Written for Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt
#440 where we’re asked to be creative in exactly
97 words using the word ‘heritage’. Here’s my take.
Tag: Sicilian
Suspended Animation
This is The Unicorn Challenge where we are
encouraged to write a story in 250 words or
less using the photo below as inspiration.
I used a story of mine from 2019 which I
remembered the minute I saw the image.
In Vino Veritas
Written for The Unicorn Challenge
where we are encouraged to write a
story in 250 words or less using this
photo as inspiration. Here is my story.
The Bus Ride
Written for OLWG #410.
The three prompts are shown below.
This is my story.
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.
Buon Appetito: An Ovi Feast
Ronovan offers the inspiration “food”
for Ovi Poetry Challenge #50.
Here’s my serving; pull up a chair.
Escarole and bean
Lentils red and green
Split pea and sardine
Traditional Sicilian soup
Feather light manicotti
Cushiony ravioli
Plump cavatelli
Pasta so delicious
Flaky sfogliatella
Creamy panna cotta
Sweet ricotta cassata
Decadent Italian desserts
Bubbly iced Moscato
Heady regal Borolo
Grapey Montepulciano
Intoxicating me
NAR©2024
This is the fabulous Billy Joel with “Scenes From An Italian Restaurant”
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be use without permission. NAR©2017-present.
Suspended Animation
Written for Six Sentence Story where we are given a word,
in this case ‘lift’, and asked to incorporate it into a story of
no more than six sentences. This is my true story of family.
© NAR
“Mangia il cibo sul tuo piatto, Concetta, o lo mangerai dal pavimento” – (“Eat the food on your plate, Concetta, or you will eat it off the floor.”)
Without changing her expression or taking her huge brown eyes off her father Domenico’s face, three year old Concetta picked up a meatball, extended her arm over the side of her highchair and very calmly let it drop to the floor.
Silence.
Everyone sat in suspended animation as Domenico deliberately put down his knife and fork and removed the napkin which was tucked into the neck of his shirt; slowly he stood up, walked behind Concetta’s chair, grabbed the back of her dress and lifted her up.
Holding her feet with his other hand, Domenico lowered Concetta’s face to the floor until her mouth touched the meatball; she tried to turn away, but Domenico pushed her face into the food, forcing her to take the meatball into her mouth, then, satisfied, he sat her back in her highchair, returned to his seat and resumed eating while Concetta languidly chewed what was in her mouth.
Hesitantly, self-consciously, everyone resumed eating and talking except Concetta’s mother Rosa who sat watching her daughter closely; at the end of the meal as the women cleared the table, Rosa placed a napkin over her defiant daughter’s mouth so she could spit out the uneaten meatball and whispered in her ear “Mai più, Concetta; obbedisci a tuo padre!” – (“Never again, Concetta; obey your father!”)
NAR©2024
This is a Sicilian folksong called “Mi votu e mi rivotu” (“I toss and I turn”)
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for The Sicilian Storyteller, The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not for use by anyone without permission. NAR©2017-present.
GRAVY MEAT
It’s time once again for
Friday Fictioneers.
This is how the photo
prompted me.
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 didn’t say “sauce” either; it was “gravy”. Meatballs, pieces of pork, beef and lamb, sausages and bracciole – that’s Sicilian “gravy meat”.
Mom’s 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 wasn’t really necessary; everyone just followed their nose.
NAR © 2023
100 Words
This is Louis Prima and “Come On A My House”
THE LAST VIOLIN
It wasn’t often that we received a package from Sicily, so when one arrived that Tuesday afternoon between Christmas and the new year of 1964, we were all very excited.
The family sat around the kitchen table as my mother painstakingly opened the brown paper, being careful not to tear the stamps which my father would place into one of his leather-bound albums. Finally the outer wrapping was removed, revealing a plain white box. My mother slid the cover off the box to find a card sitting atop pillows of tissue paper. Prolonging the excitement, she read the card silently to herself, then aloud, translating into English:
“Dearest Concetta. We noticed how much you admired this while you were here on vacation. You left without buying it so here it is as a memento of your time spent with us. We hope you enjoy it as much now as you did then. With love – Cousins Paolo and Enza.”
Slowly, carefully, Mom removed the tissue to reveal the most beautiful music box I had ever seen. It was a miniature violin, made of highly lacquered ebony with mother of pearl inlay. We all sat in wonder as my mother gently wound the music box, then placed it on the table as an ancient Sicilian folk song began to play. It was wondrous and I immediately fell in love.
Cradling it tenderly in her hands, my mother moved the violin into the living room and placed it on the marble coffee table where it became the glistening centerpiece of the room.
Several times each day I would wind up the music box to listen to the hauntingly beautiful tune. I never tired of the glorious melody and treated the violin like a treasure, always careful not to over-wind it. I listened, mesmerized, as the music slowed down and the final note was played. It was my delight for many years and I imagined it being mine one day.
Decades later when my mom passed away, a few of her cherished items were placed in her coffin and buried with her … a small tin of pink sand from Bermuda where she and Dad honeymooned, a little toy horse which belonged to her precious firstborn who passed away at the age of two and, unbeknown to me, the magical violin music box.
I grieved the passing of my beloved mother. I mourned the loss of that treasured music box … the first, last and only violin I would ever have. But now, during the lull between Christmas and New Year’s Day, I remember that Tuesday in 1964 when that violin entered our lives … and I smile.
NAR © 2017
NANCY HAS LEFT THE BUILDING
Hey! I know that a chick. You know her, too. It’s ME, the artist formerly known as Nancy Richy. Knew I couldn’t fool ya!
Well, it’s never too late to make some changes in life, teach an old dog new tricks, give the house a fresh coat of paint, etc etc.
So, may I introduce to you the scribe you’ve known for all these years – The Sicilian Storyteller! I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse AND tell you a story at the same time! LOL!!
My website hasn’t changed; only my penname has been altered. It’s your same old friend with a new handle; don’t be afraid to turn that handle and come inside. I don’t bite – well, only those I like. 💋
Let’s get real: I’m proud of my heritage and the fact that I’m a writer; it’s who I am and what I do so why not go with it?!
Hello, all my friends! See you later! Ciau, tutti amichi! Ni sintemu doppo! 🙋🏼♀️
NAR © 2022
LAMB STEW
As she kneaded the dough for that night’s supper, Juliana caught a glimpse of her reflection in the open kitchen window. The wild child from years ago had been replaced with a confident, sexy woman. No cover girl, for sure, but not bad at all for a well-seasoned dame of a certain age.
Long brown hair, hazel green eyes and a captivating smile more than made up for her slightly prominent Sicilian nose which only added to her unique beauty (or so she had been told). She was not tall and thin but her legs were long and her curves voluptuous. No skin and bones, this one. Laughing lustfully, she thought “more like a handful …. or …. a ripe mouthful”. She laughed at herself often …. another appealing characteristic (or so she had been told).
Her laughter rippled through the sun-kissed Sicilian air. Brushing an errant lock of hair from her face, she continued kneading and massaging the dough with sensual, undulating back and forth motions.
Looking outside, she noticed the handyman, Santino, across the veranda smiling, watching her appreciatively. Should she smile back or simply ignore him? She had seen him working next door several times before …. no movie star, he …. but there was something intriguing about this stranger. That familiar fantasy began surging in her mind. Was it his powerful arms, the cigarette dangling from his lips, his crooked smile, the devilish twinkle in his chocolate eyes?
Chuckling heartily, he pointed to her, then began wiping his face with his hand. Glancing quickly at her reflection, she saw a streak of flour across her forehead and nose. Mortified, and barely managing to maintain her composure, she reached for a towel to clean her face. Suddenly he roared with laughter and she realized in her haste she had wiped her face with the discarded flour sack, not a towel.
Now she, too, was consumed with laughter, tears streaming down her floured face, doubled over in giddy convulsions. Regaining self-control, though still giggling despite herself, she stood …. only to find she was face to face with this charming rogue. Spellbound, she allowed him to gently wipe the flour from her face, her eyes never leaving his, tiny gold flecks dancing provocatively as he looked at her intently.
“I prepared lamb stew for supper. Would you like to join me?”
“Si, cara. I would love to.”
NAR©2024
This is “Love With The Proper Stranger” by Jack Jones
All text, graphics and videos are copyright for Nancy (The Sicilian Storyteller), The Elephant’s Trunk and The Rhythm Section and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.
The Elephant's Trunk 