Fio thought everyone knew the entertainment world was like that, a meat market. What the headlines are leaving out is that it can be just as bad for attractive men, but nobody's going to talk about it.
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Fiorella is disappointed in Kelly. Apparently he can help Trump get better organized and make his speeches sound more pesidential, but he is just as big a liar as the rest of the sewer rats.
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Who cares whether Melania' has a stand-in? It's not as if she matters, except maybe to Putin.

Losses

On Wednesday, Fio will be taking her Tide container pumpkins over to a dear longtime friend who is dealing with a cancer reoccurrence. Fiorella hopes they'll make Sharon laugh, and laughter cures all ... she prays.
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Yesterday, Fiorella picked up two new pairs of glasses for herself and somehow lost her wrist watch in the process. She'll be searching the car at dawn's early light and then calling the optomatrist's.
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Fio's lost ground on her book, staying in Austin all day on Thursday while Husband had a  medical precedure, and then driving herself into Austin on Friday to get her false vocal cords shot up with botox.
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Because she didn't keep her calendar straight, Fiorella has lost a valued friend.  She hadn't written down her friend's BD so she missed it, and when she tried to make up for it, she didn't consult her calendar and had to change to another date because she'd already committed to Brother for that date. Friend wasn't amused.
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Fio has to mount a search for some information for the family lawyer that she never thought she'd have to provide and which she may have lost forever. Oh well--it's just money.

Plastic Pumpkins

The minute Fiorella spotted the orange Tide containers, she knew what she was going to do with them. Again, thank you, Mrs. Ruebright. May your name live forever in the annals of paper art.

Boo!

Trick or treat, but beware of the dog!  Fiorella went out early in the morning, barefoot and in her robe, and took a picture of her Halloween door, not realizing she'd be reflected in it, pumpkin head and all. 

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Halloween Decor

Is there anyone in the world beside crazy Fiorella who would make a garland out of bats? Blame it on her kindergarten teacher who could do anything with scissors and paper. Did she ever realize how closely Fio watched her work her magic? HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Learning Pleasure

           

And here's the first page of a romance called Learning Pleasure that I'm thinking of putting on the market after I'm finished with Phillipa's story. It won a fair number of contests a while back.

 “How do you do, Mr. Graham,” Ann said, holding out her hand and hoping he wouldn’t take it. 
      Neil Graham was exactly the sort of man she tried to avoid--tall, handsome, and charming.  But handsome is as handsome does, and twelve years ago she had learned not to trust handsome any further than she could throw it.  She wasn’t too fond of height either, and risking a quick glance upward, she realized that the top of her head would barely reach his shoulder. 

            He shook her hand and smiled, revealing a dimple in his right cheek.  “I’m delighted to meet you, Ms. McCoy.  You’re my son’s favorite teacher.  He talks about you all the time.”  He winked.  “I think he’s got a crush on you.”

            “He--he’s a darling boy,” she answered in a tight voice, jerking her hand away before she had a full-blown panic attack.    

            Better to seem rude than crazy.  She readjusted her heavy, black-framed glasses on the bridge of her nose and backed up two discreet steps.  And better to seem crazy than ever again find herself in a situation she couldn’t escape from.

          

A Bit of a Bite

Lookee what Fiorella found in her document file--her never-published vampire novel, and here's a taste of it!

Tally huddled in the far corner of the back seat of the cab returning her to the ferry terminal.  It reminded her of her first trip to New York four years ago, covered with a dark sheet and curled up in the back seat of a limousine with heavily tinted windows.  She'd been seventeen then, confused and alone, heading toward the only sanctuary she knew.  Now she was twenty-two, confused and alone, with no sanctuary in sight.

            So, Helen had been right on the money about the effects of sexual excitement.  Tally curled her fingers into her palms.  There was blood beneath her nails.  Well, at least she hadn't bitten Stephen, but the thought of tasting him made her hunger surge again, almost painful in its intensity.  She pressed a hand to her stomach and studied the loutish cabbie's thick, fleshy neck.  Would anyone really miss him?

            No, Tally, you have a choice!  Even louts have families who love them.

            Breathing slowly and deliberately, she tried to calm herself.  She could handle this. In fact, she had prepared for emergencies like this.  Opening up her purse, she searched methodically for a small silver flask, unscrewed the lid, and lifted it to her lips., then rolled the thick, dark liquid on her tongue before letting it slide down her throat.  With all the insulation, the flask couldn't hold much, but it was enough.

            She licked lips and smiled in satisfaction.  God bless anti-coagulants.

            The cab driver's eyes followed her in the rear-view mirror.

            "Just for emergencies," she called from the darkness of the back seat, with what she hoped was a jaunty smile.

            He didn't reply but his eyes snapped back to the road again.  She took one more sip. Why had she thought she had to explain herself to him?  So what if some loutish cab driver thought she was an alcoholic?  He'd probably seen a lot worse--and at least he wasn't dead.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Five Things Fiorella Has Learned about Middle-class Mexican Families from Her Telenovela

1) The women--the mothers and grandmothers--are the ones who run the families.

2) Everyone is always saying tranquila, but it doesn't have any effect.

3) Every home has its own trash can on the street, so if a mother wants to know what's being kept secret from her, she sorts through la basura.

4) All the women dress well, but remember, blondes or women with prominent facial moles are evil.

5) The family members have a special radar that draws them to the same large park at the same time so that despite living in a big city with several parks, they're always running into each other "unexpectedly."

Change of Seasons

Fiorella heard the rustle of some leaves falling this morning, and wrote:
Be of good cheer
Autumn is here
Which means, my dear.
That winter is near

This little poem might not be as meaningful to Fiorella's friends in the northern reaches of the country as it is to her, but remember, where Fio lives, "cold" starts at 70 degrees and rarely sinks down to the freezing point.

What Fio Doesn't Understand

1)Fio doesn't understand why it is that sometimes she can transfer her photos from FB to her blog and sometimes she can't, like right now, which means you are missing out on is a nice picture of the lavender plants that Husband planted in the front-porch urns last week.

2)She also don't understand why she has to use FB as the intermediary, why she can't just unload pics from her phone onto her blog.

3)She also doesn't understand why the TV "guide" has stopped working and half her channels are now labeled "to be announced."

4)She also doesn't understand why her favorite shows get pre-empted for football games. Surely some better arrangement could be made.

5) She also doesn't understand why Lucifer and Big Bang Theory, the only two English-language shows that she watches, are scheduled on the same day and at the same time, forcing her to make a choice she doesn't want to make.

Perspective,Facebook, Nature/Nurture, Milk, Trump Opera.

Mother spent most of her married life in her house, by choice. Fiorella has spent most of her life in her car, not by choice. Mother lived in a world that was much too small, but Fio lives in a world that is w-a-y too big.
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Strangely, Fio seems to have a lot more free time now that she's cut back on her Facebook visits. Can't figure it out.
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Fiorella grew up in an era when nurture was considered to be more important than nature. The scales have tipped now, of course, but Fio thinks nurture is important. Maybe it doesn't form the child, but it does influence him.
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Milk was the beverage of choice in Fio's family so her teen-age rebellion was to drink Cokes, but now she's made the complete circle and is back to what her father called 'Nature's most nearly perfect food." Not for the lactose-intelerant, of course, but remember, Fio is of the lactose-persistent variety.
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Some lines for Fio's Trump opera:

I tell them what they want to hear
Whatever it is that makes them cheer
Then, my honey,
I'll bet you money
I'll be your president next year

Halloween Treats

Fio's big art project this week has been, as she told you, her paper bats and jack-o'-lanterns. She's got twice as many bats this year, which means the whoosh across her front windows looks something like a tornado, although no one but Husband, herself, and the yard man will ever see it. Living in the heart of the jungle is nice for privacy, but not for showing off one's creative chops. But that doesn't stop your Fio. It makes her happy to look at her bats and the paper pumpkins in a vertical line down the front door too, with tiny bats spiraling between them. And the smiling calabasa is taped to the window of the second-floor landing. .

But Fio, you say. Where is the picture of your art project? Why haven't you posted one on your blog? Well, she has tried, but she can't pick it up from FB. She's guessing that the presentation was too big to transfer, but try as she might, she can't shrink it down. Maybe it's too early in the morning. Check Fio out again later in the day.

Always Busy

Yes, Fio is running later again, and her computadora was the culprit, but Click Computer Repair saved the day. But in the meantime, Fiorella had a get-together with a friend at an appointed time, then had to drive into Austin for a check-up on her eyelids, which are going just fine. So now she's back home and catching up on everything else.

First of all, the weather has changed and we've dipped below eighty, which means that Fio and the newly-planted lavenders are thrilled, Husband not so much. Another thing Fio is catching up with is her Halloween decor--paper bats across the window panes, paper pumpkins on the front door, a plastic skeleton hanging from the mailbox. And then there's the book, Spanish, etcetera. But you've heard all that.

What is it about Fiorella? She wants to paint rather than look at paintings, to sing rather than be sung at, to design or construct rather than buy, to move rather than sit, to do rather than wait. Hang on, everyone. The Express Train is in town!

Busy Bee

Fiorella and Husband had a wonderful afternoon in Austin with Brother and his wife, first at a very nice restaurant, and then at a clever performance of 17th century art songs.   Not only did Fio enjoy a tasty salmon dinner, but she also got a free dessert because it was her three-month belated birthday celebration. Next came the Early Music Project, hosted by the First Presbyterian Church. Of course, Fio and Brother, who took voice lessons many years ago and had actually sung some of the songs, were in their element.
Fio's singing voice is gone now, but it's all for the best. She's got too many irons in the fire as it is. One of those fires is putting up her Halloween decorations--wrapping the plastic skeleton around the mailbox, arranging her cardboard bats on the window, and sticking paper pumpkins around and about. And, of course, she needs to start on the fifth revision of Phillipa's story, clear the fallen branches and rotten limbs out of the south woods, and plow ahead on Spanish.
Too bad she has so much spare time.

Personal Rants

As far as Fio's concerned, there's never a red light available when she's on the road and needs to jot down notes for whatever she is writing.
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Your's truly is so bitten up by mosquitoes that it'll be a miracle if she has any blood left for her INR nurse to draw next time around.
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Fio hijacked Husband's little red cushion for her car seat, and the world has really opened up now that she can see over the top of her steering wheel.
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Fiorella was a top-notch student, but she thinks it's a lot more important to be a good person. She also supports public schools, which have long been the melting pot of the nation.
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Husband is watching a football game on TV, but Fio couldn't care less. The only time she ever got excited about football was years ago when she was in a stadium and got carried away by the enthuiasm of the crowd. 

Insurance, Revision, Scripts, Rocas, Trump

Fiorella has been thinking it over, and she wants the same kind of health insurance that the five surviving presidents have.
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Be happy for Fiorella! She's finished off her fourth revions of Phillipa's story. Only about five hundred more to go.
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After talking to an Indian man from Kerala at the Mazda place last week, Fio has decided to brush up on Telugu again, or at least the script. Has she told you that she loves to learn foreign scripts? How better can she combine her three great loves--art, writing, and languages?
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While Fiorella was outside yesterday, her stalwart guardians along la entrada de coches told her that they don't want to be called piedras, that they had signed on as rocas, and rocas they will remain.
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Trump advocates violence. He encourages it at his rallies, picks fights with other countries, and sets his staff at odds with each other. Sad.

Duggars, Little Couple, Telenovela, Nipples, Aging

The Duggars better watch out. With nineteen  kids in the family, one of them is likely to develop a brain--and the yen to write a tell-all.
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Fio probably won't be watching The Little Couple anymore. They've moved back to Florida because Jen has snagged a new job with Johns Hopkins, a job which has apparently doubled their income because they've bought a three-story, two-million-dollar-plus mansion, the ground floor of which is for their cars. In the first episode, the whole family flew to England, and  Bill took the kids to a brewery and a castle while Jan made a presentation to a medical group about using social media. The kids, of course, ran wild, and in between tastings of Scotches, Bill snickered to viewers about what a bad dad he was. Fiorella was not amused.
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Fio is desperatly trying to buy a DVD of a telenovela on line, but doesn't know which one to choose or how to go about the process. She wishes she could get one she's already seen or the show she's watching now.
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Sorry, Jennifer, but Fio has zero (cero) interest in the "free the nipple" movement. With everything else that's going on in the country, it sounds a little silly. For the record, Fio doesn't care one way or another about nipples, but she does care about breast support to relieve pain. Heavy breasts can hurt.
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What is the use of getting old if you don't improve along the way?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DARLING!

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Eulogy for Us All

Fiorella was numb at first, in shock, sick at the heart, but now she's angry. She's angry at the weapon makers for overproduction. She's angry at the NRA for its power grab. She's angry at legislators who have been paid off. She's angry at broadcasters who feed their audiences with conspiracy theories. She's angry at TV shows and movies that glamorize combat. And she's angry at herself that she can't somehow stop the madness.

Why do people kill each other? Why are they even mean to each other? Why do they make up stories about each other? Can't we all live in harmony and mind our own business? Can't we all help each other, value each other, enjoy each other?

Fiorella's goal for her earthly existance is to make the world a better place. That's why she writes novels about women who overcome extreme difficulties. That's why she expresses herself about the state of the nation on Facebook. That's why she tries to be a good friend and the best mother in the world. That's why she smiles all the time. Sure, she doesn't always have something to smile about, but there's always tomorrow.

But for the people who were killed in Las Vegas, there is no tomorrow. Fiorella is angry.

Reality and Fiction

Fiorella couldn't believe it, but she, who doesn't watch much television, had to make a hard decision last night--whether to watch her telenovela or the first show of the season of Lucifer, which were both running at 8:00, after another one of her favorites, Big Bang Theory. She ended up opting for Lucifer because it would only be on once a week while her telenovela would be on every night, but she still resented having to make a choice.

But Big Bang, Lucifer, Mi Marido Tiene Familia--all three of them ran second fiddle to how she felt about what had happened in Las Vegas. A pall of sorrow followed her all day yesterday, and even though she ended up watching the second half of her telenovela because Lucifer was just a half-hour teaser, it didn't matter because none of the shows really grabbed her. How could they? She was numb. Just like everyone else in the country was.

Catchng Up On the News

Good morning! Did you miss me? Fiorella was paying a visit to computer hell. More specifically, yesterday afternoon, her laptop decided to block her from getting on line, although Husband's laptop was happy to accommodate him. And because it was Sunday, Fio couldn't run over to Click for a quick fix. That meant she went almost twent-four hours without Google News, Facebook, and gmail, which drove her crazy.

But all is now well, thanks to a visit with Click an hour ago, and guess what? IT WASN'T FIO'S COMPUTER, IT WAS THE ROUTER, WHICH IS UNDER HUSBAND'S JURISDICTION.  When Fio came home and gave him the news, he scrambled around upstairs and took care of the problem so now she's now getting caught up on everything--but she doesn't like what she's hearing. The LasVegas massacre is beyond comprehension, and the only theory Fio has heard so far is that the shooter, who loved to gamble, lost everything and was wreaking his revenge on Las Vegas. If so, how sad, to make one's legacy a horror story. The only one who benefits from it is Trump because it's taken the spotlight off his mishandling of the Puerto Rican situation and the football kneeling.

Hodge Podge

It irritates the heck out of Fiorella to watch HGTV shows about people who toss money around like it's water. And they're all so young!
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Did you know Price's exodus has brought the tally of number of Trumps' drop-outs to fourteen? And he hasn't even been in office a year yet?
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With the heavy rains we've had, Fio's bayberries look like they've grown a foot taller. Too bad they don't know she's going to be chopping off their heads come November.
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Why is it Fio has nine mosquito bites on her left arm and none on her right?
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Fio got hit by an older man backing his truck out of a parking space at Walgreens the other day.  Apparently, he couldn't see that Baby Car had already started backing, but, luckily, the man sitting in a car next to Fio realized what was happening and honked his horn long and loud. Fio stopped. The truck didn't. CRASH! The older man parked and hobbled over to look at the damage to Baby Car. Surprisingly, there was none, so Fio's going to stop by Mazda and tell the all guys what great rear ends they have.