Apologies for the post-holiday posting of this. It somehow landed in drafts when I imagined tapping the “publish” button.
A merry montage for my family that I share with you this Christmas.
May you, your family and friends, near and far, enjoy a peaceful and joyous holiday.
Love, am
Nero the Cane Corso, friend and muse to my sister, Grace; Honey the Pit mix, adopted this year, crazy companion to my sister, Dolores; Cormac/Mac-mac the Malamute, snow-lover and liege to my sister, Virginia; Mojo the Dachshund, long-bodied, big-hearted buddy to my family; and last but never least, Kiwi the Testudo tortoise, roommate and foil to my daughter, Caroline❤️🎄🌟
Bringing the Misfits Home A Sentimental Christmas Memory
we embrace every relative load up the wagon, pack in tight and leap onto the highway Staten Island to New Jersey chrome steeds try galloping past our Country Squire, but Dad fantasizes he’s lead stallion from the rear-facing seat, I watch the mesmerizing herd of headlights trail farther and farther behind no other man (driving 90 miles an hour) will ever replace this depth of faith my fierce childhood possession, always
into the cold, dark Jersey night, we arrive home the V-8 shudders, the presents cushioning our sleepy heads rattle my little sister’s pigtails shift on my shoulder, I shake the bones to wake us up Tima’s barking gnaws the sleep crust from our eyes while we unpack every last ounce of Italian cheer and clamp our gifts beneath all available arms my brothers, sisters and I march like weary soldiers across the snowy lawn we trudge up the brick stoop and into our warm home pajamas quickly managed, we mime brushing our teeth
Mom tucks us in and kisses our cheeks with her smile brighter than winter I surround myself with stuffed animals, swaddle in blankets and stare out my bedroom window to search for the blazing star of my picture books (I’ll later learn that I’d been praying to Venus all along)
tomorrow, like clockwork, Emile will stop at the corner of our street yell out in his mildly, terrified mailman voice, “WHERE’S TIMA?” one of us will step into the cold to coax our hefty German shepherd away from her favorite place on the front stoop to bring her inside and just like that, Christmas is officially over
(Opening image, 1980 – Christmas Tree) (Image directly above, 1980 – my little brother, Vito, me and our goofy shepherd, Rosie Unfortunately, I couldn’t find an image of our childhood shepherd, Tima, a much more serious-minded shepherd )
My talented friend, DS Levy, has published her latest creation and it’s absolutely glorious!
The stories in Incidentals are hard hitting with a touch of cloud here and there—but not always. DS Levy’s pages will pull you on a journey that delivers the raw reality and the gut punches only a lifelong and passionate writer can throw.
DS Levy’s fiction has appeared in numerous print and online journals since receiving her M.F.A. in Creative Writing/Fiction, from the Bennington Writing Seminars, in 1997. She has received Pushcart and Best Microfiction nominations and has had her work listed in Wigleaf’s Top 50 several times.
Footnote: Deb and I met while blogging back in 2014. I consider her not only a fantastic writing instructor, but a dear friend who is truly one of the most honest, deep-thinking, animal-loving persons I’ve ever met on this creative life-journey.
I hope you and your families are managing on this crazy spinning planet of ours.
I believe every human being should paint a dog. This is our Mojo. My daughter, who will miss him when she leaves in August to study Sustainability, asked me to paint his endearing face for one of her blank walls.
I’ve been on a personal mission to improve my word and art mind while trying to avoid deep media dives. I generally remain off-politic on this site, maintaining this space as my creative respite. But there’s so much going on out there, and I worry what this world will be like for my young adult children and their future families. The heat isn’t only climate-related.
I believe every human being is entitled to: be whoever they believe they are love whoever they choose A woman’s body is her own as are her personal choices I pray my daughter has the freedom to make her own choices (Mojo’s background was originally purple, my daughter requested more earthly tones:) )
dear God
I seem to have lost my faith
the pixie-haired girl stuck
to a weathered pink dog with stale bubblegum
has stumbled too low
to be found in my dreams
her memories as diaphanous as Christmas spirit
present only if you’re willing to believe
Lord, somewhere while seeking gold
my pick-axe and pan rusted
jewels of this earth
fake gems plastered in false promises
my pink pup disintegrated long ago
nothing to grab onto now
no faith to embrace
no shield to burnish
stamped with the devil’s pitchfork
locked inside life’s eternal circle
the sign of peace
we alight here in this place
our time measured in a fish eye blink
lays out no global welcome mat
too many starving toes crowding “welcome”
and the rubber rainbow has discolored
beneath this vast azure roof
no one shares a meal together
I’m gonna tell you something, Lord
despite this miraculous ability to hate
that we’ve been granted
my greatest fear
is the moment
I believe these words
I’ve just written
the pink dog is still tucked away safely inside my heart
Didn’t think much about it. I seldom do. Heard it was difficult. It is. She’s going off to become whatever it is she wants to become. She will be a student of sustainable agriculture. I ventured into Mad Men territory while in school. We are different that way. The best way possible. She will try to effect agricultural change. Make an earthly impact. Walking our Dachshund this morning (still miss my Shepherd) gazing down at the road thinking back to those days–trying to remember lessons for her. The rocks and tar rolled out then rumbled flat. There are cracks and joint fixes. Sparkles of glass and dull-faced stones. Her life will be like this road. Combinations of things adhered together, splitting sometimes, getting fixed or not, hot in the heat, icy in the cold–dangerous at times. Her feet will walk as she destines they should–barefoot or booted. She will be smart and she will not be smart. Go off to study abroad. Maybe fall in love or at least what she thinks is. I pray she will be happy. I know to ask for ‘always’ is unrealistic. She is so much more confident than I was at that age. I’m hoping enough to keep her out of situations. When one doesn’t like who they see each morning in the glass, trouble follows. I didn’t think she would be teary-eyed. She is. But she is also excited. Imagine, it’s all shiny right now…may it glisten for a long while. This place is more raw than ever. And they all know it. Let them enjoy the sparkle in a bubble while they can pretend. photo detail-Caroline, age 18 above, painting detail, from a larger portrait-Caroline is 8
they cling to the legs Ignorance and Want beneath rich velvet robes two malnourished beings present in Their suffering we remain focused on our priorities during this season of hope and love wrap tenderly our hearts with Their existence let us go forth in humble spirit and grand charity
for Rocky
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol
The Ghost of Christmas Present
Click image or highlighted text to visit, The Bark!
anntogether 