Alone in the Woods

Fiorella was out on the land again today, having a wonderful time pulling rocks out of the ground and throwing them down the bowling-alley lane that she'd hacked out of the tangled woods with her pruners so su piedras would be nearer the entrada de las coches that she, as always, is shoring up so it doesn't wash out when la lluvia comes. There's something invigorating about hard physical work, and there's something inspiring about working in the woods, especially if one is all alone. Fio becomes a child again, a child who wonders about everything, a child who is sure there is a lost civilization under her feet, who talks to the rocks and the trees.

And they talk back. The trees are self-sacrificial, of course, but the rocks can be difficult. Fiorella is glad to report that they've finally gotten over their snit about Fio paying more attention to the gathering of la lena during the cold, hard winter, and are once again presenting themselves to her as candidates for driveway guard duty. They are worthy soldiers, and Fio can ask for no more.

What's on Your Mind, Fiorella?

Fiorella has been on a de-clutter binge for the last couple of years, sort of like when Monica scream-sings "Throw away, throw away!" in "The Medium." Right now, she's going through old, moldering pages from years ago--poems, drawings, short stories, newspaper clips, partially-written novels and theses, copies of tests she gave her students, and more. Any takers?
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Sheldon and Amy's wedding was the highlight of Fio's television week. It was not only cute, sweet, and funny, but it took took her mind off Trump for a thirty whole minutes.
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Fio is convinced that if you know how to say "hello" and "thank you" in ten different languages, the world is your oyster.
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Sonia Dog's main goal in life is to love and be loved, which is one of the reasons that Fio loves her so much.
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Mother would not approve of anything this outrageous, but Fiorella has moved the furniture around in the den so that it's all at a slant to the walls of the room. The rearrangement was necessitated by Husband's recliner being the only thing at a slant and driving Fiorella nuts.

Mother at 104

Today, on what would have been her mother's 104th birthday, Fiorella will be cremating her artifacts, the leftovers from her life that Fio and her brother have been storing for the past fifteen years. Anything anyone in the family wanted or could use has been doled out years ago, but the personal stuff remains. Over the summer, Fio went through these remnants carefully, saving anything that struck a chord with her--like photos, Mother's report cards, various diplomas and commendations--all of which were packed neatly in a large manila envelope for future generations to appreciate. But so many of the items that were apparently dear to Mother--like those two decorative candy boxes, her college notes, and what Fio suspects were her wedding shoes--had to go. But go where? Fio refused to toss any of her mother's treasures into the trash.

The solution came to her a couple of weeks ago, like a whispered message, and today she and Husband, who also loved her, will burn the remains of Mother's life in their fireplace, and the smoke will rise to the heavens.

Aging

Fiorella wrote this sonnet twenty-five years ago, and it holds true today: 

                             

TO MY CHILDREN

When I am old, so very old I stink

Of unwashed underarms and brain cell death

So old I shake, my spine and stature shrink,

I whistle, quake, and rattle with each breath--

When I am old, so very old I drool,

And age spots big as elephants appear,

When I forget my name and act the fool

And talk too loud because I cannot hear--

Even when I'm angry, trapped in rage,

Become a miser, call each dime misspent,

When I am cruel and stupid in my age,

When I reject you, scotch your good intent--

     Remember once I loved you of my will,

     And in my heart of hearts, I love you still.

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.

The Ones Who Went Ahead

I often think of the dead,
the ones who gave me life--
my parents, grandparents, ancestors
back to the first beginnings.
I think of those who were
my friends and teachers,
of everyone my life entwined--
and I love them all
and feel their  love
surrouding me
silently




,

Bounce-back

You can't keep a good girl down, especially when she has good friends like Evelyn Palfrey and Paula Marks. Fio met up with Evelyn at Starbucks today, then sped up the street to have lunch with Paula Marks at Dan's Hamburgers. By the time she headed home, she was giddy with love and laughter. There's nothing like having good friends. Nothing like sitting across the table from people who talk the same political language. Nothing like being in the company of people who are knowledgeable, literate, clever, sympathetic, and screamingly funny. 

Maybe Trump could have been a real person if he'd had friends like this. 

Armed for Christmas

WARNING: This is not Fiorella's usual joyful Christmas message because she is deeply concerned about the state of the world, her country, and her family. Her children are going through perilous passages in their lives, her country has turned itself over to an out-and-out crook, and her world is being rampaged by madmen who use religion as an excuse to kill and destroy. Ignorance is celebrated. Corruption is the name of the game. Hate and anger ride the air waves.

Where are laughter and fellowship? Where are goodness, mercy, honesty, and compassion? Where is love? Fio can only pray that God will prevail, and she hopes you will also.

Minnesota Son's Birthday

Today is the birthday of Fiorella's oldest child, and Fio can't help but reminisce a little. Minnesota Son was a big baby, just over ten pounds, with black hair and blue eyes, and, as the nurses had said, exceptionally pretty for a newborn.

The dark hair soon fell out, and medium brown hair came in at about the same time the blue eyes turned brown. Fio's brown-eyed mother was thrilled.  She held Son in her arms and, with her blue-eyed daughter standing beside her, said, "I think dark eyes look more intelligent."

Son was a good baby and slept through the night so early that it scared Fio the first time. He was an early walker too, but the talking came late, probably because, as Husband and Fio finally discovered, he needed tubes in his ears.

He was a very active child, learning to ride a two-wheel bike when he was three, and he loved playgrounds--always trying to figure out how things worked, like when he hunched down and peered at the motor under the merry-go-round. Later on, he learned how to fix anything mechanical, and now he can take on anything electronic.

He's good with animals and was always musical, a  talent that has blossomed through the years, as has his art. And he  has a great speaking voice and vocabulary and uses good grammar.

But most important, Son has a good heart and loves his wife, his family, and his God.

Fiorella is blessed.

Key

Friends and family, love and laughter are what get Fiorella through the day. Sometimes she has to work on the last two.

Linda Howard Revisited

Fio had become so involved with writing romances lately that she hadn't been reading any, which was a mistake, one that is currently being rectified while she sweats out the retrieval of her accidentally-deleted work-in-progress. Her book of choice was a vintage Linda Howard, McKenzie's Mountain.  The story line involves love, suspense, action, and mystery, and, most important to Fiorella, the ending is happy. Fio strongly recommends it.

Dark Romance

Fio has hit a dramatic turning point in her novella now, when the hero realizes he is irrevocably and forever in love.  Meanwhile, the heroine's black moments are about to commence.  Ah, yes--dark romance.  Sturm und Drang.  It's the only way Fio can write.

Clifford Kite, RIP

Sharon Kite called yesterday to tell me that her husband had died.  I searched for soothing words, but all I could say was that I loved her and that I was weeping with her, which was pretty much evident by the fact that I couldn't get a distinguishable word out.

I first met Sharon in church choir where we were bad girls who talked in the balcony during the sermon. But we were also strong leaders who were elected PTA  presidents. and we were career women with important responsibilities, and we are still the good friends who support each other in times of sorrow.

Bless you, my friend.  Again, all I can say is that I love you, and that I am weeping with you.

Good Wishes and Love

Mother was an emotional purist.  From the second that the phrase "Have a good day" came into general usage, she railed against it as being common and  insincere.  She also, you will remember, thought using the word "love" was cheap, that true love was shown by deeds rather than words.

Fio, on the other hand, is emotionally sloppy. She spatters the world with "Have a good day" and frequently uses the word "love," and she's sincere on both accounts.  Her theory is that wishing people well and telling people they are loved makes for a better world--for the speaker as well as the hearer.

A Blessed House

Fiorella reporting in--our Christmas day was wonderful.  We were thirteen at the table, which was really the dining table adjoined to a picnic table that Fio and Husband had lugged out of the depths of the garage.  The chairs came from all over the house and were joined by four brought by Brother Bill and his wife. After the gift give-aways and dinner--turkey breasts, ham, salmon, boiled potatoes, corn, mushrooms, pies, pudding--we all set up camp in the den, Fio handed out the stockings, and everyone talked and talked and talked.  And laughed and laughed and laughed.  Some of the guests had to leave as the afternoon wore on so the party moved into the front room, still talking.  And laughing.

Everyone is gone now, but the house is still resonating with vibes of love.

HB, Sonia!

Happy birthday, Sonia Dog!

Yes, baby dog is four years old today--twenty-eight in human years--and she's settled down into a lovely young lady.  Chasing after the deer doesn't interest her as much these days, and she can be trusted outside the house without a leash.  In fact, if we leave the back gate open, she just circles around to the front porch and lies down on the welcome mat until someone lets her in.

But she's still wary of visitors until Husband and I indicate all is well.  We take care of her and she takes care of us.

Waco, Old and New

Surprisingly, Fio survived her high school reunion. She talked to a lot of people, ate too much, and spent way too much time driving around New Waco and looking for Old Waco. Her elementary school has been replaced by a new school, her junior high is now a vacant lot, and her high school is a downtown apartment building.  The nice neighborhood she grew up on is going downhill fast.

To top it off, she and Husband spent an hour out in the hot sun checking out tombstones to find her parents' graves before they finally gave up and sought help from a cemetery employee. Then there was the flower arrangement Fio tried to make for the grave vase.  Sorry, Mom.  Fio's brain and fingers were fried by then.

But I love you.

True Christianity

For Shame, Kim Davis.  You are to Christianity what terrorists are to Islam. Christianity does not ignore the traveler by the side of the road. Does not reject people who are different.  Does not deal out hate. Christianity loves.

Drowned Child

Yes, Fiorella has seen the photo of the three-year-old Syrian boy in his blue shorts and red shirt, face down in the sand.  And she cried.  But there is so much more to it than this one child, to all the children, all the families.  Fiorella wants everyone rescued.  She wants everyone to have a safe place to live, a place where no one has to risk drowning in ocean crossings or smothering in the back of trucks or being shot by border guards.  People should not have to flee their homelands because of their race, sex, or religion.

But all Fio can do is try to spread the love.

Imperfect Parents

Fiorella's parents wanted their children to strive for the best, but they also wanted them not to be big-headed.

Thus, when Fio came home elated because she'd made 98.5 on one of Miss Osborn's quite challenging Latin tests and Miss O had written  "YOU ARE GOOD!" across the top of the page, Fio's father looked at her, smiled, and said "Why didn't you make 100?" And when he and her mother visited newly-wed Fio and Husband in their little duplex that Fio had spent days cleaning and decorating, all he noticed was the dust on the rungs of the rocker.  And when Husband made a room-to-room narrated video of Fiorella's lavish Christmas decorations, Dad let her know, with a smile, that Husband did a better job of narrating than she did.  What the heck!  She was the one who'd done all the work, who'd invested a whole month to hanging wreaths, bells, birds, swags, and ornaments!!

Why do these things still sting?  Fio knows her father loved her.

More to the point, what sort of dumb, unthinking, or mistaken things did Fio do to her own kids?