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And the story is told that the first believers were simple Shepherds, who were taking turns watching their flocks one dark starry night. When lo and behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to them, surrounded by radiant swirling billows of light. Stirred from their sleepy watch, the Shepherds were terrified, but this beautiful angelic being, floating in mid-air, began to speak to them in words something like this: "Do not be afraid. Listen, I have something wonderful to tell you. After tonight, you and everyone else will never be the same. You are going to be so ecstatic . . . just filled with wonder. I can't wait to see your faces! You're going to want to share this joy with everyone. I know, it sounds incredible, but today in Bethlehem a Savior has been born, and he is the Christ, the One you've all been waiting for!!! I know it's hard to believe, but listen, here is a sign for you: You will find the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger." And with that , the angel whooshed up right over their heads. Suddenly, a whole bunch of them appeared, swirling in gorgeous golden lights, praising God and singing: "Glory to God in the highest and peace to men of good will." And then, just like that . . . they disappeared.
Now, you can picture the shepherd's faces, looking up and then looking at each other, saying; "What was that? Did you see what I saw? Did you hear what she said? Do you think it could be true?" And with that, a few of them decided to go and find out, since the small town of Bethlehem was just over the hill. They were filled with excitement and took nothing with them except for one little lamb, a gift for this baby, should they find him. And they did find him, just like the angel said, wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. They entered the humble stable and gave the parents their little lamb, telling them how the angel came to them in the fields that night. They told Mary and Joseph that the angel called their Child the Savior, the Christ. And they stood there together, on that quiet starry night, looking in wonder at a sleeping Babe who would change the world forever.
This is what I used to tell my kids when they were young, teaching them to cross the street: Stop! . . . look (both ways) . . . and listen. Three important words every child needs to learn very early in life.
STOP! . . . Is that a word anymore? Are parents allowed to yell that in public? When your two year old is trying to poke the dog's eye out with a twig . . . can you quickly shout "NO"?! Or are you now advised to ask your child if you can have the twig . . . PLEEEZZ?? I remember years ago when my youngest son was two and we'd gone to the playground one cloudy day. I was pushing him on a toddler swing next to three other Moms and their little ones. All the tots were giggling and squealing, when all of a sudden it began to lightly rain. As the drops became bigger and wetter, the two Mom's to my left and myself began declaring . . . "Okay, it's time to go!" . . . "Two more pushes" I said to my pouting child and then took him out of the swing as the other two ladies did the same . . . just before the downpour started. But not so for the Mom to the right of us. She was standing and pleading in front of her two year old daughter in the swing . . . as they both were getting drenched . . . "PLEEEZZ, Sweetheart,can't we stop now?" The little tyrant just shook her head "NO!!!" and screamed bloody murder as her Mother attempted to come near the swing. So the woman stood there crying and repeating her need for permission from a two year old. I wouldn't be surprised if she's still standing there pushing that swing!
“I saved these just for you” she said. “I knew you’d come one day to find them.” Bending to her bureau drawer, the moonlight swept across her face and there ‘neath tattered wings I saw a form familiar.
She picked up bits of ivory with her musing fingertips worn now from the years. A smile, soft and lovely, graced her frail and shallow face and flash-backs just like shreds of lightening . . . flooded me.
“It was you, wasn’t it?" I gasped. “All the while it was you . . . tiptoeing past my bed like a thief who’d stolen jewels. I thought that I was dreaming . . . swore I saw those wings . . . yes, and that fairy scent you always wore. You lived with us back then, Grandma, and all the while . . . I thought that thief was Mom!”
She bid me, “Close your eyes and open up your hand.” and as if I were standing small again . . . I anxiously obeyed. Then she dropped them, my tiny ivory tooth buds saved since childhood toppled in the center of my palm, "treasures, jewels" she said . . . her memories.
And there we lay that evening recalling heart-soaked lullabies rocking in the dark till all the breath of all the years dissolved into my arms and the long cord of Grandma's love ~ wrapped my heart with gold.
This morning, I was remembering a certain Sunday long ago when I was young, sitting in Church and feeling quite alone. The priest that day ended his sermon with these words from Isaiah 49:15 . . . "See, I will not forget you. I have carved you in the palm of my hand.
The image, those words conveyed, gave me such comfort . . . and continues to stay with me throughout my life, especially through difficult times . . . reminding me always of God's faithful love.
It was my Dad who made that image so real for me one day . . . that day sitting at the kitchen table. He was tired, working three jobs to support his brood of five, all alone, after my mom had left. Dad was an optimist, tomorrow would always be a better day. We were alone together that particular morning. My brothers and sisters were still asleep. I remember asking him if he wished we were rich. He smiled with affection and touched my cheek. Then he took out his worn brown leather wallet and wanted to show me how rich he he really was.
Out came five folded little papers he'd kept safe through the years, one small note of affection from each one of us and he let me read them. Dad was all teary eyed and said something like . . . See, these are my jewels . . . you kids. I'm the richest man on earth. I knew then, that in his own simple way, my Father had carved us in the palm of his hand.
Moments of love, shared at a kitchen table, little notes of affection saved close to the heart . . . small, but present remnants we have each passed on to our own children, in hopes that they will never feel alone, so that even when we're gone . . . . they'll remember how much they were loved.
What will we do to save our children from the monsters that hide not under beds nor in the shadows on the wall but prowl the streets and wait for the yellow bus and that one last lingering child who dillydallies jumping over puddles skipping down the road singing silly songs she only learned today?
What will we do to hold back mothers and fathers from taking the law into their hands when we ourselves have decided to join them?
How do we turn this world upside down and inside out again and will it ever, ever end . . . the sacrifices of the innocents among us?
What will we do when the seas dry up and there is no more salt left for tears? What will we do when poets are no longer needed?
I remember back then when my brothers and sisters and I were young. We could be a wild bunch at times,the five of us, but that was only allowed inside our own home. When our parents took us to visit we were warned way in advance to quell the rising fear of . . . Oh my God! Ciro and Marian are coming with the five kids!! One Aunt in particular, my mother's older sister Aunt Mary, was pretty well to do and had a house that looked like a museum. It stayed that way even with her three children living there, thanks to her diligence and fanaticism. There was a long four cushioned sofa against one wall in her living room, just long enough to seat five children and that's where we were forewarned to sit and mind our manners . . . or else! And we did just that until compassion overtook her and she bought us cookies . . . but WATCH the crumbs! Why were we so obediently mild-mannered on family outings, you might ask? Because we knew with certainty that my mother meant business when she said "This is not our house. Do NOT embarrass me!" When I had my own five children and they were small, I passed on the warning too. Behind the issue of embarrassment was the greater core of Italian-American family life . . . RESPECT! You respect your elders, your parents, your teachers . . . and last but not least . . . YOURSELF. My children knew very clearly what was expected of them from early on. No, they weren't perfect, but they learned respect. I remember my young son Brendan's astonishment when a schoolmate who came to our house one afternoon, walked right up to the refrigerator, opened the door, and grabbed something to eat for himself. Before I could say anything, my seven year old said "What are you doing?" The boy replied nonchalantly, "Getting something to eat, why?" And Brendan sternly said in his little gruff voice, "You better put that back. This isn't your house and you didn't ask!" The boy turned around and saw me standing with my arms folded and sheepishly returned his booty back to the fridge. Then Brendan said, "Mom, I think Adam's hungry." I asked the boy if he'd like something to eat and he shyly shook his head yes and I fixed them both something nice to eat. Adam started smiling again. The next time he came to our home he remembered that we don't starve hungry children here and all he had to do was ask. Another time, a different friend came over and used the bathroom. When he came out, Brendan was next in line to use it. He walked in and ran right out pulling his friend back into the toilet in a panic. The boy had peed all over the seat and decorated the wall also and just walked out. I heard my son warn him that if his Dad came home and saw that mess he'd be very angry and he won't let you play here again. And then he added, "You have to aim inside the bowl in our house."
It's called . . . Respect. It's called . . . I CARE!
Allowing and encouraging children to grow and explore their world is a task that does not come without responsibility. Respect for oneself and others begins at a very young age, but those values taught and supported through childhood continue throughout one's life. Children need boundaries and when they're in new and unfamiliar places they need to know what these boundaries are. Do unto others as you would have them do to you is a wise lesson to learn early in life. Children can't grow up alone or in households where no one ever has time for them. They learn respect from their parents first. It all goes back to the beginning. Kids need to play and have fun, to be free and be loved. It's not about restricting their good times. It is about l
0 Comments on Kids Don't Learn Respect . . . Unless You Teach Them as of 8/28/2010 9:11:00 AM
Warm and tender, you look into my eyes speaking your truth to my soul. You speak it, because you love me and want nothing less of our lives together. Patient and waiting, you give me time to come around and miss you. And miss you, I do so often when we live our separate days.
You are home to me your voice, your smile, your being. You are my ground . . . my reason to stop and think of why I want to live.
So many times, we've run the race your hand in mine one heart cheering for the other. So many times, we've licked the wounds and kissed the remnants of our war torn fleeting triumphs.
Aren't we the lucky ones to have found the piece that fits? Aren't we the blessed ones, entwined like vines around an old oak tree, dying and being born again so many times together?
Oh, how I love you, Lord of My Heart! You are my husband, my brother, my dearest friend. There has been no greater gift in my life. You were the beginning of all good things to come, the mating of our spirits that brought new life, new shining Beings into this world, our Children so fragile, so strong, so beautiful . . . like you, my Precious Love.
0 Comments on And You Are the Man I Love as of 9/3/2009 1:13:00 PM
Our new grandson was born a few weeks ago and christened William Albert, named after both his grandfathers. Every week his little face changes and draws such attention from everyone in the family. When he was born, the resemblance to his father was striking. Now he looks like his mother's Dad.
William's birth was a long time coming, conceived after five trying years of countless "almosts" and tests and then finally . . . the invitro that secured his place in the world of the living! Such longing, waiting . . . hoping for this child to be born and at every stage in utero another concern to address: my daughter's blood disease, her asthma, two painful needles every day stuck in her belly. Yet, little Will continued to thrive and grow within my daughter's womb, and each sonogram painted a promise . . . this child is perfect.
At his Christening, the tender words of Deacon Pat fell like the baptismal waters upon his tiny head, as he anointed William with holy oil and claimed him for Christ. This sleepy Babe, adorned in white, the scent of newborn clinging still, was slowly roused by loving sighs of all who watched and smiled at him.
I began to hear an ancient echo in my heart, "What child is this?" He is his parents' child, yet he belongs to all of us who promised to be a caring part of his life. He is of our clan, one of us. Our heritage, our stories, our memories and hope are all within his every cell. He is our future. William Albert is the new life in our family . . . full of wonder and possibility.
And I felt for one small moment what those who came to the Stable one night long ago must have felt as they gazed upon that Newborn Babe in wonder. "What child is this . . . so filled with light? What child is this . . . who brings such joy, such hope?"
I know now for certain that each new child born into this world brings a promise and a blessing for mankind . . . and it rings through the universe. . God still believes in us!
I was thinking this morning how things have changed for children in today's society. When did the notion start that kids had to have their own rooms? This certainly is far from what exists in many other countries and also in many parts of our own. But nevertheless, it seems as though it's just expected that in these days parents who can afford to buy a home, look for one with as many bedrooms as their number of children.
I remember growing up having to share my bed with my sisters . . . let alone my room, which wasn't MY room anyway, but ours! My two brothers shared a room too. We were five kids and two parents . . . and one bathroom. When I think of it! The line outside the door sometimes grew very loud with hurry ups and threats, some of which I won't mention. Getting ready for school and taking care of personal needs while someone else is banging on the door presented its own set of challenges, while trying to find your own clothes in a closet shared by three girls was yet another. I'm not talking about a walk-in either! I'm thinking that these circumstances might have been a reason for kids leaving home much earlier than they do today.
When I got married and we began our family, the same numbers were replicated . . . five kids and two parents. The first thing we did when we moved into our four bedroom home was add another full bathroom and we even had a half bath extra to boot. Our three girls were still small at that time, but I wasn't waiting. My memories of teenage years pushed me to get ready for that primal female energy to resurface once again when my own daughters became teens. And god, did it ever!!! Still, they had to share one bedroom for a long time. When our oldest girl's asthma became really troublesome, we moved her into her own room. Yet, there were many nights we'd find her sisters and brothers with blankets and pillows, sleeping on her bedroom floor! I guess there remains a special comfort on stormy nights for children to snuggle up together and feel safe. Pillows and fluffy blankets shared seem to always calm the soul.
But as time goes on, things change, needs change and we all get caught up in one way or another to strive for bigger and better things. It stands to reason that the more we own, the more space we need and that seems to be one of the problems. The need for privacy and independence is another. But how much and how soon? I guess there is a certain status we unconsciously or consciously aspire to in this world where achievement is honored . . . and expected. I just wonder why for so many it has to begin so early in life, when childhood only lasts for just a moment and I wonder too . . . just how much better off as a people we really are.
I wrote this poem one windy autumn day 20 years ago, when I still used clothespins! Perhaps it will stir some of your own fond memories . . .
The Clothesline
From my window it’s a comical sight, even musical the way the wind plays posie with my wardrobe hanging there. Today, shirtsleeves wave to me and flutter high and low now and then when wind swirls toss the trees appearing to be raising arms in unison like graceful rows of Muslims praising God . . . they make their bows to Allah.
A merry sight, this autumn day despite the fact that folding clothes will occupy my time tonight. I still find viewing them delightful. Never mind that I’ll be picking bits of leaves and twigs from playful sweaters woolen socks and sheets.
It’s sweet nostalgia come to visit me today bringing me to Brooklyn streets and brownstones with their backyard lines childhood thoughts of neighbors hanging wash tattle tales and peekaboos hung dripping on the line. Minny’s see-through underwear and Bobby’s holey socks Alice wears a bra now . . . and you don’t!
Soon the winds will grow too cold for hanging clothes but still . . . I might just do it one day, anyhow just to see the frozen stiffs come off the line remembering the laughter in our kitchen then when Mother pulled them one by one hard and cold through the window . . . clothesbodies waiting to lie down on toasty radiators and dream away defrosting. And I waiting too to sniff the crisp winter’s air that floated through that place filling little heads with happy memories times too easily forgotten in a world gone electric.
I dreamt I sat at the edge of time holding my five babies in my arms asleep across my breast ~ as the full and fertile moon covered them with blessed light and my whole being came ablaze with wonder at how God could have loved me so.
And I awoke knowing I have been truly blessed and gifted ~ because the babes I yearned for in my simple youth ~ the prayer I whispered in my heart of hearts was granted ~ as one by one each sweet wonder grew within my womb.
There never has and never will be ~ a greater gift than that bestowed on Woman the gift to bring forth life not just for propagation's sake but for that which encompasses the heart-love yearning the hope and salvation of humankind and I ~ who once was barren, have seen the wonders of this universe unfold each time I gaze into those globes of light~ my precious children's eyes.
“I saved these just for you” she said. “I knew you’d come one day to find them.” Bending to her bureau drawer, the moonlight swept across her face and there ‘neath tattered wings I saw a form familiar.
She picked up bits of ivory with her musing fingertips worn now from the years. A smile, soft and lovely, graced her frail and shallow face and flash-backs just like shreds of lightening ~ flooded me.
“It was you, wasn’t it?" I gasped. “All the while it was you tiptoeing past my bed like a thief who’d stolen jewels. I thought that I was dreaming, swore I saw those wings . . . yes, and that fairy scent you always wore. You lived with us back then, Grandma, and all the while I thought that thief was Mom!”
She bid me, “Close your eyes and open up your hand.” and as if I were standing small again I anxiously obeyed. Then she dropped them, my tiny ivory baby teeth saved since childhood toppled in the center of my palm, treasures, jewels she said ~ her memories.
And there we lay that evening recalling heart-soaked lullabies rocking in the dark till all the breath of all the years dissolved into my arms and the long cord of Grandma's love ~wrapped my heart with gold.
I remember back then when my brothers and sisters and I were young. We could be a wild bunch at times,the five of us, but that was only allowed inside our own home. When our parents took us to visit we were warned way in advance to quell the rising fear of . . . Oh my God! Ciro and Marian are coming with the five kids!! One Aunt in particular, my mother's older sister Aunt Mary, was pretty well to do and had a house that looked like a museum. It stayed that way even with her three children living there, thanks to her diligence and fanaticism. There was a long four cushioned sofa against one wall in her living room, just long enough to seat five children and that's where we were forewarned to sit and mind our manners . . . or else! And we did just that until compassion overtook her and she bought us cookies . . . but WATCH the crumbs! Why were we so obediently mild-mannered on family outings, you might ask? Because we knew with certainty that my mother meant business when she said "This is not our house. Do NOT embarrass me!" When I had my own five children and they were small, I passed on the warning too. Behind the issue of embarrassment was the greater core of Italian-American family life . . . RESPECT! You respect your elders, your parents, your teachers . . . and last but not least . . . YOURSELF. My children knew very clearly what was expected of them from early on. No, they weren't perfect, but they learned respect. I remember my young son Brendan's astonishment when a schoolmate who came to our house one afternoon, walked right up to the refrigerator, opened the door, and grabbed something to eat for himself. Before I could say anything, my seven year old said "What are you doing?" The boy replied nonchalantly, "Getting something to eat, why?" And Brendan sternly said in his little gruff voice, "You better put that back. This isn't your house and you didn't ask!" The boy turned around and saw me standing with my arms folded and sheepishly returned his booty back to the fridge. Then Brendan said, "Mom, I think Adam's hungry." I asked the boy if he'd like something to eat and he shyly shook his head yes and I fixed them both something nice to eat. Adam started smiling again. The next time he came to our home he remembered that we don't starve hungry children here and all he had to do was ask. Another time, a different friend came over and used the bathroom. When he came out, Brendan was next in line to use it. He walked in and ran right out pulling his friend back into the toilet in a panic. The boy had peed all over the seat and decorated the wall also and just walked out. I heard my son warn him that if his Dad came home and saw that mess he'd be very angry and he won't let you play here again. And then he added, "You have to aim inside the bowl in our house."
It's called . . . Respect. It's called . . . I CARE!
Allowing and encouraging children to grow and explore their world is a task that does not come without responsibility. Respect for oneself and others begins at a very young age, but those values taught and supported through childhood continue throughout one's life. Children need boundaries and when they're in new and unfamiliar places they need to know what these boundaries are. Do unto others as you would have them do to you is a wise lesson to learn early in life. Children can't grow up alone or in households where no one ever has time for them. They learn respect from their parents first. It all goes back to the beginning. Kids need to play and have fun, to be free and be loved. It's not about restricting their good times. It is about learning how to live, give, and share the world around us and discover what joy means.
0 Comments on The New Child Etiquette as of 1/1/1990
"Okay" is a friendly little word kids love to use. It quiets Mom and Dad down real quick sometimes and that's probably the first thing they learn about this useful word tool. It can also be posed as a question asking for approval, as in: "Mommy, I'm just gonna give the puppy a haircut. He's too hot. I'll bring the scissors right back. Okay?" When the little Barber of Seville's request is denied and the screaming tantrum is over, it can be heard in its long drawn out form of resignation: "O . . .kay!" Often, this word is used to preface a leadership activity and can be heard if you listen out the back window when one of your kids has decided to take charge, like: "Okay, Lucy, now you go first. Taste the mudpie and make pretend it's yummy!" If your little Politician In The Making gets Lucy not to spit at her and run away, she will have realized the power of her words. If not, she will learn that she'd better brush up on her manipulation skills if she wants to run for office 40 years from now. Reality bites when your child's actions start evoking the dreaded parental "No! It's NOT okay!" These words will be uttered often for at least 16 years or so depending on each individual child's attempts to transgress and bring shame to the family name. Hopefully, by the time your teenager is ready to become human once more, he or she will be familiar also with the proud and joyful use of the affirmative O-KAY!! . . . its highest form of approval that goes along with wonderful achievements and positive decision making choices, the ones that give a thumbs up and the long happy sigh of relief for a job well done!
My Dad passed on in 1994, a few days before his 80th Birthday. His car was hit by a drunk driver and his life was over in an instant. I wrote this poem for him one Father's Day many years before and I'm so glad he really felt what I was saying and still longed for even though I was a young mother with five kids of my own by then. He called me on the phone a few days later and asked if I'd like to take a long walk with him! I said yes, of course, but only on one condition: that neither of us would talk about our kids (he had two new ones from his second marraige)we'd just talk like we used to . . . just for this one time . . . about us, how we'd grown and were still learning to live. And . . . I added one more thing: "Can you put your arm around my shoulder, like you used to?" Guess what? He did it all! How blessed I was to have him.
I Will Always Love You, Dad
There's a little girl inside my heart who still on Father's Day is taken back to years ago when both of us would play a game of "who's my special girl?" and "who's my daddy dear?" I'd ride upon your shoulders high and never have a fear.
Sometimes we'd walk for hours it seemed around the reservoir Forest Park or Highland . . . we never traveled far. But you were always there for me when my young heart needed love and someone who would listen when the going got too rough.
And yes, it did get rough at times as only you would know but gosh, you were a trouper and how I loved you so! Although I'm not that little girl, at least not on the outside, there's still a little part of me that somehow I just can't hide.
It's that part that's still your daughter and though I've changed and grown, the years that I did live with you were the happiest I've known. You really made me special and gave me so much love I'd like to give it back to you but that wouldn't be enough.
I still need time to share with you the person I am now, the things I feel, the dreams I have this space just won't allow. You'll always be my father, yes, but time is passing by. So many things we haven't said, there's times I want to cry. I really miss you Daddy, so much I want to say. I'll have to make a date with you and talk the night away.
Do you think that we can do it? Do we need a reservoir? Or will a cup of coffee do? I really don't live far.
Joanne Cucinello . . . a long time ago.
0 Comments on Daddy's Girl Remembers as of 1/1/1990
A trip into Brooklyn to visit my sister, both of us grandmothers now, both of us in love with our granddaughters . . . hoping they'll stay small a little longer. Can't you just eat up your grandkids? Don't they bring back so many memories of their parents when they were small? You know some day they'll be skipping out the door, just like their parents did and off to live their grown-up lives. That's why I intend to make lots of happy memories for them to keep . . . so they'll never forget how much they were loved.
0 Comments on One Umbrella-Two Princesses as of 1/1/1990
They are the center of my world. What ever I do revolves around the fact that I am a wife and mother. It's what I've wanted since I was young and the answer to my childhood prayers. Some people go through life without ever finding their soul mate. I can't imagine living all these years without mine.
Little did I know that fairytales only come true when you're willing to work at them. Keeping a marriage alive for 45 years, raising five children, marrying some off and letting some back in when their marriages ended, accepting their new partners and learning to love again. Disoriented when two of your kids "come out" . . . even though, if you really dig deep down, you can see the truth of their lives even clearer now. Watching your world fall apart when tragedy overcomes you, fear when illness strikes, learning to pick up all the broken pieces and start sewing the patches together again; these are parts of the fairytale, too. Losing your faith . . . finding your faith . . . losing your faith. But through it all, we stay connected. My circle of light may flicker at times but then . . .oh my, how bright it burns!
0 Comments on More Precious Than Gold They Will Always Be . . . My Family as of 1/1/1990
There is no little creature like Winnie the Pooh. Hope you get to see this new movie with your children or grandchildren. It's wonderful, as always!