This week the three prompts from aooga at OLWG #389 are
1) thirsty souls, 2) police dog, and 3) Armando’s Market,
to be used as we like …. as is, as an inspiration or not at all.
Also, Gerry C & Sue W ask us to incorporate the word “eerie”
in their Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge. And finally,
I have used one of Kevin’s brilliant images from No Theme Thursday
as the inspiration for my post today. Here is my haibun.
Tag: Family
Woman Of Substance
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
Get That Cat-A-Comb!
When The Vow Breaks ~ A Quadrille
Written for dVerse Poets Quadrille Monday
where we are asked to write a 44 word poem in
the format of our choice incorporating the word
‘promise’. Here is my promise quadrille.
The Letter
Written for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday 10.24.24,
Fandango’s Story Starter #172 (#FSS), Eugi’s
Moonwashed Weekly Prompt (pretend), and
Gerry C & Sue W’s Weekly Prompts Wednesday
Challenge (fascination). This is my story.
Heads Up
Written for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday 10.24.24.
We’re offered incredibly creative images to inspire
and get our writing juices flowing. This is my story.
Family Affair
Written for Song Lyric Sunday. This week Jim Adams
has asked his readers in his post ‘Quality Time’ to write about
a song dealing with parenting or a child/parent relationship.
This theme was my suggestion and here is my reply.
Steve McQueen
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle
has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration
to get creative in 100 words or less,
making every word count. Here’s my flash.
“Well, here we are, Chip. Back in Beech Grove, Indiana!”
“You know, Babs. The old homestead really hasn’t changed much.”
“The Colonial Movie House is still open! Man, I’m so happy they didn’t get rid of that beautiful façade. Mom hated it, always saying it looked like a widow’s walk.”
“I bet you can’t remember the first movie we saw there, sis. Loser buys lunch.”
“Are you kidding me? It was “The Blob” with Steve McQueen. God, I loved that man!”
“That’s right! I forgot about your crush!”
“Look! Fire Station #1910 is now a burger joint. You’re buying, bro!”
NAR©2024
100 Words
Author’s Note: Beech Grove Indiana is the birthplace of Steve McQueen.
This is “Steve McQueen” by Sheryl Crow
From 1958, here is the trailer from “The Blob” starring Steve McQueen and “a cast of exciting young people”!
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Love Lost
Written for Sadje’s What Do You See # 257,
this is my free verse response.
In the 58 years since my birth, we were never close … just one of those sadly unfulfilled relationships between mother and daughter.
If she ever loved me, she didn’t show it. And, God forgive me, I did not love her.
Yet here I was visiting her at the nursing home.
Why? Was I driven by misplaced guilt?
Was I still seeking her approval?
Invisible. That’s the only word that came to mind when my mother turned to look at me.
Her eyes were blank, her expression impassive.
And when she reached for my hand, I couldn’t stop my tears.
NAR©2024
#WDYS
This is “Mother” by John Lennon
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Coulro Saves The Day
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 word or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
My whole life has been nothing but one big joke. I don’t know why I expected otherwise, considering I was raised by a couple of clowns, but I did. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I’m not being derogatory. Not in the least. My parents are clowns .… literally. They are circus clowns and so am I.
Raffles and Mittens are my parents. Some of my aunts, uncles and cousins are Poodles, Flopsy, Jingles, Pogo and Skippy. Rumor has it that my great-grandparents were Bozo and Clarabell but we never know what to take seriously in this family.
We all live in a rinky-dink circus trailer and if you think walking into pantyhose drying in the bathroom is annoying, try existing with a squirting flower, a megaphone, a pop gun and a seltzer bottle every day of your life. This clowning around life ain’t that easy!
Anyway, we needed some mode of transportation to get around town for shopping and appointments so we went to the used car lot. Of course, the used car salesman tried to talk us into a clown car, which was terribly condescending. Clowns are people, too, dammit!
That’s when my boyfriend, Stumpy, had an idea. Stumpy is a coulro* and the best clown on stilts there ever was. Everybody looks up to him! With bicycle parts salvaged from the junkyard, he assembled the Clown Limo. With his long legs, Stumpy can drive us anywhere at all.
People say it’s the coolest ride in town!
NAR©2024
250 Words
*Coulro is a Greek word that means “stilt walker” or “clown“. It may come from the ancient Greek word kōlobathristēs, which means “one who goes on stilts“.
This is “Take The Long Way Home” by Supertramp.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
And The Music Goes Round And Round
Written for Keith Allen’s Various Ramblings of a Nostalgic Italian
and his new blog “The Toy In Your Life”. Here’s what I had to say.
For as long as I can remember, music has been in my life in one form or another. There was never a time when I was not singing in a choir or choral group, either in church or school. My family was musical and the house was always alive with radio music, records playing, someone practicing the piano, someone else playing the mandolin, someone tinkering with the guitar, recorder, squeezebox, drums, and everyone singing, singing, singing.
I will always remember my Christmas present when I was 12 years old … a portable record player which my parents repeatedly made very clear was not ‘a toy’. I knew that! The toy phonographs came with Howdy Doody decals or Mickey Mouse ears and were made out of cardboard painted to look like leather or plastic. I had those toy record players which didn’t last very long; this was the real deal. To me, my teal blue General Electric Solid State record player was ‘the Holy Grail’! My parents spent “good money on that thing” and expected me to treat it with respect. What they didn’t predict was how I would worship that suitcase phonograph every day of my life.
This baby had built-in speakers that really blew! And a real diamond tip needle. My older cousin Joseph taught me the proper way to raise and lower the arm and how to safely get the dust off my records. My parents gave me and my sister a weekly allowance and I used most of my money to buy records.
The first 45 to grace my record player was “Da Doo Ron Ron” by the Crystals (which was prophetic because “his name was Bill”!). The early girl groups were my idols; I loved their sound and their lyrics were perfect for young girls with hormones working overtime. Then the Beatles invaded the US and my life was changed forever.
That GE teal blue record player became my best friend and I took very good care of it. After I was married, we had a hi-tech stereo system in the living room but I still kept my phonograph upstairs in the bedroom where we’d listen to romantic tunes like “A Million To One”, “Daddy’s Home”, “I Only Have Eyes For You” and “Ooh Baby Baby”. When our sons were old enough, I handed down my record player to them and now our 15 year old granddaughter has it in her bedroom. Her latest purchase was the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy which is pretty damn cool.
Thanks to Keith Allen for the invitation to write a little something on his new blog. I hope you enjoyed what I had to share today.
I’m Nancy, The Sicilian Storyteller.
See you on the flip side. 😎
NAR©2024
This is “Da Doo Ron Ron” by the Crystals
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Going To The Mattresses*
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #381 where
Sammi asks us to use the prompt word “bungle” and
get creative in exactly 41 words. Here’s my flash.
Dio mio! I’m afraid I’ve bungled things quite badly.
While planning the seating arrangement for my son’s wedding, I inadvertently placed Zia Carmella at Table 1 and her sister, Zia Francesca, at Table 2.
An insult! Disgrazia!
This means war!
NAR©2024
41 Words
* In times of war or siege, Italian families would vacate their homes and rent apartments in safer areas. In order to protect themselves they would hire soldiers to sleep on the floor in shifts. The meaning of the phrase “going to the mattresses” symbolizes the association in Italian folk-memory of mattresses with safety in wartime. The phrase wasn’t well known outside the US and Italy prior to the Godfather movies. It was used there, and later in The Sopranos, to mean “preparing for battle”.
When Kay met Michael, scenes from an Italian wedding (Godfather, 1972) featuring Al Martino as Johnny Fontane. This is “I Have But One Heart (O Marenariello)”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Flying … or … Volare
Written for Song Lyric Sunday. This week Jim Adams has asked his
readers to choose a song they remember from their childhood.
Music has always been a huge part of my life since my days growing up in The Bronx. Every self-respecting Italian family has a finished basement … one wide open room with a kitchen, eating area, a space for family activities, a TV area, a bathroom and closed-off workshop. Our television was one of those big console units which also included a radio and stereo with a storage cabinet and looked something like this:
When my sister and I listened to our music, my mother would either be cooking or in her sewing area and Dad would be at the kitchen table working on a crossword puzzle. He claimed he didn’t like our music but he never actually left the room when it was on. However, on Saturday afternoons my father commandeered the radio so he could listen to his favorite Italian show called “Pasquale C.O.D.” I remember it being just like WMCA … the station I listed … only in Italian. Pasquale was the DJ who’d talk about everything from food to politics and play the top hits from Italy and the US.
In 1958 there was a song we heard often and it became a family favorite; it got to be so popular, it wasn’t just limited to Dad’s Italian station. People all around the world could hear Domenico Modugno singing his hit “Nel blu, dipinto di blu“, more commonly known as “Volare”. Modugno composed the music and, along with Franco Migliacci, wrote the lyrics. The single was released on February 1, 1958.
The song spent five non-consecutive weeks atop the Billboard Hot 100 in August and September 1958, and subsequently became Billboard’s #1 single for the year. In 1959, at the 1st Annual Grammy Awards, Modugno’s recording became the first ever Grammy winner for both Record of the Year and Song of the Year. For more info about “Volare”, you can click HERE.
Here is “Nel blu, dipinto di blu (Volare)” by Domenico Modugno. This one’s for you, Dad.
LYRICS
I think a dream like this will never come back
Penso che un sogno così non ritorni mai più
I painted my hands and face blue
Mi dipingevo le mani e la faccia di blu
Then suddenly I was kidnapped by the wind
Poi d’improvviso venivo dal vento rapito
And I began to fly in the infinite sky
E incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito
Flying oh, oh
Volare oh, oh
Singing oh, oh
Cantare oh, oh
In the blue painted blue
Nel blu dipinto di blu
Happy to be up there
Felice di stare lassù
And I flew, I flew happily higher than the sun
E volavo, volavo felice più in alto del sole
And even higher
Ed ancora più su
While the world slowly disappeared far away down there
Mentre il mondo pian piano spariva lontano laggiù
Sweet music played just for me
Una musica dolce suonava soltanto per me
Flying oh, oh
Volare oh, oh
Singing oh, oh
Cantare oh, oh
In the blue painted blue
Nel blu dipinto di blu
Happy to be up there
Felice di stare lassù
But all dreams fade away in the dawn
Ma tutti i sogni nell’alba svaniscon perché
When the moon sets, it takes them with it
Quando tramonta la luna li porta con sé
But I continue to dream in your beautiful eyes
Ma io continuo a sognare negli occhi tuoi belli
Which are blue like a sky studded with stars
Che sono blu come un cielo trapunto di stelle
Flying oh, oh
Volare oh, oh
Singing oh, oh
Cantare oh, oh
In the blue of your blue eyes
Nel blu degli occhi tuoi blu
Happy to be down here
Felice di stare quaggiù
And I continue to fly happily higher than the sun
E continuo a volare felice più in alto del sole
And even higher
Ed ancora più su
While the world slowly disappears in your blue eyes
Mentre il mondo pian piano scompare negli occhi tuoi blu
Your voice is sweet music that plays for me
La tua voce è una musica dolce che suona per me
Flying oh, oh
Volare oh, oh
Singing oh, oh
Cantare oh, oh
In the blue of your blue eyes
Nel blu degli occhi tuoi blu
Happy to be down here
Felice di stare quaggiù
In the blue of your blue eyes
Nel blu degli occhi tuoi blu
Happy to be down here
Felice di stare quaggiù
With you
Con te
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Domenico Modugno/Franco Migliacci
Nel blu, dipinto di blu lyrics © Downtown Music Publishing, Peermusic Publishing
There were more than 100 different recordings of “Volare” worldwide but my favorite from 1960 was the version by Italian-American pop singer Bobby Rydell (Ridarelli). Even my dad thought he sounded pretty good! His recording reached #4 on the Hot 100 during the summer of 1960, #22 in the UK and #3 in Canada. Here is Bobby Rydell’s version.
Of course, we couldn’t go flying without the wonderful Il Volo (flight) and their rendition of “Volare”. These young vocal sensations came on the scene long after my father passed away; I wonder what he’d think of them. Here is Il Volo.
Big thanks to Jim Adams for hosting another great Song Lyric Sunday this week. Be sure to click the link and check out Jim’s site.
Thanks for stopping by. See you on the flip side. 😎
NAR©2024
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Bisnonna*
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we are
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. Here is my story.
The ambience in our house was different today, quietly busy as delivery men and acquaintances paying their respects came and went. My father and mother’s uncles directed the traffic of floral deliveries and positioned the many arrangements throughout the parlor. My mother and her aunts labored in the kitchen like silent worker bees preparing trays of food for the funeral dinner tomorrow.
We children sat meekly on the two enormous matching sofas along the side walls, eyes downcast, confused and uncharacteristically restrained. Occasionally we would glance toward the elevated casket in the center of the room and quickly look away. At 6:00 we were whisked off to the dining room where we wordlessly ate our evening meal, then returned to the parlor to continue our vigil.
There seemed to be a never-ending flow of people, a soft parade of mourners entering our house. Veiled women dabbed their eyes and men removed their hats, heads bowed. This stream flowed seamlessly from 2:00 in the afternoon until 9:30 that evening, many people lingering to reflect while caressing their rosary beads. A priest arrived shortly after 9:30; he spoke softly in our native Sicilian dialect, offering prayers and words of consolation. When he was finished, everyone except my mother’s aunts and uncles departed. My little cousins, some no longer able to stay awake, were carried home and my sister and I were shooed off to our bedroom upstairs.
It had been a long and sorrowful day. My great-grandmother, the family matriarch, had died.
NAR©2024
250 Words
*Bisnonna is the Sicilian word for “great-grandmother”.
Author’s Note: I was nine years old when my great-grandmother died. Much of that day is etched in my mind; in particular, I remember being unable to sleep that night knowing there was a dead body in a coffin downstairs in my parlor. Never ever will I forget the cold and waxy feel of my bisnonna’s skin on my lips as I, along with all the other children, lined up to place a kiss on her forehead … not something we did willingly.
This is “Paint It Black” by the Rolling Stones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Just A Part Of Life
Written for Friday Fictioneers where our host Rochelle
has asked us to use the photo below as inspiration
to get creative in 100 words or less, making
every word count. Here’s my flash.
Jenny looked around the no-frills room which was now her home. A shy girl, she’d never spent a single night away from home; now she was half-way across the country at an unfamiliar university with thousands of nameless faces.
At first she didn’t want her parents’ help moving but at the last minute she relented. They were on their way home now and all Jenny wanted was to grab her phone and beg them to come back and take her home.
The sound of girl’s excited laughter echoed in the hall; Jenny peeked out and someone happily waved her over.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “What Is Life” by George Harrison
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Whole Lotta Shakin’
Written for Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge with the
prompt word ‘bank’ and for Weekend Writing Prompt #377
using the word ‘reverberate’ in exactly 43 words. Here’s my piece.
When my kids played
the whole house would
shake
like an eight point
earthquake
and the coins in their
piggy bank
would
reverberate
as the crystal glasses
in the dining room
breakfront
did the hippy hippy
shake
and I
baked
an
earthquake
cake
NAR©2024
43 Words
You can find the recipe for Earthquake Cake HERE.
This is “The Hippy Hippy Shake” by the Swinging Blue Jeans
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Paradise Found
Written for The Unicorn Challenge where we ar1
asked to get creative in 250 words or less using
the photo below as inspiration. This is my story.
Eastern-most Long Island, New York. A little village called Montauk. “The End”, according to locals. Drive to the tip of the peninsula, walk a few steps and you’re in the Atlantic Ocean … literally.
1984 was our first visit. “Let’s go out for a weekend. If we don’t like it, we won’t go back.” Famous last words. We stayed at a no frills family motel on the beach; it was paradise.
Step outside the motel and watch your toes disappear into the sand. Big pool filled with sunburned families having the time of their lives. Huge towels and colorful umbrellas cover the beach.
An old salt regales us with tales about the first German U-boats arriving off Montauk in June, 1942. Psyched, we ride our bikes to the lighthouse where we discover WWII bunkers buried deep in the woods.
Montauk’s pizza place and ice cream joint are constantly busy. Drive five minutes west on ‘the stretch’ to a place known simply as “LUNCH” for a mouth-watering lobster roll or puffers and chips.
At night little fires dot the beach, glowing and crackling. Kids stab marshmallows with long sticks and plunge them into the flames for a gooey sweet treat that won’t be eaten again till next summer. Our boys’ hair is sun-streaked, skin bronzed, feet perpetually coated in sand. They’re happy as clams.
In time we started renting a house with a pool; vacations lasted six weeks; 35+ years of unforgettable family memories made, Montauk style.
Man, it was paradise!
NAR©2024
250 Words
The Memory Motel has been a fixture in Montauk since the mid-1920s. When the Rolling Stones were out at the east end, they would visit the bar at the motel for some heavy drinking, dancing, shooting pool, tussling, scuffling, and playing the only piano in town until sunrise.
This is “Memory Motel” by the Rolling Stones.
https://youtu.be/FJ4be-0Nt0s?si=mP0lpYtWe2zg_AFA
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Don’t Cry For Me Agrigento
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are asked
to get creative in 100 words or less using the
photo below for inspiration. Here is my story.
It was 1965, a big year – my sister’s graduation, the Beatles concert and our trip to Sicily.
We spent a day at Mom’s cousin Concetta’s farmhouse outside Agrigento. Goats, sheep and a donkey grazed in the field among the olive trees. Chickens scurried around the barnyard like drunken spinning tops. They were extremely entertaining – our favorite.
We hung out with the animals all morning. In the afternoon we drove to Agrigento to explore the shops.
Upon returning to Concetta’s, we sat down for dinner. Pasta to start, of course. When she brought out the roast chickens, we burst into tears.
NAR©2024
100 Words
Here are three ridiculously talented Sicilian guys from Palermo playing a tune called “The Chicken”. They are Matteo Mancuso (guitar), Riccardo Oliva (bass) and Salvatore Lima (drums). Enjoy this one.
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Brace Yourself
Written for Weekend Writing Prompt #375,
Weekly Prompts Colour Challenge and
Weekly Prompts Wednesday Challenge,
31 words exactly using the three prompt words
of defray, brown and rigid. Here is my flash.
Mary went rigid and her soft brown eyes filled with tears when she saw the orthodontist’s bill. With no dental insurance, she’d have to find some way to defray the expense.
NAR©2024
31 Words
https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2024/08/03/weekend-writing-prompt-375-defray/
This is “Easy Money” by Billy Joel
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Who The Hell Was Bessie?
Today at Song Lyric Sunday, Jim has asked us to choose
a song that begins with the same letter as our first name.
For me that would be the letter N. Here is my song.
Frank Sinatra Jr; in front Tina Sinatra, 1948
When I say “here is my song” I really mean MY song. From the time I was a baby and able to understand a few words, this song was special to me. As I got older it became even more special … particularly when my dad would sing it. There are a lot of memories attached to this song; I honestly thought it was written for me and that Frank Sinatra was singing it directly to me. You may recall from another of my posts that my dad hated Sinatra; this may be the only song by Frank that Dad liked. My sister Rosemarie really hated my song because she didn’t like any of HER songs; she’d whine that her songs weren’t as pretty and personal as mine and she’d get annoyed every time it was played. But the thing she hated the most was the line “sorry for you, she has no sister”! I guess I can’t blame her for that!
Have you figured out what my song is? Since it was made popular by Frank Sinatra most people wrongly assumed the song was composed specifically for his daughter. Well, that was a pretty big clue so you must know the answer by now! My song choice for today’s Song Lyric Sunday is “Nancy (With the Laughing Face)”.
The music for the song was composed in 1942 by Jimmy Van Heusen with lyrics written by comedian/lyricist Phil Silvers; it was originally called “Bessie (With the Laughing Face)”. Bessie? Who the hell was Bessie? Well, back in 1942 there was a famous lyricist named Johnny Burke who was married to our mysterious Bessie. Jimmy Van Heusen and Phil Silvers wrote the song for their friend Johnny Burke as a surprise for his wife Bessie’s birthday.
All the women at Bessie Burke’s birthday party loved the song so much, they started requesting that it be sung at their parties as well. Apparently Frank Sinatra wasn’t at any of those parties because when his friends Jimmy Van Heusen and Phil Silvers sang the song as “Nancy (With the Laughing Face)” at little Nancy Sinatra’s birthday party, Frank broke down and cried, thinking it had been written especially for his daughter! Johnny Burke, Jimmy Van Heusen and Phil Silvers wisely didn’t correct him.
In 1944, Frank Sinatra recorded the song as “Nancy (With the Laughing Face)” and it became a fan favorite. When I was born several years later, the song became a favorite in our house as well.
This is “Nancy” by Frank Sinatra
Lyrics
If I don’t see her each day, I miss her
Gee, what a thrill each time I kiss her
Believe me, I’ve got a case
On Nancy with the laughin’ face
She takes the winter and makes it summer
But summer could take some lessons from her
Picture a tomboy in lace
That’s Nancy with the laughin’ face
Did you ever hear mission bells ringin’?
Well, she’ll give you the very same glow
When she speaks you would think it was singin’
Just hear her say hello
I swear to goodness you can’t resist her
Sorry for you, she has no sister
No angel could replace
Nancy with the laughin’ face
Keep Betty Grable, Lamour and Turner
She makes my heart a charcoal burner
It’s heaven when I embrace
My Nancy with the laughin’ face
Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: Jimmy Van Heusen/Phil Silvers
Nancy lyrics © Barton Music Corporation, Imagem U.S. LLC, Universal Music Publishing Group
Big thanks to Jim Adams for hosting another great Song Lyric Sunday this week. Be sure to check out Jim’s site.
Thanks for stopping by. See you on the flip side. 😎
NAR©2024
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and is not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Identical Grief: A Haibun
Written for dVerse Poetics: Picking Up The Pieces
where today we are sharing grief. This is my haibun.
Tomorrow will be 4 months since my husband’s identical twin brother died suddenly. His wife returned home from a walk and found him on the bedroom floor; she said he was still warm. The news felt like an arrow ripped through our hearts. Jim was dead. How was my sister-in-law ever again going to walk into her bedroom without picturing her husband’s body? How was my husband Bill going to face the rest of his life as the lone twin? At one time there were three brothers; now there is only Bill. This is the most difficult trial for him. My husband lost a piece of himself that day. We are numb, disbelieving, questioning, dazed, numb, numb, so unbelievably numb.
You know how people say that time flies? Not when it comes to Jim; time has stopped for us. Logically we know he’s dead but our hearts cannot accept it. It’s unbelievable, inconceivable for us. It doesn’t feel possible. We function normally every day, do the same old crap, talk and eat and laugh. We watch movies, go shopping, pay bills, gab on the phone, babysit. We live the same lives we lived before Jim died except he’s not here to share them and we cannot wrap our heads around that. It just doesn’t feel like he’s dead. He should be here. It’s not right that he’s not here. It’s like someone has played the cruelest joke on us.
Now, when my sister-in-law looks at Bill, it’s Jim’s face she sees. And sometimes when I look at my husband, I see Jim and I find myself pondering why Jim was the twin who was taken.
I am Bill’s wife but Jim was his other half.
save them in your heart
golden summer memories
for when winter comes
No idea who’s who!
NAR©2024
This is “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
My Baby’s Baby: A Dectina Refrain
It’s
really
amazing
how time flies by.
People say ‘don’t blink’;
where did fifteen years go?
She is my baby’s baby,
his first child and my first grandchild;
our world changed the instant she was born.
It’s really amazing how time flies by.
This is my beautiful granddaughter Mckenna; she’s funny and fun to be with. At one time she wanted to be a writer; now she’s hoping to become a professional musician in an orchestra. Her instrument of choice is the baritone sax … a powerhouse! She just finished her freshman year of high school and was accepted into the National Honor Society. She’s been a member of her school’s swim team for the last couple of years and today she will start her first job as a lifeguard for her town’s public pool. She really wanted that job and is psyched she passed the test. So are we! Congratulations, Mckenna! We’re so proud of you!
NAR©2024
This is “Don’t Blink” by Kenny Chesney
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Bad Medicine
Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt #369
where we are challenged to write something clever
in exactly 33 words using the word “spoonful”.
Identical medicine bottles was how my non-English speaking grandfather almost killed my grandmother.
Alone for 15 minutes resulted in administering a near-fatal spoonful of massaging oil of wintergreen instead of dextromethorphan for coughs.
NAR©2024
33 Words
This is “Bad Medicine” by Bon Jovi
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Eulogy
Written for Fandango’s Story Starter #154
“’It wasn’t that long ago when Ethan was rarely bothered by mosquitos, but this year he’s being eaten alive by them’.”
I wrote that in my diary just a few weeks ago.
Thank you all for joining us today as we say ‘farewell’ to my beloved husband, Ethan …. another innocent victim struck down in the prime of life by the dastardly mosquito. Ethan was attacked last week while bringing out the trash for pick-up in the morning; it was just a quick run to the curb but he didn’t have his EpiPen on him. Who knew just a few moments later he’d be in cardiac arrest from anaphylactic shock?
Ethan was never bothered by mosquitos before and at first it was just an annoying surprise when he started developing a reaction a few months ago. The change in him was sudden and drastic and, as much as I will miss him, I’m so thankful his time of suffering was short.
Doctors can’t say whether this is a genetic trait, if our children Evan, Ella and Emily will develop this horrible allergy. To help our children realize the seriousness of this situation and to protect them, Ethan has left them his award-winning collection of swatters, his supply of EpiPens, his boxes of citronella candles, his stash of DEET and, of course, his journal.
When the allergic reactions started, Ethan began writing down his thoughts; as a poet, he wrote some of his best work over the recent months. He was most evocative in his agony.
In closing I would like to read one of his most poignant poems. It’s called ‘Ode To The Mosquito’. And please .… next time you see a mosquito, ask yourselves ‘What would Ethan do?’“
Ode To The Mosquito
How can such a little thing
Be so damn annoying?
Flying round my arms and legs
It’s bothersome and cloying.
Go away, you vile thing
I’ll swat you with a stick.
You’re not welcome in my home
You nasty little prick!
Who would think that tiny guy
Could be such a bloody sucker?
When he sticks his fangs in me
I scream “You Motherf*#+er!”
You get me every time I’m out;
My blood is extra sweet.
Come and get me, little twit!
Tonight I’m packing DEET!
The end. 🦟
NAR©2024
Poem originally posted 2022
This is “The Mosquito” by The Doors
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Feeling The Burn
Written for Friday Fictioneers where we are
encouraged to get creative by writing a story
of no more than 100 words using this photo
as our inspiration. Here is my 100 word story.
It was the summer of ’59 and I was going to spend July and August with my cousins at the shore. I’d been packing since my last day of school, finishing two days before taking off.
The following morning I awoke with fever, sore throat, bumpy tongue and a facial rash. Scarlet fever, the doctor said. The disease was highly contagious. I was prescribed antibiotics and my parents were warned to keep me home.
My summer plans were abruptly cancelled; I was dejected. All I could do was watch my friends playing, my nose pressed up against the window screen.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “Fever” by Little Willie John
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Inquiring Minds
Written for Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge
and Weekend Writing Prompt #368 where we are
asked to be creative in exactly 100 words incorporating
the prompt words “sleep” and “quaint”. This is my story.
We visited the Poe Cottage this week, former home of the poet Edgar Allan Poe. It’s about a 30 minute drive from my house and I thought my two teenage grandchildren would enjoy the walk-around since they’re both reading the works of Poe in school.
It’s a quaint old place with small bedrooms, a common kitchen-parlor-dining room downstairs and an upstairs loft. My 6’ tall grandson questioned how a grown man could sleep in the tiny bed.
At one point I realized my grandson had gone missing. Imagine my embarrassment when he was found napping in Poe’s bed!
Inquiring minds.
NAR©2024
100 Words
This is “I’m So Tired” by the Beatles
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Great White Plague
Written for Stream of Consciousness Saturday
where our prompt word is “sum” Here is my SoC.
When I was a very small child, one of my older cousins was suffering from a case of consumption, also know as tuberculosis. She was 16 years old and literally wasting away from this disease once called the “Great White Plague” due to the extremely pale complexion of those afflicted.
My cousin was always cold, requiring multiple blankets to keep warm, and time outside in the sun and fresh air, especially during the spring and summer. She was either in bed or reclining on a chaise lounge near the window in the parlor.
She looked like death. To the school age children in the house, this was a frightening time and they glanced at her with pity and wariness. They also avoided her, which was not very kind; some of them stayed away by spending extra time practicing their penmanship lessons and math sums.
At least twice each week my great-aunt Chesaria would stop by to administer her special “tonic”, light a candle and leave her mark on my cousin. The ritual never changed: first a dose of the safe-for-human-consumption red berry juice from the sumac plant. Next, Aunt Chesaria would draw a birdcage in blue ink on both of my cousin’s earlobes. The door to the birdcage was always drawn in the open position which allowed the evil spirits in my cousin’s body to find their way out. Finally, my great-aunt would light a tea candle and place it on my cousin’s chest to draw out the congestion. She would close the curtains and leave my cousin in the darkened room to allow her potions to do their magic.
Who knows if any of this strange “medicine” worked; our parents clung to the phrase “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts”. My cousin eventually recovered, because of or in spite of Aunt Chesaria’s administrations. She was never a robust woman after her ailment but she married and was healthy enough to give birth to nine children in just 12 years. She welcomed more than 40 grandchildren and a batch of great-grandchildren before passing away at the age of 86 just two years ago.
As a rule, Aunt Chesaria was summoned whenever anyone in the family or immediate vicinity became ill. She drew birdcages on my own earlobes during every childhood malady. But the question that remains unanswered is “Who took care of Aunt Chesaria when she became ill?” No one is around to fill in the blanks so I can only assume there was a witch doctor of sorts living in my neighborhood …. perhaps a black magic woman from Sumatra residing in the unassuming borough of The Bronx!
Presumptuous? Possibly. But fascinating, nonetheless.
NAR©2024
#SoCS
This is “Black Magic Woman” by Santana
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A Daughter’s Memory
The idea of Father’s Day was first conceived by Sonora Smart Dodd, a loving daughter from Spokane, Washington. It was also inspired by Mother’s Day as Dodd wanted a day to honor her father as well. William Jackson Smart was a Civil War veteran and single-handedly raised Sonora and her siblings after the death of their mother.
My dad was a Sicilian immigrant who came to the US by boat in 1930 at the age of 15. He arrived with his father and two brothers … one older and the other younger. His mother and sister remained in Sicily for another few years; according to my grandfather, “America is no place for a woman”.
None of them spoke a word of English.
My father was an apprentice shoemaker in Sicily who took up barbering after getting settled in Brooklyn, NY. His good looks and charm endeared him to many people and he was liked by everyone.
It was my dad’s boss at the barbershop who gave him a brilliant piece of advice. As was his habit, my father bought the Italian newspaper every day to read during his down time at work. One day the boss said to him in Italian “Hey, Vito! If you ever hope to speak English, do yourself a favor and start buying the New York Times every day and read it from front to back.” My father realized the importance of that advice and started buying the NY Times the very next day. With the added help of his English-speaking customers, he became fluent in English and lost his accent with no formal schooling. One of the proudest moments in his life was completing the NY Times crossword puzzle … in ink!
Dad became a US citizen and eventually landed a job with the post office. He was a US Army veteran who drove a jeep throughout Europe during WWII without ever having earned a driver’s license. He never did get his license and never drove again after his stint in the army.
My father loved music, especially opera, and I was exposed to classical music and opera at a very early age. The basics in life were Dad’s tenets … family, God, country, his job, providing a roof over our heads, food on the table and a good education. He was also the fun-loving one, with Mom always busy “cleaning up his messes”.
Dad loved people and entertaining in our home. He would often invite people for dinner without clearing it with Mom first. No wonder she was always pissed off! Dad was often in trouble for that and I found that devilish quality one of his most endearing traits. He truly meant no harm. He was a good and decent man who loved and was loved in return. And in the end can any of us want more than that?
Happy Father’s Day to all my guys on WordPress. I hope your day is as special as you are.
NAR©2024
This is “O mio babbino caro” (“Oh my dear daddy”) performed by Renée Fleming
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Much Too Late
Written for Jim Adams’ Thursday Inspiration #232
where the theme is “Too Late”. Jim has given us free rein
so I have written about a song featuring the ‘too late’ theme.
The first single from the album Valotte, and Julian Lennon’s most successful, was “Too Late For Goodbyes”, released in 1984. While Julian has gone on record to affirm that this song was not about his estranged relationship with his father but rather a failing romance with a woman, one cannot help but wonder. Considering a figure resembling John looms largely in the video, the song could carry more meaning despite Julian’s objections.
John and Cynthia Lennon divorced when Julian was just five years old, and for the next nine years Julian rarely saw his dad. When he was 14, Julian reconnected with John and made occasional visits to his home in New York City.
Julian inherited many of his father’s musical gifts, including a knack for songwriting. He wrote “Too Late For Goodbyes” on his own and released the song when he was just 21. It was a Top 10 hit in both the UK and US and helped him earn a Grammy nomination for Best New Artist, which he lost to Sade.
The album was produced by Phil Ramone who had managed albums by Paul Simon and Billy Joel. Ramone kept the production tasteful and mature considering he was working with a 21-year-old British kid in 1984. This is one of the more synth-heavy tracks on the album, with prominent guitar and bass.
If there’s one thing that bothers me about this video it’s the fact that we see Julian “playing” harmonica (it’s really just his cupped hands) but the legendary harmonica virtuoso Toots Thielemans was the one who actually played the harmonica part. Picky, maybe, but it just doesn’t sit right with me. It would have been nice to see Toots in the corner playing his harmonica; gotta be a reason that didn’t happen. The video, which was directed by movie director Sam Peckinpah, did very well on MTV; Peckinpah also directed Julian’s next video which was for his song “Valotte”.
“Too Late For Goodbyes” was a top-10 hit, reaching #6 in the UK Singles Chart in November 1984, and #5 on the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart in late March 1985. The song peaked at #1 on March 16, 1985 on the US Adult Contemporary chart, spending two weeks in the top slot.
One final note that is so obvious it cannot be ignored: the Beatles’ DNA is incredibly dominant as we can see here in Julian’s video, in performances by Dhani Harrison, Sean Lennon, James McCartney and drummers Zak and Jason Starkey, two of Ringo’s sons. All the Beatle Boys bear a striking resemblance to their famous fathers and have been blessed with their very identifiable voices, artistic songwriting abilities and performing talents …. quite a legacy for a little group from Liverpool.
This is “Too Late For Goodbyes” by Julian Lennon
NAR©2024
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The Evolution Of Kukla
© NAR
We’ve all said it before….
“Where did the time go?“
“My, how they’ve grown!“
“Time flies!“
….and any other cliché you care to toss out.
But …. let’s get real! Where did the time go and how did she get so big?
Our youngest grandchild, 4-year-old Colette, is not a wee one any longer. Of course, we’ve noticed some of the clothes we keep for her at our house have gotten snug but now she can help herself to anything in the refrigerator, open the latch on the gate leading to the front yard without any assistance and we’ve had to make some adjustments to her car seat. However, nothing brings home how much she’s grown in nine months like these two side-by-side photos.
Back in September on the first day of nursery school, she was a giddy little tyke bubbling with enthusiasm and now she’s a beautiful little girl looking so very mature and confident, pictured on the last day of school on June 5.
Colette’s on a steady course to independence …. dressing and showering by herself (with some careful supervision), using a “grown up” drinking glass instead of one with a lid and straw, calling her parents “Mom & Dad” instead of “Mommy & Daddy”, and a bunch of little changes we see on a regular basis.
Our son drops her off for us to babysit each week on Tuesdays, Thursdays and the occasional Saturday; now that she’s able to do so much on her own, it’s a lot easier for us but sometimes we sure do miss that giggly, squirmy toddler! Time is going far too fast.
She’ll always be our little Kukla, no matter how old she gets; that’s something no amount of time will ever change!
NAR©2024
This is “What A Difference A Day Makes” by Dinah Washington
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The Elephant's Trunk 