Our gracious host Jenne at The Unicorn Challenge has offered up this photo prompt hoping to inspire us to creatively write something in 250 words or less. This is my 250-word response to the photo prompt.
The year was 1987. Bill and I were celebrating our 15th wedding anniversary by going on a cruise to the Bahamas with our sons, aged 10 and 8.
On the third day we made plans to disembark at our next port of call β¦. St. Thomas β¦. and asked one of the stewards to recommend a nice beach. He gave us a name, saying it was not a touristy place and if we were lucky, weβd see some iguanas. Having had a pet iguana before, the boys were excited.
We ate breakfast in an outdoor cafe with thatched umbrellas before heading to the beach, bringing with us some leftover croissants and muffins too delicious to leave behind. The steward was right; the beach was deserted. It was pristine with the clearest, bluest water weβd ever seen. After a couple of hours, there was still no sign of iguanas anywhere and our boys were sorely disappointed. We searched a large rock outcropping, knowing the little lizards like hiding in crevices, but none were there.
Rounding the rocks to check out what was on the other side, we stopped dead in our tracks. It was like a land before time with iguanas the size of small dinosaurs sunning themselves on the beach. They were magnificent and, aside from their enormous whip-like tails, appeared harmless.
Cautious yet unafraid, we slowly approached as the herbivores watched from heavy-lidded eyes. To our sons’ utter delight and amazement, iguanas enjoy being fed leftover muffins and croissants!
The layout of Freedomland; I’d forgotten it was in the shape of the US!
Back in 1960, before the first Six Flags opened in Texas, there was Freedomland USA β¦. a fantastic, 85-acre amusement park with rides, restaurants, attractions, shopping, etc. And one of the things that made this wonderland so amazing was the fact that it was about 20 minutes from my house in The Bronx, NY. We would sit on our front porch at night and watch the fireworks coming from Freedomland.
“What else was so special about the place?”, you ask; well, it was the music hall known as the Moon Bowl!
In an attempt to attract visitors of varying ages, the Moon Bowl featured swing bands from the 1940s and contemporary pop stars. There was a stage and a 15,000 square foot outdoor dance floor. Among the performers who entertained us (and who I saw) were the Count Basie Orchestra, Paul Anka, Bobby Darin, Connie Francis, Bobby Rydell, Chubby Checker and more.
A ticket to Freedomland; check out the price of admission!
Bobby Darin performing at the Moon Bowl
Somewhere in my attic I have many tickets and autographs tucked away with all my Beatles scrapbooks and R&R memorabilia. I was a very lucky girl who got to meet a lot of famous people! Unfortunately, Freedomland USA went belly up after just five seasons but I have memories that will last forever.
Today I am featuring one of the performers I saw at Freedomland, the place where I fell in love with him when I was 10 years old β¦. the one-and-only Bobby Darin, definitely tops on my list. He can bring me out of a lousy mood or help me chill when Iβm feeling stressed out.
There arenβt enough adjectives to describe the incredible talents of Bobby Darin. He was the consummate performer, a one-man show who composed songs, conducted the orchestra, sang different genres of music, danced, played the drums, piano, harmonica and guitar, did impressions, acted in movies and dazzled us with his Sinatra-like charm, mannerisms and sense of humor. My fellow-New Yorker was born Walden Robert Cassotto on May 14, 1936. It was a time when ethnic-sounding names such as his were frowned-upon by music producers; they felt something more white bread Americana would help these performers with strange names go further in the biz so Walden Robert Cassotto became Bobby Darin.
Bobby was only 37 years old when he died .β¦ recurring bouts of rheumatic fever as a child left him with a seriously weakened heart. Believing his time on earth was limited, he lived his life to the fullest, pushing himself to all he could. In 1973, after failing to take antibiotics to protect his heart before a dental visit, Bobby developed sepsis. On December 19, 1973, a four-person surgical team worked for over six hours to repair his damaged heart. In the early morning hours of December 20, Bobby Darin died in the recovery room without regaining consciousness. That day the entertainment world lost one of its brightest stars and my own heart broke a little.
Β βMack The Knifeβ is undoubtedly Bobby Darinβs most famous hit β¦. a cool, finger-snapping song about the notorious killer, thief and arsonist, Macheath (AKA Mac the Knife). The song was originally written in 1928 for the German dramatic play Die Dreigroschenoper (Threepenny Opera) and sounds totally different than Bobby Darinβs version.
Another one of Bobbyβs hits is βBeyond The Seaβ, a jazzed-up version of a romantic love song based on the classical piece called βLe Merβ by French composer, lyricist, singer and showman Charles Trenet. The 2004 movie Beyond The Sea was released starring Kevin Spacey in the role of Bobby Darin. In case you only Spacey for his dramatic roles and have never seen him in a musical role, youβre in for a treat. Spacey is a master of impersonations and sang all Bobby Darinβs songs himself. He became Bobby Darin and if you like dramatic biographies with a splash of nightclub routines, youβll love this movie.
Anything else you want to know about Freedomland, USA or Bobby Darin you can Google or read in Wiki. Iβm just so grateful I had a chance to spend my pre-teen years in a place like Freedomland where I got to see Bobby Darin up close and personal and got his autograph. People have asked me βWhy donβt you sell some of this stuff? Youβve got a treasure trove packed away.β Yeah, itβs a treasure trove and thatβs exactly why Iβll be keeping it for as long as I live.
This is Bobby Darin performing his greatest hit, βMack The Knifeβ on the Ed Sullivan Show, May 31, 1959.
Now βBeyond The Seaβ, also from the same airing of the Ed Sullivan show.
In this video, several of the many talents of the fabulous Bobby Darin are put on display. Bobby sings, plays bluesy harmonica, boogies on piano and performs a blistering Gene Krupa style drum solo. Live on the David Frost Show, 1972 β¦. 18 months before his death.
I hope you enjoyed taking a walk with me down Memory Lane …. not just sharing my fond, girlhood memories of Freedomland but remembering the remarkable Bobby Darin.
Our lovely host, Rochelle, at Friday Fictioneers has offered up this photo prompt to inspire us to write creatively using 100 words or less. This is my 100-word story from days in Montauk.
βSurf rods are the heaviest and longest rods you can get. They’re designed to cast very far distances and pull in heavier fish from breaking waves. Depending on which bait you’re using β worms, squid, bunker β youβll need to choose the right rig.β
Bill quietly explained to our pre-school boys, blissfully ignoring the fact that the rods were four times taller than them.
βThis is a science, boys. You have to be patient and psyche out the fish.β The kiddos were gleefully lost in their mini boxes of Frosted Flakes.
Bill was content; this was cherished father/son time. Pivotal first steps.
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge has once again challenged us to write a Six Sentence Story using the prompt word “nail”. This is my story.
When I first saw him I thought I was hallucinating (was this a real person or a fear-induced illusion?) and I knew I had to remain perfectly still and quiet β my very life depended on it.
I had no idea how long Iβd been there β certainly long enough for my skin to have turned red, my mouth parched, my lips cracked and I remember being stung and bitten by insects and digging my nailsinto the palms of my hands to keep from crying out, but I recall now β¦ we were picking flowers and berries in a sun-filled field β¦ we had been following a stream and unknowingly wandered far from home when I caught sight of a bush hidden deep in a shady area; the plant was heavy with ripe blackberries and I couldnβt resist running to the bush, happily filling my bucket with the deep purple fruit.
I was busy plucking berries when I heard screams β not the usual giddy, playful squeals of young girls but awful shrieks of terror and I started to run back only to see my three sisters encircled by a group of Indians, hulking and menacing men, blocking the girlβs attempts to flee; they wore breechcloths across their midsection, moccasins and no shirts, their faces painted and their heads shaved except for a center strip of upright long hair and I knew immediately they were the dreaded Mohawk.
They tugged the girlβs long blonde hair, poked them with sticks and tore at their starched white dresses.
I wanted to shout out but was too afraid and I hid while my sweet little sisters were raped and raped and raped.
At 15, I was the eldest and I was supposed to protect them; how could I be such a coward?
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is asking us to write a Six Sentence Story using the word “pass”. This is my six sentence story.
The house is quiet tonight β¦.eerily quiet β¦. for all the lights are off and only the glow of candles shines dimly through the curtained windows, performing a ballet of shadows on the walls and ceiling; every so often a door softly opens, barely perceptible murmurings are audible, then the door gently closes as intermittent muted sobbing creeps up from the parlor.
I sit on my bed huddled under a blanket, a tiny flashlight flickering a pale yellow beam on my diary as I jot down my memories of the day; I must be quiet because my mother will be very upset with me if she discovers Iβm still awake at this late hour.
My window is open just enough to let in some fresh air and the distinct smell of cigarette smoke wafts up into my room; I peek out to see my motherβs uncles sitting on the back steps silently smoking their unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes, their black armbands starkly visible against their plain starched white shirts.
I tip-toe across the length of my bedroom, praying the old wooden floorboards beneath the well-worn rug will not creak and ever so slowly I turn the glass doorknob; the hallway is dark but I can detect a muted light downstairs and I scurry nearer to the staircase railing for a better look as I sit there hugging my knees asking myself if I should creep downstairs and take a peek.
A few hours earlier the ambience of the house was much different, still subdued but active as delivery men came and went and acquaintances passed through the hallway into the parlor to pay their respects while my mother and the other women labored in the kitchen like mute worker bees, preparing trays of food for the constant flow of visitors, and my father, along with my uncles, positioned the many floral arrangements throughout the parlor; we children sat quietly on the two enormous matching sofas along the side walls, eyes downcast, confused and uncharacteristically subdued, occasionally glancing toward the walnut casket resting atop a platform in the center of the room and quickly look away.
Around 6:00 we were quietly whisked away into the dining room where we silently ate our supper, then returned to the parlor to continue our vigil; it had been a long and sorrowful day, the longest day in our young lives, for the family matriarch, my great-grandmother had died.
This recording was made in September 1920, less than a year before Carusoβs death. His health was failing and the recording equipment was, by our standards, primitive. Despite all that, the power and beauty of his voice remain unmatched.
We never went on vacation when I was a kid; that was for βrich peopleβ.
You can imagine my unbearable glee when it was decided in the summer of β59 that we would leave The Bronx for five glorious days in a place called Sunny Hill Farm.
Looking at the brochure we declared it to be βperfectβ with lush rolling hills, horses, swimming, picnics, barbecues, fresh air and sunshine everywhere.
We loaded up the car, singing all the way to our vacation nirvana β¦. where it poured and poured for days.
Denise at GirlieOnTheEdge is challenging us once again to create an amazing Six Sentence Story, this time using the word “access”; this is my response.
Due, no doubt, to the cold weather, I have been doing a lot more cooking indoors, eschewing the barbecue grill for simmering pots of tomato sauce, bubbling trays of lasagna and stews roiling in slow cookers β a skill which comes naturally to me since, as I have mentioned many times recently, I hail from a long line of talented cooks, with my mother topping the list; she instilled in me at an early age a love of hearty and delicious home-cooked meals and the know-how to prepare them.
Mom was a Sicilian immigrant who attended school only until the age of 9; with her own ailing mother unable to maintain their home, my mother assumed the role of nurse, cook and maid …. devastatingly unfair, but thatβs the way it was in 1925 β kids forced to abandon their childhood, growing up in a hurry.
My mother and her cousins did not have access to YouTube or TikTok or cooking channels on TV; there were no cookbooks in her small apartment …. just recipes galvanized in her brain from watching her grandmother and her aunts holding court in the kitchen.
Many of the ingredients my mother used were home grown, such as vegetables, herbs and fruit, and the items that didn’t come from the ground were all bought from the local grocer and butcher, the price haggled and haggled once again until my mother was satisfied; her purchases were of the finest quality and she always returned home with change in her purse.
When I, as a kid, would come home from school or a day outside with my friends, I would always be greeted with the sublime aromas of something magical cooking; I would float into the kitchen as though carried by angels, my nose twitching, and I would dreamily ask βWhatβs for dinner?β
Lisa is serving as host for todayβs dVerse Prosery prompt. We are to write a piece of up to 144 words and include the line βBut that smile was the last smile to come upon her faceβ. This is my response for Lisaβs dVerse Prosery prompt.
We were living in Tennessee with my Aunt Luella and Uncle Boz after my mam and pap were killed in the South Carrollton, Kentucky train wreck of 1917. Just five days before Christmas and our family was torn apart. My mam and Aunt Luella were sisters; mamβs death nearly destroyed Auntie.
Back in January we all had such high hopes for 1917. My cousin Henry, Aunt Luella and Uncle Bozβs firstborn, was set to graduate high school in June, the first one in the family with that distinction. Aunt Luella was so proud of Henry, she couldnβt help smiling thinking of Henryβs bright future.
But that smile was the last smile to come upon her face.
Henry enlisted in the army one month before graduation. He died in the Battle of Cambrai on Thanksgiving Day.
Out of the blue the call arrived. It was late and I was beyond tired after a day of Christmas shopping and decorating. We were tempted to let it go straight to voice mail, but Gary thought it might be important.Β
βGary? Hi, itβs Alice from the adoption agency. I hope you and Carol are sitting down! We have a baby for you! Can you come by in the morning to talk?β
Gary stood up; his face registered shock. βWhat? My God! Are you sure?” Completely convinced that something terrible had happened, I grabbed the phone from Gary. βThis is Carol Wheeler. Whoβs this, please?β
It was not bad news …. just the opposite. It was elating, magical, top-of-the-world, The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year news!
A baby in need of a home! A baby for us to love!!
βYes!! Weβll be there! Oh, Alice. Iβm so happy! Thank you so much!β I was rambling.
Dumbstruck, we stood there β¦. then pandemonium broke loose. Laughing, crying, hugging, kissing, dancing, tossing tinsel around the room like crazy people. Anytime would have been amazing but for this to be happening during the holiday season was wondrous!
We didnβt think β¦. or even care β¦. to ask βboy, girl, age, etc., etc.β? After eight years of trying to get pregnant and faced with disappointment each time, an incredibly strong and loving stranger was presenting us with the most precious gift imaginable.
βGary, do you realize in a few days we will be a family of three?β I asked breathlessly.
IN A FEW DAYS!!
All tiredness forgotten, we raced to the attic for the plastic bins of assorted baby items. There in the corner stood the bassinet; it seemed to glow in the darkness. I believe at that moment I heard angels singing. We reverently carried it down to our room. I leaned into Gary, overcome with elated exhaustion.
And then the phone rang a second time. We stared at it, afraid to answer, sure it was Alice calling to say the babyβs mom had changed her mind, there would be no happy family for us.
I reached for the phone and wearily, warily said βThis is Carol.β
βCarol, itβs Alice again. Sorry to bother you and Gary but thereβs been a development.β
I closed my eyes waiting for the words I didnβt want to hear. Not now, not at Christmastime. Alice continued talking and I felt my knees growing weak.
Stunned, crying, all I could manage was a hushed βOh, Alice! Are you absolutely sure? How could this be happening? Yes. Yes, I understand.β
I hung up the phone without even saying goodbye. I was already crying when I turned to face Gary. He held me close and whispered βShh. Itβs ok, honey. Everything will be ok. Another baby is out there waiting for us. Itβs just a matter of time.β
On tiptoes, I reached up to give my darling husband a little kiss. I murmured βI love youβ, my mouth just brushing his. I looked into his eyes and spoke, my voice breaking.
βOh, Gary. There was a mix up at the hospital and Alice was given the wrong information.β
Gary started to speak but I gently placed my fingers on his lips to quiet him. I continued.
βAlice called just now to ask how we feel about adopting twins.β
Iβm quite sure neither of us was breathing at that moment. Garyβs eyes grew wide as the realization sunk in and I let out a little laugh. Gary put up two fingers and mouthed the word βTwoβ. I nodded and replied βTwo. Twin girlsβ.
We fell to the couch, a huddle of tears and laughter and hugs. Then I heard my loveβs voice next to my ear: βI told you another baby was out there waiting for us!β
It was a tradition in my house when I was a kid; Mom made macaroni with gravy meat every Sunday and Thursday.
Nobody called it pasta; it was Ronzoni macaroni. And we didnβt say βsauceβ either; it was βgravyβ. Meatballs, pieces of pork, beef and lamb, sausages and bracciole β thatβs Sicilian βgravy meatβ.
Momβs cooking was absolutely incredible. With the steamy kitchen window open just a crack, the aromas wafted out into the night, beckoning aunts, uncles, cousins and a few neighbors to dinner. Our apartment was always full.
The bright light wasnβt really necessary; everyone just followed their nose.
Robert hadnβt realized that heβd passed the point of no return until he found himself frantically searching the kitchen for anything that would remove blood stains. After getting an urgent call for help from his brother Daniel, Robert raced over to see what was the problem. Now he was knee deep in a drift of dastardly deadly deeds.
βDISSOLVE IMPOSSIBLE STAINS … TAR, WINE, GREASE, EVEN BLOOD!β read the label on a spray bottle of multi-purpose cleanser stashed under the sink.
βI found it!βΒ shouted Robert walking back into the parlor. Daniel was still standing over the body of Stuart Barclay, his business partner.Β
βGreat! Gimme that, Bobby. I have to get this blood stain out of Marilynβs antique Persian rug before she gets back from her weekend in Manhattan. This is her favorite rug; it cost a fortune and canβt be replaced!Β
βDanny, I think youβve got bigger problems to worry about than your wifeβs rugβ replied Robert. βStuartβs dead! You said it was an accident so why not just call the police?β
βI canβt! Itβs not that simple, Bobby. Stuart had evidence against me.β
βMeaning what, Danny?β
βHe confronted me months ago. He had proof Iβd been embezzling and forging legal documents. Stuart was gonna turn me in and I couldnβt let that happen!β
Agitated, Daniel paced the room. He continued: βI found out that Stuart was having an affair with the wife of our wealthiest and most important client. I had him followed. I have photos of them together. I called Stuart and suggested he come over tonight to talk and told him to use the rear entrance just to keep things on the down low. When he got here, I told him I knew about his affair. Things got heated and he came at me. I sidestepped him and Stuart cracked his head against the mantle. Bobby, if any of this gets out, Iβll be ruined. My reputation as an attorney will be trashed. I need your help, brother! We gotta clean this rug and get rid of Stuartβs body!βΒ
βEmbezzling? How could you be so stupid, Danny?β exclaimed Robert. βOk, look. Whatβs done is done and thereβs nothing we can do about it now. Youβre right β we gotta take care of this mess. Iβll scrub the rug; you go see if you can find some plastic sheeting or a tarp. Iβve got a plan.β
By the time Daniel returned with a tarp, rope and rubber gloves, the rug looked amazingly clean. βGood as new! That’s one problem solvedβΒ Robert declared.
βAnd no questions from Marilynβ quipped Daniel. “Now tell me about your plan, Bobby.”
βOk, Danny, this is what we’re gonna do.Β We wrap Stuart in the tarp and put him in his car; you drive his car down the back roads to the ditch at Quarry Road. Take it slow and keep the lights off. Iβll drive my car down the main road and weβll meet up at the ditch. We canβt be too careful so if anyone happens to be watching the house, theyβll see only me leaving, not you. When we get to the ditch, all we have to do is get Stuartβs body out of the tarp, place him in the driverβs seat of his car, put the car in βDRIVEβ and give it a push down into the ditch. Then weβll get in my car and drive back here. Itβs perfect, Danny; itβll look like an accident.β
βYeah, that just might work, Bobby! Itβs got to work!β replied Daniel. βLetβs do it!β
The brothers snapped on their gloves, rolled Stuart onto the tarp and tied it up; the bleeding from the gash in his forehead had finally stopped. They struggled getting Stuartβs body out the back door and into his car;for a skinny little prick, he sure was heavy! Once they had the body secured in the passengerβs seat, Daniel got behind the wheel and drove off, taking the back roads to the ditch.
As planned, Robert and Daniel met up at Quarry Road. Still wearing their rubber gloves, they lifted Stuart out of the passenger seat, removed the tarp, placed him behind the wheel in the driverβs seat and buckled his seatbelt. Making sure the gear was in βDRIVEβ, they pushed Stuartβs car down the ditch and watched it crash into the stone wall of the abandoned quarry.
Tossing their gloves onto the tarp, they balled everything up and stuffed it into one of the old metal trash cans near the quarry. Robert threw a lit match into the can and the duo, now co-conspirators, smoked a joint as the tarp and gloves melted away into nothingness. Robert pocketed what was left of the joint, then the brothers showered the contents of the trash can with sand and rocks to smother any remaining embers. Taking a quick look around, they headed back up to Robert’s car.
Everything went off without a hitch and for the first time that night they relaxed. Once back at Daniel’s house, Robert cautioned his brother to speak about this to no one β¦. not his wife, not his priest, not his mistress.
Three days later the police discovered Stuartβs car in the ditch; there was no apparent sign of foul play. There was also no one in the car nor anyone nearby, dead or alive.
That evening Daniel got a call. βHey, partner. Youβre a bigger loser than I could have imagined! Weβve got some unfinished business to discuss, Danny boy.β
Daniel felt light-headed and slumped against the wall. The caller was Stuart and he sounded very much alive.
This is the American rock group Kansas performing “Point of Know Return”.
Itβs all new Birthday Thursdays at The Rhythm Section. No talk, no fuss, no muss. Just wall-to-wall music! Stop by and check it out! π https://rhythmsection.blog/
Ever since he was a small boy growing up in Fairfax, Missouri, Will Horton was obsessed with baseball. Every chance he had heβd play ball with his friends and when no one was around, heβd spend hours bouncing a ball off the old shed behind the house.Β Β
In 5th grade Will was one of the starting pitchers for his Little League Team, the Badgers. They practiced three or four days a week after school and played a game every Saturday against the rival team β the Coyotes. By the time Will entered 7th grade, he qualified for the traveling team playing both home and away games.
Most nights during baseball season, Will and his dad Tom would hunker down in front of the TV and watch the local major league baseball team, the Kansas City Royals. Will dreamed of one day playing with the Royals in Big K Stadium; he longed to go to a game but tickets werenβt cheap and Kansas City was 100+ miles from Fairfax.Β βSome dayβ Will would whisper to himself and fall asleep every night clutching his mitt.Β
On his 10thΒ birthday Tom surprised Will with two tickets to the Royals game. Will talked nonstop all the way to the game, quoting all the Royals stats. Arriving at the Big K, he swore it was the biggest building in all Missouri. Will was the happiest he’d ever been. The smell of peanuts and hot dogs filled the air and the crowd was anxious for the game to start. Finally the Royals ran onto the field to cheers from the fans. They played a great game and won with a staggering score of 16 to 2. All the way home Will and Tom talked about the game.
That night at bedtime Will made himself the biggest promise ever β to one day be starting pitcher for the Royals against the most famous baseball team in the world: The New York Yankees.
Time went on, Will graduated high school and was recruited by the University of Miami as pitcher for the Miami Hurricanes. In the evenings he delivered pizza, saving what money he could. He was living his dream. One night that dream abruptly turned into a hellish nightmare when Willβs delivery car was sideswiped by a truck and slammed hard into the side of a building. Will lost consciousness and woke up in the hospital; his pitching arm had been amputated just above the elbow.
Will was devastated; his baseball days were over before they even started. Needing to get away from Miami and reminders of the crash, he transferred to a college in Cincinnati which happened to be located across from The Great American Ballpark, home to the Cincinnati Reds. On game nights heβd go up to the schoolβs rooftop alone to watch the games.
One particularly dismal night about eight months after his accident, Will pushed himself up onto the ledge of the roof and inched his way to the edge. Hugging the stump of his right arm, he stared at the twinkling lights coming from The Great American. Will swayed slightly; there was nothing to hold on to. He looked straight ahead at the stadium, then closed his eyes and slowly lifted his right foot off the ledge. What did he have left in his life?
In the heavy silence of the night, Will was aware of a barely imperceptible click as the door to the roof quietly closed. A soft voice by his side askedΒ βYou donβt really want to do that, do you?β
“What’s it to you? You don’t even know me.“
“That’s true” came the reply “but if you jump, who’s gonna go to tomorrow’s game with me?“
Planting his foot back on the ledge, Will glanced out of the corner of his eye. There stood a petite figure wearing a baseball cap. From the back pocket of her jeans she produced two tickets and placed them down on the ledge.
The shadow of a smile crossed Will’s face; this girl had spunk. Offering her hand, Will reached out, grabbed hold and climbed off the ledge.
βHey, Iβm Kate.βΒ
“Will Horton” he replied.
“Well, Will Horton. Do we have a date?”
He paused for just a second. “Yeah. Why not?”
“If you play your cards right, Will Horton, there’s a couple of good games coming up in June and July. Ever hear of a little team called The New York Yankees?”
Will suddenly realized he was still clutching Kate’s hand. It felt really good having someone to hold on to.
It’s October β World Series month here in the USA and the games begin in just 10 days. Unfortunately for us here in NY, the Yanks fell short again but if you’re a diehard baseball fan like me, you’ll watch any game that’s on TV. Here’s a great song in honor of America’s Favorite Pastime – “Centerfield” by John Fogerty. Play ball!
I hope you’ll join me today as we continue our musical journey In The Groove. Hold onto your baseballs! βΎοΈ https://rhythmsection.blog/
“Scorching weather we’re experiencing, Maureen. Unheard-of for September. You and Jamie might want to consider postponing your holiday for a while. As you know, your Aunt Camilla detests air conditioning and those wretched noisy fans; I fear you will be terribly uncomfortable here. We’re off to Spain in October and staying through Christmas and the New Year, a long-overdue visit with our darling Penelope and son-in-law Alejandro. Aunt Camilla says she’s dying to see Cherbourgagain and has her heart set on February. I think perhaps April would be a more suitable time for you to visit, Maureen dear. Springtime here is brilliant, as you undoubtedly recall. Do let us know your decision. Hope New York is treating you well. Love to Jamie and Josie. βUncle George”
I stared at my uncle’s email in dismay. It had been eight years since I left England for New York. Jamie and I met at work; we fell in love and were married the following year. Neither of our families were able to attend our wedding. Jamie’s family is from Scotland so we decided to kill two birds with one stone by spending our honeymoon in Wales. We set aside two weeks to visit Jamie’s family in Perth, my parents in Newcastle Upon Tyne as well as my aunt, uncle and cousin Penelope in Kent.
Now I was looking forward to a return trip, an end of summer vacation and Uncle George was going on about an oppressive September heatwave. Having to postpone our vacation until April was dreadfully disappointing.
We had just booked our flight that morning and made reservations at some of the many attractions in the area. Our plans included a visit to Canterbury Cathedral, Port Lympne Animal Reserve, Chiselhurst Caves and Hever Castle with its incredible labyrinthine gardens. I could just picture our five-year-old daughter Josie running through the vast field of mazes, giggling at every dead end.
I knew Aunt Camilla and Uncle George would be happy to watch Josie for a few hours, giving me and Jamie a chance to go on a tour of Shepherd Neame Brewery. Their menu of ales and lagers was extensive, each one brewed to perfection. I must admit after years in New York I preferred my beer served ice cold in a frosty mug β not at the traditional ‘English cellar temperature’. I never did care for the taste of a tepid brew and finding a crisp cold beer could prove challenging. However, with so many brews to choose from at Shepherd Neame, I was willing to bet that wouldn’t be a problem.
When I told Jamie about my uncle’s email, he reminded me that we had 24 hours to cancel our flight and reservations without incurring a penalty. The first thing we needed to do was check with the airline, then we could look into our other plans. Lady Luck was definitely on our side; we were able to reschedule our flight and all our activities without any problems. In fact, our new agenda was going to be even better than originally planned.
Hever Castle had recently opened an area called “Adventure Playground” where kids ruled the castle. Josie could discover and explore Tudor Towers with its 2 metre high willow structure, a giant sandpit and grassy mounds with hidden tunnels. There were secret dungeons, moats and turrets plus climbing frames, swings and slides. Josie would never want to leave!
Perhaps that image was the seed that started sprouting in my brain!
I began entertaining serious thoughts about moving back to England permanently; the list of positives far outweighed the negatives. I had no family tying me to The States. My parents chose to retire in Tuscany so visiting them from the UK would be an easy jaunt and Josie would finally get to spend time with her grandparents. Jamie, I knew, would love the idea of being close to his family, not to mention the fact that his firm had a branch office in London. When Josie was eligible to start first grade at age six there would be no shortage of good schools to choose from. Looking over my list, I could see no viable reason for us to remain in New York.
When I brought up the subject with Jamie, he was enthusiastic about the prospect of returning to the UK. It would be an experience of a lifetime for Josie, not to mention an exceedingly happy surprise for our families when they learned we’d be moving back home.
Now that the decision was made, we were more excited than ever! I smiled when I realized this all came about because of an unseasonal September heatwave. Who knew all our grousing about the oppressive heat would have such a happy ending! The most difficult part would be keeping our plans a secret from the family. The next morning I responded to Uncle George’s email:
“Wonderful news, Uncle George! We had no trouble at all changing our travel plans to April. After months and months of FaceTiming, Josie can’t wait to finally meet you and Aunt Camilla in person, not to mention her grandparents! Jamie and I are so looking forward to being with family again; we’ve missed you all terribly. I’ve saved the best for last but only a hint for now: we have a big surprise planned which I’ll share with you in good time. Are you curious? Do try to have patience, dear Uncle George! Stay cool and give our love to Aunt Camilla and Penelope. Till next time ~ Maureen.”
βArabic For Dummiesβ? The Qurβan? What the hell are these disgusting books doing in our house? Youβre still associating with that … that … savage, arenβt you, Gloria? Answer me!β
βPapa, please, calm yourself. Itβs not good for your blood pressure. If youβre referring to Yusuf, he is not a savage. Heβs a sweet, gentle and loving man and youβd realize that if you got to know him. Heβs a student at the university studying religion andβ¦..β
βAnd the making of bombs and God knows what else! Gloria, heβs an Arab, a Muslim, for the love of God! Havenβt you seen enough on tv to know what these people are capable of? You saw with your own two eyes what happened yesterday! Here, on American soil. Crashing planes into buildings! Innocent people jumping to their deaths because it was preferable to being burned alive! We wept for people we don’t even know, Gloria. We witnessed the unimaginable. They are animals, mass-murderers, all of them!β
βYou’re right, Papa; what happened yesterday was unspeakable. We will never forget such horror. Yusuf and his family are appalled and overcome with sorrow over this tragedy. But Papa, tell me β when did you become an expert on Muslims or Arabs? Youβve never even tried to get to know them. All my Arab friends are good people, decent, peace loving people. Weβve spent hours talking, exchanging philosophies and sharing meals.β
βI cannot believe what Iβm hearing. You actually sit down and eat with these people, if you can even call them that? This is a nightmare! How can you do this to me?β
βWhat am I doing to you, Papa? You havenβt even given Yusuf a chance. You refuse to meet him, to sit down and have a conversation with him. Youβd see he is a man of peace, a good man incapable of hurting anyone.β
βAre you nuts? Have you lost your mind, Gloria? Do you actually think I would sit with him in my house? Please, God, donβt tell me he has you brainwashed already! Thatβs what they do, you know β¦ draw you in to their cult and before you know it youβre hooked and thereβs no way out. Why canβt you stick to our own kind, find a nice Jewish boy? An Arab and a Jew … whoever heard of such craziness?!?
“I can’t believe we’re fighting over this again! Why must you keep bringing it up, Papa? You didnβt give Evelyn a hard time when she said she was going to marry Gino. And what about Kenny when he and Makayla got engaged? You now have an Italian son-in-law and a black daughter-in-law who you welcomed with open arms and you don’t want me seeing Yusuf simply because heβs an Arab!β
βOh no, do not be fooled, Gloria. Thereβs no such thing as ‘simply an Arab‘. They all have a hidden agenda! Are you blind to whatβs going on around you?β
βPapa, look at me. Iβm a grown woman capable of making my own decisions. Why canβt you trust my judgement like you did with Kenny and Evelyn?β
βGloria, youβre not thinking clearly. Gino is a doctor, making an excellent salary. Your sister and their kids will never want for anything. Makaylaβs parents are lawyers and sheβs in law school herself. Your brother and sister made smart choices. They didnβt bring some maniac suicide bomber into our family.β
βSTOP! Stop saying that! You know nothing about Yusuf and you have no idea what youβre talking about! Heβs a wonderful man with a big heart and we have developed deep feelings for each other.β
βDeep feelings. Deep feelings? What are you saying, Gloria? Are you sleeping with him?β
βOh my God! I canβt believe you just asked me that! Iβm not a child and, frankly, thatβs none of your business.β
βNone of my business? As long as youβre living under my roof, itβs my business.β
βHere we go again! Well maybe itβs high time I moved out of this prison and found a place of my own!β
βPRISON! After all your mother and I have done for you, you have the nerve to say that! And by βa place of your ownβ, you mean shacking up with that terrorist, donβt you? Why donβt you just stab me in the heart and put me out of my misery!β
βGenug!Enough!Sei still!! Whatβs going on here? I can hear the two of you all the way downstairs!β
βHilda, ΧΧΧΧΧͺΧ(“my love”) I didnβt hear you come in.β
βAs if you could hear anything over all the yelling in here! Whatβs gotten into the two of you?β
βItβs your daughter. Sheβs being absolutely unreasonable.I donβt even know who she is anymore.β
βOh, mein Gott! So now sheβs MY daughter? Sheldon, the last time I checkedshe was OUR daughter. Is this about that Arab boy again?β
βMama, please! I canβt talk to Papa about this any more. If anyone is being unreasonable, itβs him.β
βGloria, calm yourself, meine liebe Tochter. Why donβt you go out for a while, go to that nice coffee shop near the university? Spend some time with your friends. Sheldon, come sit with me.β
βHilda, are you crazy?Sheβs going to run right to him!Donβt you see what youβre doing?β
βJust like you ran to me, Sheldon, when your parents called me a filthy Nazi? Look at me, Shelly. Do you remember what it was like for us when we first met? You a Jew and me a German. Ach du lieber Gott! What were we thinking? My father was so furious, he wanted to kill both of us. But we knew weβd rather die than be separated. Sheldon, you should know better than anyone that you cannot judge one man simply bythe sickening actions of others, byhis looks, what country he’s from or what god he worships. Youβre a good man, liebchen. You were a good man when we were teenagers and youβre a good man now. Youβre scared, Shelly, just like we were scared back then. But we persevered and in time my parents saw the real you and your parents saw the real me. Do you remember what you told your parents all those years ago?β
βOf course I do.I said βI love herand I would die for herβ.β
βJa. And do you remember what I said to your parents?β
βLike it was yesterday. You saidβI love him and I would die without himβ.β
βThings havenβt changed that much, Sheldon, except now WEβRE the parents. Shelly, you have to let Gloria fly on her own wings. You have to trust her. If you don’t we will lose her. I hate to burst your bubble, meine schnitzel, but they love each other and itβs as simple as that. Trust them.β
The events of 911 are on all our minds today. I have chosen to repost a piece I wrote in 2020, not about what happened on that horrendous day, not about hate and violence but a reflection on a simpler time, a more peaceful time. I hope it relaxes your mind and soothes your heart and soul. β€οΈ
When I was younger I remember my grandparents dancing in the living room to some of their favorite ballads: “I’ll Be With You In Apple Blossom Time”, “As Time Goes By”, “I’ll Be Seeing You”, “You Belong To Me”. They would drink a glass or two of sherry and talk about “the good old days” and how quickly the years pass. There was one song in particular that always made them somewhat melancholy. They’d sit side by side near the fireplace just listening to the words and holding each other close:
“When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame One hasn’t got time for the waiting game”
I was just a kid and I couldn’t understand why a song about weather and time made them sad. That’s the way it is with kids; time means nothing. If someone is 25-years-old, that’s practically ancient! We’d watch shows like “Father Knows Best” and “The Donna Reed Show”; the actors were probably 40-years-old, if that, but they looked decrepit to us. The concept of aging was nonexistent.
ββββ
You blink your eyes once and you’re suddenly in high school. Then before you know it you’re married with kids of your own. Wait a gosh darn minute! When did that happen? Funny how time has a way of creeping up on you. One day you’re sledding down a giant snow-covered hill and the next you’re taking your own kids sledding down that same hill.
Your little Katie with a head-full of golden curls is now a teenager and you hear yourself saying the exact same things your parents said to you. And now your parents are the ones sitting by the fireplace listening to “September Song”.
Then one morning you wake up and it’s Katie’s wedding day. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror and your wife says how dashing you look, still so handsome in your tuxedo and you tell her she’s radiant in her gown, always the prettiest girl in the room. And in each other’s eyes it’s the truth; you haven’t changed a bit since your own wedding day.
You think about your grandparents, gone for a long time now, and you remember the call you got from your mother last week:
“Oh, dear, your dad and I are just heartbroken over this but we aren’t going to be able to make the trip up toVermont for Katie’s wedding. Lord knows, we hate to miss it but we’ll be there in spirit. Please give our sweet Katie-Girl all our love.“
You understand; they’re 80-something and don’t get around like they used to. It’s a long trip from Florida to Vermont and they can’t handle the cold weather. Still, you feel very sad knowing they’ll miss their first grandchild’s wedding day.
ββββ
What a beautiful bride Katie was! Doesn’t her wedding photo look lovely on the mantle next to yours and your parents and your grandparents? Now it’s just the two of you in that old, empty house. Once upon a time, when you and your brothers and sisters were kids, the house was filled with your laughter. But wait β it’s suddenly not so empty and quiet anymore. Where’s all that noise coming from? You take a peek around the corner; there are your grand kids in the living room near the Christmas tree. There’s some rock and roll song on the record player, the 12-year-old twins are playing “Yahtzee” and your 15-year-old granddaughter is furtively sharing a sweet kiss with her boyfriend under the mistletoe.
“C’mon, kids!” Katie calls out from the front hallway. “Your dad’s got the car all packed up and it’s time to go. Say goodbye to Grams and Gramps.” And she gives you both a kiss on the cheek promising to call soon.
ββββ
It seems like just yesterday but you realize eight years have gone by since you left Vermont and retired to Florida. You think about playing golf but your rotator cuff has been hurting a lot lately and your wife isn’t quite ready to hit the links so soon after her hip replacement. Well, let’s not think about that now. There will be plenty of days for golf. So you pour yourself another cup of coffee and work on a crossword puzzle while your wife knits a blanket for Katie’s grand-baby β your very first great-grandchild.
Now in the evenings you sip sherry in the living room. “There’s nothing good on tv these days. How about we listen to some music? Well, look what I found!” and you blow the dust off an old forgotten record laying on the shelf.
“What memories that song brings back!” And you sit holding hands, gazing at faded family wedding photos on the mantle, listening to Sinatra sing:
“Oh, it’s a long, long while from May to December But the days grow short when you reach September”
And you give your wife a hug and a gentle kiss on the forehead.
It was my great honor and thrill back in 2020 to be asked to narrate a few of my stories on the BBC radio show called Upload; this was one of those stories. I hope you enjoyed reading it today.
Cara Sophia β I send you warmest greetings from Sicily and hope that you are well. Unfortunately, I have very bad news to share with you. There was a terrible fire in the guest cottage in Agrigento and all was lost. I know the idea of permanently relocating to Sicily and moving into the guest cottage has been your dream for many years; an undertaking of such magnitude is a huge change in one’s life and you were understandably hesitant to make a final decision. Sadly, now the house is destroyed and the decision has been made for you. Fortunately you still have your lovely home in New York. I hope sometime you will visit us for a few weeks at our home in Palermo. Ciao, cara β Paolo
AT THE SAME TIME ON THAT CONVOLUTED DAY
January 1, 2015
10:00 AM NY Time
To: Paolo
From: Sophia
My dearest Paolo β After much thought and soul-searching, I have decided to accept your gracious offer to move into the beautiful guest cottage in Agrigento. The New York winters are getting progressively worse and I cannot stand another day here. I desperately need a change of scenery and a new life. Iβm ready to become a permanent resident of Sicily! Luckily, I was able to sell my house quickly. The buyers would like to move into my house in two weeks which will give me enough time to pack my clothes, a few personal belongings and get everything in order for relocating. In anticipation of my move, I have already booked a flight to Palermo; my arrival date is two weeks from today. I will send you all the pertinent information in a separate email. Thank you again, my dear cousin, for the use of your guest cottage. I look forward to seeing you very soon in sunny Sicily. Ciao, caro β Sophia
AT THE SAME TIME ON THAT VERY CONVOLUTED DAY
January 1, 2015
10:00 AM NY Time
To: Sophia
From: Angie
Hi Soph – How’s my favorite sister? I’ve got exciting news! I landed that great job I was angling for β the one at the music school near you. I know it’s been a while since you offered your guest room to me if I ever returned to New York so I’m hoping the offer still stands. You haven’t turned the room into a shrine to George Harrison, have you? LOL! Anyway, I sold my condo here in Boston and all I need to do is pack my stuff and buy a one way ticket to NY. I’ll be there in two weeks. Can’t wait to see you! It’ll be like old times hanging out together when we were teenagers. Talk to you soon, roomie! Love, your favorite sister, Angie
PS: Brad moved to Seattle; singing at Starbucks and hoping to be discovered. He’s such a jerk! Oh well β his loss.
AT THE SAME TIME ON THAT INCREDIBLY CONVOLUTED DAY
January 1, 2015
10:00 AM NY Time
To: Angie
From: Brad
Babe, I’m a total jackass! Forgive me, please!! Moving to Seattle was a really stupid idea. You tried to tell me and I wouldn’t listen. I miss you so much and this long distance relationship is never gonna work. What the hell was I thinking?? I’m coming home, Babe. I can’t wait to be back in Boston with you where I belong! I miss you and our life together. See you in two weeks. I love you, Babe! Brad xoxoxo β€οΈππ₯°π
Don’t get your wires crossed! Meet me today for another new segment in The Rhythm Section! There will be music and maybe even cake! https://rhythmsection.blog/
When I was an infant, my parents decided our small apartment in Manhattan was no place to raise two little daughters. The following day they set off on their search for a house in The Bronx. Back then living in The Bronx was a lot different than it is now. Crime was practically nonexistent; drug dealers weren’t openly operating out of school playgrounds, storefronts weren’t gated and padlocked and families were not shattered by drive-by shootings.
The Bronx was like a country village with farms dotting the neighborhoods of Baychester, Kingsbridge, Morrisania, Riverdale and others. People raised sheep, goats and chickens. Gardens were abundant with homegrown fruit and vegetables. It was a different world, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Life was peaceful.
My parents bought a new semi-attached two family house spacious enough for the four of us and my maternal grandparents. We had a nice piece of corner property and a large backyard perfect for my grandfather’s grapevines and fruit trees and my mother’s vegetable garden.
My grandmother was a sickly woman, having been ill since my mother was only 12 years old. Nonna was not quite bedridden but spent a fair amount of time inside in bed or looking out the window. My mother was her caregiver; when the weather was nice, she would wrap a blanket around Nonna, making her comfortable in a lounge chair in the backyard.
Nonna’s ‘job‘ was to rock my carriage as I napped outside. Since she was not strong enough to carry me, my grandmother delighted in being able to help my mother in this small way. Nonna relished being outside in our quiet backyard watching my grandfather tending the garden; the warmth of the sun on her frail body renewed her spirit and magically brought a glow back to her face.
It was the first Labor Day in our new home and I napped in my baby carriage while Nonna sat in her chair gently rocking me. I began to stir and when I opened my eyes, I saw my grandmother’s smiling face looking down at me. Her doe-like eyes twinkled as she sang an old Italian lullaby, “Ninna Ninna”.
It may be difficult to comprehend that a little one just seven months of age could have such clear and distinct memories. I can recall my grandmother’s happy face smiling at me, her dark brown eyes shining. The poignant song and Nonna’s expressive voice always had a mysterious way of calming me and I would drift back to sleep. Those days in our peaceful backyard are tenderly stored in my mind.
My grandmother passed away six years later; the special bond we shared is something I will treasure forever.
My son David is a librarian by vocation. Then there are the times he moonlights as lead tenor with the Taconic Opera Company and as a church singer for special holy days. He has a God-given talent and is quite brilliant. I like to think he inherited some of my musical skills as well. His brother Bill was there that night some 20+ years ago when David blew the roof off a karaoke bar singing an Iron Maiden song; at that point in time no one in the family knew David could sing. He also plays the bass trombone. Did I mention he has perfect pitch?
Davidβs wife Jessica is a doctor specializing in making chemo for cancer patients – an intense and demanding job. Somehow she also manages to be a super mom β part Wonder Woman, part Energizer Bunny. She is a beautiful woman, a stunning mezzo soprano with a wondrous soul and a remarkable mind. She has performed alongside David and is also a church singer often called on for weddings and funerals. Jessica plays the piano and cello and was chosen for All County Choir and All County Orchestra while in school. Iβm not sure if she has perfect pitch; if not, then damn close.
(I’d like to take a second to mention a bit of serendipity: When Jessica was with the All County Orchestra, David was, too, though they did not know each other at that time. They did not officially meet until 15 years later. Funny how that works. Now, back to the story.)
David and Jessica have a 3 Β½ year old daughter named Colette β my granddaughter whom I mention frequently when writing personal posts. Sheβs a joy, an absolutely glorious child. Colette loves music and is taking ballet lessons. She can also dig her heels in like nobodyβs business. Colette is a spitfire who obviously inherited equal amounts of her parentβs Sicilian-Irish-Italian genes. Add a splash of a Mt Etna temper when pushed beyond the breaking point, courtesy of yours truly, and you have the total package. A real βtesta duraβ or as we say in slang βgabadostβ.
As you can see, this little family of mine is extremely musical. David and Jessica sing around the house and now Colette has begun singing along β¦ and sheβs not shy about it. Recently, while singing βPuff the Magic Dragonβ, David and Jessica exchanged looks, bit their lips and tried not to laugh. With eyes rolling heavenward, they wondered βIs there any chance on Godβs green earth that we created a child who canβt sing in tune?β
Fandango asks us: DO YOU EVER USE A MEAL DELIVERY SERVICE SUCH AS DOORDASH (OR WHATEVER LOCAL EQUIVALENTS ARE AVAILABLE IN YOUR PART OF THE WORLD)? IF SO, HOW OFTEN WOULD YOU SAY YOU HAVE MEALS DELIVERED TO YOUR DOORSTEP?
βMom! Iβm starvinβ! Whatβs for dinner!β
βMe too, Mom! Iβm so hungry! I didnβt eat all day!β
βWell, Iβm hugrier than both of you! Iβm so hungry I could eat a horse!β
βSo what! I could eat a hippo!β
βBig deal! I could eat an elephant!β
βKids! Please! Iβve been busy cleaning the house and doing laundry all day. I forgot to take something out of the freezer for dinner. Weβll have to get something delivered.β
βYeah! I want Smashburger. Letβs call DoorDash or GrubHub or Uber Eats!β
βNo, Jimmy! We had Smashburger last night. I wanna get Panera Bread!β
βWell, too bad, Betty. Nobody wants Panera Bread except you, right Bobby?β
βWell, I donβt want Smashburger OR Panera Bread. I want Dominoβs!β
βSMASHBURGER!β
βPANERA BREAD!β
βDOMINOβS!β
βSMASHBURGER! PANERA BREAD! DOMINOβSβ
βSMASHBURGER! PANERA BREAD! DOMINOβSβ
βKids! Stop shouting! Iβve got an awful headache and Iβm going upstairs to rest.β
βSMASHBURGER! PANERA BREAD! DOMINOβS!β
βSMASHBURGER! PANERA BREAD! DOMINOβS!β
βDADDYβS HOME! DADDYβS HOME!β
βHey, guys! Whatβs all the shouting about? I can hear you all the way out in my car. Whatβs going on?β
βMommy forgot to take something out of the freezer for dinner…”
“So weβre getting DoorDash or GrubHub or Uber Eats…”
“I want Smashburger, Betty wants Panera Bread and Bobby wants Dominoβs.β
βAll right! Calm down! Whereβs your mom, anyway?β
βSheβs got a headache.β
βAgain!β
βAnd sheβs upstairs resting.β
βOK, listen guys. Iβm going upstairs to check on mom. Watch a movie and be quiet!“
βI wanna watch Spiderman!β
βYou’re stupid! I wanna watch Mulan!β
βI hate you! I wanna watch Super Mario Bros!β
βMOM! DAD! MOM! DAD! MOM! DAD!β
βSTOP SHOUTING THIS MINUTE!! MOM AND I HAVE DECIDED. WEβRE ORDERING FROM THE DINER SO EVERYONE CAN GET WHATEVER THEY WANT FROM ONE PLACE. SIT THERE WHILE I GET THE MENU.β
βWalnut hair and skin so fair Freckles like stars on her nose Green eyes glittering like precious jewels And lips as soft as a roseβ
βHey, Pops, whatβs that youβre singing? Iβve never heard it beforeβ.
βBrady, I didnβt see you thereβ replied Ben Williams as he leaned his guitar against the porch wall. βJust an old number I wrote for your Mom. Another lifetime.β
βPops, can I ask you something? It makes me sad how little I remember about Mom. What was she like?β
βOh, son. Thatβs not easy to answer. Your mom was a real beauty, a feast for the eyes. And we were happy. We had you and your sister our first two years together. Then I got that trucking job and your Mom was alone a lot. Itβs hard on a woman when her man is away for weeks at a time, especially with babies to care for. She was special and she loved you kids β donβt you ever forget that β but she got lonely.”
Ben continued. βWhen Ron Carterβs wife died your Mom befriended him. They were both lonely and found comfort together. I donβt blame her for that. One day when I was home from the road she brought Ron a cherry pie. She took your sister with her and they never came back. How I wish she’d stayed but I couldn’t force her to be happy here. From that point on it was just you and me.β
Father and son sat in contemplative silence.
βYou know, Pops, at first I thought Mom would come back soon. Then I gave up on that dream and convinced myself she had died. Strange thing is, thinking she was dead was easier than believing she abandoned us.β
Ben let out a ragged sigh. βThank God I had you, Brady. You didnβt know it but you kept me from falling apart. Getting that steady job at the hardware store was a life saver and I was able to be here for you.β
βThen I started dating Rebecca and I was hardly ever home!β Brady laughed. βMarrying her and moving in here with you made my life complete.β
βThat sweet gal of yours made my life complete, too, son. She filled a void in my heart and never once complained about having to live with her pain-in-the-ass father-in-law! Rebeccaβs like a daughter to meβ declared Ben.
βPops, did you know Rebecca was the one who insisted we live here with you. Not too many women would do that. And our kids are crazy about you! Youβve taught them a lot.β
βI love those munchkins, Brady! You all made this house a home and a broken old man whole again.β
Rebecca poked her head out the screen door. βDinner in ten minutes, you two. Please round up the kids and everybody get washed up.β
That night Rebecca asked Brady what he and his father had been talking about.
βWell, hello there. Iβm Big Blue. And you? Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Reader. Please have a seat, get comfortable and let me tell you a little about myself.
My family and I were purchased in 1964 by Nancy’s parents, Vito and Connie Schembre, for their home in the Bronx. Oh, we didn’t look anything like I do now! No, our upholstery was a green and gold velvet paisley which looked very elegant with the marble coffee table and white rug in the formal living room on the first floor. The only time The Schembres used the upstairs dining and living rooms was when special company came by.
Connie kept a beautiful house, immaculately clean from top to bottom. Like most Italian households, the basement was where the family really lived; it was fully furnished with a kitchen, dining area, bathroom and tv section. Connie had a nice sewing room where she spent many hours making costumes for school plays, clothes for her daughters and custom order dresses for a small clientele of local upper class women. And Vito had a workshop in the back where he’d make homemade wine and tinker with things that needed fixing which somehow never got fixed.
My parents were joined at the hip and formed one expansive sofa; my big sister was a loveseat and my twin brother and I recliners. Connie liked the fact that my brother and I were called “wall huggers” which meant our back stayed close to the wall and we didn’t sprawl out all over the place when in the reclining position. Why, we didn’t even look like your typical recliner.
The four of us together were just too much furniture for the formal living room so it was decided that I would join the more casual furniture downstairs in the tv section. When Connie wasn’t sewing at her old factory Singer, she enjoyed knitting in her rocking chair while Vito liked a good doze in his overstuffed armchair. Seventeen-year-old Rosemarie loved her bean bag chair (a hideous thing!) and I got to be 13-year-old Nancyβs chair! I couldnβt have been happier and neither could she; it was a big step up from a bunch of pillows tossed on the floor!
From my vantage point I could see everything that happened in the basement β Vito listening to opera, Connie frying her tantalizing meatballs every Sunday morning, the girls doing their homework at the kitchen table. I had a front row seat for every tv show the family watched. In fact, the only time Nancy didnβt sit on me with her legs comfortably stretched out was the time she sat on the floor five inches from the tv to watch the Beatles live on the Ed Sullivan Show.
Oh, the memories! I snuck a peek when Rosemarie made out with her first boyfriend Billy Mack. I held back tears of pain when Connie meticulously stitched my torn seam. And I was the only one in the basement that morning when Nancy sat at the kitchen table one hour before her wedding in her gown dunking Oreos into a tall glass of milk! How I wish I had a picture of that!
Then in 1977 the day came when the Schembres decided to move to a smaller house upstate. As a set, my parents, sister, brother and I were much too large for the new house and were placed on the curb for either someone to take home or to be picked up by the trash collectors. It was terrifying for me; the thought of going to strangers or being picked up for the trash was unbearable. At the last minute Nancyβs husband Bill picked me up and put me in their van. I was overjoyed to be going to live at Nancyβs house! I also overheard that one of Connie’s friends took the rest of my family for her son who had just gotten married and needed furniture. What could have been the worst day of my life turned into the best!
Now I have a really cool coat of soft blue leather and reside very comfortably in Nancyβs Beatles room. And Nancy spends hours sitting on me with her legs comfortably stretched out writing her stories. I tell you, dear Reader, things couldn’t be better! I’m so happy and I feel fine!
Reposting this from 2021. Initially I thought it would be a good companion piece for today’s “Moon River” post on At The Movies in The Rhythm Section. Then I saw Fandango’s comment when this was originally published (see bottom) and I got all verklempt. A giant ‘thank you’, Fan; it really is a fine little story, isn’t it? β€οΈ
For as long as I can remember my Uncle Bobby was my idol β the self-proclaimed βPoster Boy for Home Depot”. In fact, I canβt recall a time when he wasnβt fixing this or repairing that. He was the neighborhood handyman, the guy everyone called to replace a broken window or unclog their toilet. He could paint a room like nobodyβs business, his cutting-in seams done to perfection without the use of that βsissy painterβs tapeβ. Yep, he was like a magician, my Uncle Bobby was, and I loved following him around on his odd jobs, delighting at his request for me to hand him a Phillips head screwdriver or a roll of duct tape.
Uncle Bobby was a no-frills kind of guy; what you saw was what you got with him. He was my dadβs brother, living with us in the spare room of our old rambling Victorian house. He must have replaced just about every board of the huge porch that wrapped itself around the house. My mom would complain that the decking looked like a patchwork quilt with no two pieces of wood being exactly the same. Uncle Bobby would always say the same thing: βDonβt worry βbout nothing, Margie. Theyβll all weather with age and youβll never be able to tell βem apart.β But they never did and the porch truly looked like a jigsaw puzzle.
The biggest problem with Uncle Bobby was the fact that he couldnβt really fix anything that required true skill, like a washing machine or a radio or a power lawnmower. Whenever he attempted such jobs, heβd inevitably have a couple of pieces left over even after he finished putting the whole thing back together! Heβd toss all the unused parts into a ten-gallon drum in our basement (which was also his workshop). Funny thing was everything he was asked to repair would work fine for a while, then breakdown after several days anyway. Uncle Bobby would explain that he “fixed the dang thing but it was just its time to go”. I think I was the only one who knew about his stash of leftover essential pieces which doubled in size on a weekly basis.
Truth was Uncle Bobby had more crap in our basement than Carter had liver pills and he was slowly but surely inching his way over to the cramped corner where my mom had her washing machine. She finally put her foot down one day and demanded he either clean up his crap or build a wall around her laundry area so she wouldn’t have to look at all his crap. Rather than clean up the place, Uncle Bobby built mom a wall. Even she had to admit it was the best looking wall she’d ever seen, with a door and everything!
Believe it or not, Uncle Bobby was a genuine ladiesβ man and he βcleaned up real niceβ as old Mrs. Jenkins liked to say. Heβd wash up in the basement using Lava Soap, shave with menthol Barbasol and splash on the Aqua Velva then head out to Kellyβs Place for ribs and a few beers. All the girls liked Uncle Bobby but his favorites were the Andrews twins, Patty and Paula. They didnβt seem to mind the perpetual ring of dirt under Uncle Bobbyβs fingernails; no matter how many times he washed his hands that grime stayed put. He said it was βthe mark of a hard-working manβ.
Uncle Bobby loved watching those old black and white tv shows like Flash Gordon, Superman and The Twilight Zone. He had a real fascination with outer space and anything that could fly. Thatβs probably why he loved βThe Honeymoonersβ β that classic Jackie Gleason comedy show; heβd laugh his head off every time Ralph Kramden roared his trademark tagline βTo the moon, Alice!β
Iβll never forget that one Christmas when I got a remote control airplane; I think Uncle Bobby spent more time playing with that damn thing than I did. He was happy as a pig in slop the day he found a used one at the church tag sale. Heβd tinker with that thing every chance he could, making it fly higher and faster. Heβd inevitably forget to include a piece or two which he’d just toss into that catch-all drum of his.
So one day out of nowhere right in the middle of dinner Uncle Bobby announced he had his mind set on building a rocket ship. Well, I think everyone thought it was an asinine idea except me and they all laughed it off as him just joking around as usual. But I knew Uncle Bobby better than anyone and he was dead serious. He told me he was gonna use all the bits and pieces and spare parts heβd collected over the years. And what he didnβt have, heβd scavenge for in dumpsters, rubbish piles outside people’s houses or the garbage bins behind Home Depot. Those places were like a magical treasure trove for Uncle Bobby and he always came home with something. βYou never know when this might come in handy” heβd declare, proudly showing me a discarded catalytic converter or a manual typewriter.
Well, true to his word Uncle Bobby started construction on his rocket ship the morning of April 1st and the neighbors howled that it was the perfect April Foolβs Day joke ever. But it wasnβt no joke to Uncle Bobby and he worked on that craft every day. He pitched a tent in the backyard, rolled out that giant ten-gallon drum and went at it like a man possessed. And I was his helper; my special assignment was to find him a really good helmet and a cooler which I filled with Hawaiian Punch, bologna sandwiches and Twinkies.
By July 4th Uncle Bobbyβs rocket ship was finished. To be honest it looked like a pile of junk but he thought it was the most beautiful thing heβd ever made. He painted it red, white and blue and named it βIndependence Dayβ. By now word had gotten out and the whole neighborhood was there to watch Uncle Bobby attempt to take off into the wild blue yonder. Sporting his best overalls and the cool viking helmet I found for him, he climbed in, waved goodbye and slammed the door shut.
Well, the damn thing sputtered and smoked and made all kinds of weird noises but it suddenly started shaking and actually took off. It was kinda wobbly at first but it just kept on going higher and higher until it disappeared into the clouds. We all stood there with our jaws hanging open, expecting to see the ship come crashing down any second β but it didnβt. We stayed out there for a long time, then gave up and went inside thinking Uncle Bobby would probably just waltz back in when he was good and ready with some great adventure tales to tell.
Damn thing was, we never did see the rocket ship or Uncle Bobby again. Boy, I sure do miss him!
Hereβs to you, Rocket Man! Hope you had a great journey, wherever you are. π
Kabir and Deepak sat under a bael tree taking a break from the heat of the afternoon sun. They shared an aloo toast sandwich while keeping watch over their rickshaws, Deepak smiling and contented, Kabir scowling and dejected.
βWhat is your problem, Kabir?β asked Deepak. βYou never seem happy nor do you have anything cheerful to say. You do not talk about your children and how they are doing in school nor do you discuss how things are with your wife.β
βWe are struggling day after day, Deepak. Nothing positive ever happens. There are bills and rent to pay. Now my wife just told me she is expecting another child!β
βCongratulations, my friend! Another child! How can you say nothing positive ever happens? This is a blessing for you and your wife!β
βYou think so, Deepak, when we can barely feed the three children we already have? Now my wife will be unable to work and I will be the only wage earner in the family. My pockets are empty and I will have to work even more hours!β
The two men ate in silence for a while, then Deepak spoke. βKabir, we have known each other all our lives. We are like brothers so I am going to speak plainly to you. How we greet each new day shows clearly on our faces. If you are negative and always feel you deserve more in life, that is the first thing people see. When your wife told you she was expecting a baby, did you embrace her and tell her how happy you were? Did you share this joy with your other children? I can see by the look on your face that you did not. Why, Kabir?β
Kabir hesitated for a moment. βDeepak, itβs true we are like brothers but you have never had to scrimp and save for the things in your life. Your children are happy and do well in school while mine are sullen. Your wife is content and radiates joy while mine is depressed. Do not try to tell me we are the same when we have been dealt a very different lot in life.β
At this Deepak became angry. βKabir, you are a fool! Do you think I havenβt had to work for what I have? How our children grow and behave is a direct reflection of us and how we behave. How our wives feel is directly based on how we feel. If we are sullen, our home will be bleak and if we are optimistic, our home will be cheerful. Together my wife and I pledge to make the best of every day. Nothing good comes without effort.β
Having said that, Deepak stood to leave. βKabir, it is never too late. You still have time to turn things around. May your life always be full and blessed and may your rickshaw β¦ and your pockets β¦ never be empty.β
Kabir sat alone under the bael tree thinking what a camelβs ass he had been. The passengers will still be here one hour from now; first he needed to go home and embrace his wife.
In 1930 at the age of 15 my dad emigrated to the U.S. from Sicily. He spoke no English, had very little money and knew a bit about barbering. He settled in Brooklyn, moving in with friends from his hometown in Sicily, but Dad couldn’t live off the kindness of his friends forever; he needed to find work. Fortunately his friend knew of a barber who was looking for help so Dad applied for the job and started work the next day.
Every morning Dad would show up at the barber shop with a copy of the Italian newspaper, Il Progresso, under his arm. This went on for a week or so until one day his boss said to him in Italian “Hey, Vito. If you want to learn how to speak English, do yourself a favor and stop buying that newspaper. Instead, buy theNew York Times and read it every day.” My dad took that advice to heart and began reading the paper from front to back; sounding out the words he read and dealing with some English-speaking customers is how be became fluent in English. It wasn’t easy but he stuck with it. He was a self-taught man and after a few years he had just a trace of an accent. I give my dad a lot of credit for that.
My parents were introduced by mutual friends and married in 1939; their first baby, a son named Frank, developed nephritis and tragically passed away in 1943 at the age of two. As soon as the death certificate was filed, Dad was drafted. He served his entire tour of duty overseas, something he never liked to talk about. The one thing I do know about Dad’s army days was that he fought in the Battle of the Bulge.
After Dad returned from the war, my sister and I were born and we moved into a new house in The Bronx with my maternal grandparents. During the first few years living there, we had fresh Italian products delivered, including olive oil imported from Sicily. Dad was jealous of the handsome salesman and demanded my mom stop all deliveries. Mom was a beautiful woman and men were naturally attracted to her but she never gave them the time of day. She wasn’t a flirt and the thought of cheating on my dad never crossed her mind; killing him, yes, but cheating on him? Never!
Our family was very musical; we all sang, my sister and I played the piano and Dad played the mandolin. He shocked us by auditioning for our church’s production of The Mikado β and he landed the role! What a riot seeing this mustachioed Sicilian gent made up to look Japanese wearing an authentic kimono and singing Gilbert and Sullivan patter songs. He was the hit of the show!
In 1965 we went to Sicily to visit family. One day my parents went out shopping while my sister and I stayed behind with our cousins. When they returned, my dad had a gift for me β my first Italian rock & roll record, a hit called “Ho Rimasto”(“I Stayed”). Dad hated rock and roll so in my eyes this was just about the coolest thing he ever did!
Years later, when my sister and I had kids, they started calling my dad “Papa”. Dad was always coming up with corny jokes or comments which soon became known as “Papa-Logic”. We’d roll our eyes when he would intentionally order an “Al Pacino” instead of a cappuccino. Dad loved being controversial, too, and took great pride in getting his point across. I remember one day he saw a sign in a pizzeria window which read “WE HAVE THE BEST PIZZA IN TOWN!” Nothing wrong with that, right? Well, Dad felt differently and made no bones about it. He started a heated discussion with the pizzeria owner, demanding that the sign be changed to read “WE THINKWE HAVE THE BEST PIZZA IN TOWN!” Dad wouldn’t back down and the sign remained unchanged. And to make matters worse, he was banned from the pizzeria!
Times were rough in the early days; my parents struggled just like all young couples and faced more than their share of sorrow. They worked hard and saved their money, always putting the needs of family first. We weren’t rich but we had everything we needed.
My dad was a good guy; even though he could get on our nerves big time, he had a heart of gold. He adored his family and loved everything about being Sicilian. Still, one of his proudest accomplishments in life was the day he did the New York Times crossword puzzle β in ink!
We celebrated Dad’s birthday the other day; these are just a few of my memories.
“Summer Breeze.Β I’ll be damned! Dad loved that boat so much! How’d you end up with that old painting anyway, sis?” Jenny reached for the glass of wine her sister offered her; it had been ages since they had a chance to get together and catch up.
“Mom put it out with the trash after Dad died. She hated that boat, you know. Don’t ask me why but on an impulse I took it out of the trash when Mom couldn’t see. I never told you that story?” Missy asked Jenny, peering over the rim of her wine glass.
“Are you serious, Missy? I’m pretty sure I would have remembered that story. Did Mom ever find out about the painting?” Jenny asked Missy.
“No. She died before Sam and I bought this place. The painting’s been hanging over the fireplace since the day we moved in.”Β
“We sure spent a lot of time with Dad on that boat, didn’t we, Missy? Too bad Mom was never there with us.”
Missy stared at her sister. “You know, Mom would have been on the Summer Breeze with us if she didn’t get so damn seasick. I remember how she begged Dad to get an RV instead of a boat but he was adamant.Β ‘I’m alive on the water’,he’d say. ‘The girls and I will sail down to The Keys while you tend to the garden and write your stories. It’s a win/win for everyone!’‘ Missy imitated her father’s bombastic way of talking.
“Adamant and dismissive! He definitely showed that boat more TLC than he ever showed Mom” Jenny said, a bit of anger tinging her voice.
“I wonder if she was sad being alone so much.” Missy thought aloud and the two sisters sat quietly sipping their wine, lost in thought.
“OK, enough of this talk, Jen! It’s bumming me out! I’ve got a project I’ve been putting off for a while. How about giving me a hand?” Missy asked, refilling her sister’s glass.
Jenny laughed. “Sure! Just keep the wine coming, sis.”
“Great. Can you take the painting of the Summer Breeze off the wall? There’s a step ladder in the kitchen closet. I’ll be right back.”
Missy returned carrying some tools and a new picture frame. “Sid and I picked up this frame in Nantucket two years ago. I think it’s perfect for the Summer Breeze.”
Jenny laid the painting face down on the table and the two sisters began carefully removing it from the original frame. Once it was out of the frame, the cardboard covering the back of the painting fell away. The girls were bewildered to find nine small flat packages precisely wrapped in yellowed tissue paper stuck to the back of the painting.
“What on earth are these?” Jenny asked, clearly very curious.
“I have no idea” Missy replied. “I never even knew they were there.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out. Open one … but be careful! They look like they’re ready to fall apart”
Missy tentatively removed the diaphanous tissue paper from one package. Inside was an envelope with a letter enclosed. Removing the letter, she saw it was addressed to her mother. Silently she read it, her eyes widening in amazement.
“Damn it, Missy! Read it out loud!” demanded Jenny.
In a shaky voice, Missy read “My darling Beth. You just left and I’m already missing you. I long for the next time we can be together. Loving you – Philip”
The girls read all the letters, then sat in stunned silence.
Pensively Missy whispered, “Mom was having an affair. The whole time Dad left her to spend time on the Summer Breeze, she was with another man.Do you think Dad suspected?“
“No way! He only had eyes for the Summer Breeze and was oblivious to everything and everyone else” Jenny replied, somewhat shaken.
“She saved his letters, Jen! He must have been so special to her.”
“Well, I’m glad she was getting the special tender loving care she she so deserved. Good for her!What do you want to do with these letters?” Jenny asked.
“There’s only one thing to do” Missy replied, picking up the letters and walking to the fireplace. “We have to burn them. Here, let’s do this together, for Mom.”
The sisters placed the letters in the fire and watched them immediately be consumed by the flames. They smiled as one small piece flew around the fireplace, then disappeared up the chimney, heavenward.
It had been eighteen months since Jeanβs parents were killed in a skiing accident in Utah. Their deaths left her alone with no family except for her mother’s estranged younger sister Gloria who lived halfway around the world. When the accident happened, Jean thought of reaching out to Gloria in Australia but she had no way of contacting her. Besides, too many years and no love lost between her mother and aunt dissuaded her from even trying.
Jean could no longer put off the job of cleaning out her parent’s house. She packed up all their clothes as a donation to the Salvation Army and arranged for a pick up. On the floor of her motherβs now empty bedroom closet she discovered a large shoe box; it was full of old family photos.
Jean ignored the box for a few days until curiosity got the best of her. She carried it into the living room, poured herself a glass of wine and started going through the photos. There were the typical family images of her grandparents, her parents and herself Β β nothing terribly special or interesting.
Jean was about to put the cover back on the box when she noticed a manilla envelope at the very bottom. She pulled it out, unwound the string that kept it closed and emptied the contents onto the coffee table. All that slipped out was a clear plastic sheath from a photo album. There were six pockets on both sides of the sheath and each pocket contained a photo. Twelve images were visible β six on one side and six on the other.
Sipping her wine, Jean examined the photos. The first one was of her mother and Gloria; the remaining photos were only of Gloria. Jean didnβt recognize the place where the photos had been taken and no one else was there. It didnβt take long for Jean to notice that Gloria was pregnant; in each photo her belly appeared larger and larger. The final two photos were of Gloria cradling an infant in her arms. Something made Jean remove those two photos from their plastic covering; written neatly on the back in her motherβs handwriting was βGloria with her daughter, Jeanβ.
Jean slowly placed her glass on the table. Of course! It all made sense. That would explain why there were never any photos of her own pregnant mother, no photos of her proud father with his hand on her motherβs expanding belly, no photos of any other children. And, of course, there was the sudden disappearance of Gloria. Jean was an only child and Gloria β the woman she believed to be her aunt β was actually her mother. And who was her father? Jean was sure it could not be the man she thought of as her father; she always believed she never bore even the slightest resemblance to him. She was the spitting image of her mother and her aunt but now, looking at these old photos, she wasn’t so sure. Her whole life felt like a lie.
Jean was reeling with this new information. She paced the room thinking of what she should do next. She briefly wondered what time it was in Australia; she didnβt care. She needed answers. She searched through her mother’s address books until she found a listing for Gloria; who knew after all this time if the number was still the same? It had been 24 years since those photos were taken; she hesitated for a second, then dialed the number.
βPromenaders?β Chrissy looked up from her homework, a confused look on her face. βWow! Such a weirdword! Wonder what it means.Mom, are you listening to me?β
Julie, Chrissyβs mom, stopped preparing dinner and turned to talk to her daughter. βYes sweetie, Iβm listening. I know the word and you do, too. Just think about it for a minute, Chris. Anything come to mind?β
Chrissyβs face was skewed in a bewildered expression. βIt sorta sounds like that weird fruit, the one with all the red seeds in the center which youβre supposed to eat. How bizarre is that … eating seeds? Ya know what Iβm talking about, mom?”
Julie laughed. βYouβre thinking of pomegranates, Chris! And yes, itβs a little strange but the seeds are really delicious. Iβll get some for you to taste. Now, back to your homework … βpromenadersβ. Itβs a word youβve heard before. Try again.β
Chrissy absentmindedly chewed on her pencil, deep in thought, then smiled as though a huge secret had suddenly been revealed. βI know! Prom-en-ad-ers are teenagers who go to the prom!β And she burst out laughing at her play on words.
βVery clever, Chrissy girl, but not quite right. Wait … youβve just given me an idea! Letβs see if this jogs your memory.β Julie dashed out of the kitchen and returned with one of Chrissyβs yearbooks. βRemember when everyone took square dancing in 6th grade?β
βSure, but what does that yearbook have to do with anything, mom? That was, like, ages ago when I was eleven. Iβm fourteen now!β
Julie rolled her eyes. βYes, I know … youβre so very grown up now! Here, humor me and take a look at this picture. Itβs from one of the square dances you used to go to. Read the caption.β
Chrissy heaved an exaggerated sigh, took the yearbook from Julie and recited the verse:
*Then you all promenade with the sweet corner maid singing “Oh, Johnny! Oh, Johnny! Oh!β*
Chrissyβs eyes opened wide. βI remember that song! Thatβs the part of the dance when we strolled around the dance floor. Sooo, that must mean promenaders are people who stroll!βΒ Β
βThere ya go, kiddo! You got it!β Julie exclaimed. “Process of elimination; just some of the ‘smarts’ we acquire as we get older β like grey hair.”
Chrissy jumped off the kitchen stool and raced down the hall to her bedroom.
βHey … where you off to? Dinnerβs almost readyβ Julie called out after her.
βIβll be back in a second, mom. Just checking if I have any grey hair yet!”
Promenaders strolled down the sun-streaked boardwalk of Atlantic City, New Jersey; ladies twirled their parasols while gents tipped their straw hats and stroked their handlebar mustaches as they passed each other for it was Labor Day weekend, the unofficial end of summer, a perfect day with sunshine, blue skies and laughing children!
Margaret Wilson and her boy Sam came from Philadelphia for the fresh sea air, to gaze in awe at the hotels built like fairytale palaces along the seafront and to admire the piers dripping with neon lights, the most famous of which was the Steel Pier, known for its dance bands, water circus and other such attractions; in fact, it was revealed that the renowned composer John Philip Sousa and his band would be performing that very afternoon.
There were barkers selling salt water taffy and cotton candy, minstrel shows, fairgrounds and the famous Diving Horse, specially trained to charge up a 60 foot ramp to a platform atop the Steel Pier where a woman clad in a smattering of sequins leapt onto its back just before it plunged off the pier; horse and rider flew through the air, hitting the water to the applause of delighted throngs waiting below.
However today was a holiday and the children laughed gleefully as they rode the giant carousel on horses painted pink, yellow, white and green, even the smallest tyke straining to reach the brass ring while their parents strolled in their most fashionable clothes and made small talk; with the start of school the furthest thing from their minds, nothing could spoil a day like today.Β
Suddenly the cacophony of gun shots rang out and people screamed and scattered as gun-wielding robbers ran from a pawn shop, jumped into a waiting car and took off, bullets flying wildly; a momentary silence overtook the Boardwalk only to be shattered by a piercing wail that rose to the heavens and everyone turned to see Margaret Wilson cradling the body of little Sam, shot in the heart by a stray bullet (in his jacket pocket a folded essay, now stained with innocent blood, entitled βHow I Spent My Summer Vacationβ); the police arrived, removed mother and child and the band played on.Β
Written in response to GirlieOnTheEdge and Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt. The rules: six sentences β no more, no less. Punctuation be damned! The magic word this week is CAROUSEL. π
βCourse One: Escarole Soup. Course Two: Manicotti and Salad. Gina, what is this β Sunday dinner or a reception for the Pope?β
My girlfriend Gina showed me a copy of the menu her mother had planned for dinner. It was a seven course feast! βDo you eat like this every Sunday?β
βNo, silly β only when we have company. This week itβs my dadβs side of the family. Thereβs a lot a people and mom always says itβs better to have too much food than not enough.β
βWait a second. Thereβs going to be other people besides your parents? Like how many?β
Gina started counting on her fingers. βAbout 18, maybe 20.β
βThe first time I meet your parents Iβm also going to meet 20 strangers and you didnβt think to warn me??β
βOh, donβt worry. Theyβre gonna love you.β
βNo. Theyβll be employing Sicilian interrogations tactics. Theyβll chew me up and spit me out. Iβm Irish with blonde hair and pale skin. I donβt stand a chance!β
Gina laughed. βOh stop exaggerating. Weβre not The Mob, ya know. Just a mob!β
And she was right. I couldnβt believe the number of people that descended on her house. They were loud, funny, loving and very welcoming.
Ginaβs mom set the table extravagantly, using her best dishes, utensils and glasses. And the food was incredible. Besides the soup, pasta and salad there was fresh baked bread, an antipasto, a huge platter of meatballs and sausages, two roasts, a bunch of vegetables, fennel, fruit, nuts, a slew of desserts I couldn’t pronounce and coffee. Ginaβs uncles and male cousins ate like there was no tomorrow and no one stopped talking the entire time β except for Ginaβs grandmother who didnβt utter a sound and stared at me with beady eyes the whole day. Honestly, that tiny woman dressed in black from head to toe scared me to death.
As the woman cleared away all traces of dinner, Ginaβs dad got up, went to the cupboard and returned with a beautiful box made of highly polished wood with the finest Italian marble inlay. Placing the box on the table, he opened it to reveal an assortment of expensive imported cigars. The men lit up and a bottle of anisette appeared out of nowhere.
Ginaβs Uncle Vito produced a deck of cards from his vest pocket. βYa know how to play Red Dog, Phil?βΒ he asked me.
βUm β¦ itβsΒ Bill, sir. And no, Iβm not familiar with the game.βΒ
βHey, no problem, Irish. Weβre gonna teach ya. And donβt look so nervous. We may rob ya but we ainβt gonna kill ya. For some reason our Gina likes ya and if she likes ya, we all likes ya.β
While we played cards, Ginaβs cousins Louie and Frankie played their accordions and the women danced; it was the most surreal and unforgettable experience of my life.
I watched as Gina’s grandmother rose from her chair. Slowly she walked over to me and looked me square in the eyes. She grinned and pinched my cheek till it was beet red. And la famiglia howled.
I swear β 53 years later her stamp of approval is still on my face.
Grundy sat in his favorite spot: a dilapidated bench on the boardwalk at Coney Island overlooking Brighton Beach. He was celebrating the sixteenth anniversary of his divorce from Barbara, the βBitch of Brightonβ as he called her. And he was getting drunk as he did every night.
His routine never changed. After his shift at McDonaldβs, heβd grab a Big Mac, walk across the street to the Liquor Loft, buy a $7.49 bottle of Old Crow Kentucky Bourbon and a pack of Camel cigarettes, then stroll over to his bench and settle in.
Grundyβs Bench … his home away from home. Well, not literally. Thanks to his cousin Marcy and her husband Phil, he had an actual roof over his head. Grundy was real close to Marcy, growing up together and all, and Phil was as nice as they come, humble but with the bearing of a prince. Grundy lived with them and their three kids and all Marcy asked was for Grundy to cook Sunday dinner for the family. Hell, heβd cook dinner every night for those precious people if he wasnβt always shit-faced after work.
βPretty sweet dealβ Grundy thought as he took a swig of his Old Crow. βIβm a freaking loser, an embarrassment, yet they treat me with a love I donβt deserve.β He had his own room, a TV and Marcy did his laundry. He mostly kept to himself, getting home late. He had the day shift, breakfast and lunch included. The pay was lousy and so was the food but it beat a blank.
How the fuck did he end up here? Carl Grundy, a graduate of The Culinary Institute of America, working in some of the finest restaurants in the world … once one of the best chefs in New York … now a burger flipping drunk in Brooklyn.
So what happened? Bourbon happened. He wasnβt much of a drinker β an occasional beer β but one night after a particularly ugly argument with Barbara, he surreptitiously chugged a shot of the restaurantβs finest bourbon. It was ambrosia and he had another. Before long it became a ritual, then a habit and finally an addiction. He got caught, fired and the cycle began. Land a new gig, drink their booze, get sacked. Eventually the only job he could get was at Mickey Dβs and Old Crow was all he could afford.
Out of nowhere he recalled the words of some televangelist his mother used to watch: βYour decisions cause your circumstancesβ. Damn straight! He didnβt even realize he was crying. Well, enough reminiscing for one night.
Grundy gave his beloved bench a pat and stood up to begin his walk to Phil and Marcyβs. Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his chest and crumbled to the ground.
βOh, Lord! Iβve made a fine mess of thingsβ Grundy gasped. βIβm hurting and I want to go home. Mom and Dad are waiting for me.β
He died alone that night, his hands still clutching an empty bottle.
The Elephant's Trunk 