Teach ESL to awe-inspiring refugee and immigrant women Hold memories close Invest in others Notice loveliness around me Granddaughter time! Spend time with those I love
Intercessory prayer
Compose well-written poems and poorly written poems Appreciate all I can do … and all I can’t, but others can Nod and smile to you, whoever you are
Delight in little things Offer God my humble thanksgiving
Frame my day with time with Jesus Open windows to smell spring’s viburnum and lilac Roll with it
Music (listen myself, and sing when nobody listens) ESL volunteer teacher time bookends this acrostic
I’m scorching hot. My clothes cling to me in the smothering humidity. Add to that the people-laden, sticky black tar church parking lot without a shade tree in sight. Ugh.
Yet, the air is saturated with inviting aromas: potent garlic; sweet onion; roasted peppers; spicy Italian sausage; yeast bread rolls; sweet dough twists with cinnamon sugar; cotton candy … and cheese puffs. My cousin Tom and I make a beeline for the deep-fried sweet dough filled with ooey gooey cheese. Yummmmm!
We race toward the Ferris wheel, dodging through the crammed masses and attractions. My nostrils are suddenly assaulted with the fishy stench of smelt. Eew. This booth boasts a line of cuffed pants; brimmed hats; men’s black shoes; and long-sleeved shirts soaked with sweat, each revealing the standard white muscle T beneath. These older Italian men puff cigars (again, eew!) and pass the time in line playing the loud, fast-paced game of Morra.
“Quatro!” (four!)
“Sette!” (seven!)
“Otto di fuoco!” (eights on fire!)
Roars of laughter rise with the cigar smoke above the cacophony of festival sounds.
From a game booth, a hoarse female voice hails, “Roll down, roll down! Six tries for a dollar!”
Various carnival rides summon as well: Creeeek … screeeeeech … tic, tic … whoooosh!
A button accordion pumps out a Polka, accompanied by the “oom pah” of a tuba. We pause to watch smiling couples bob as they step, quick-step, step, hold their way around a make-shift dance floor.
We spot Nonna at the Bingo Tent with an array of cards spread before her, fervently trying to win an “Infant of Prague.” This uniquely Catholic carnival prize is a plaster figure of the jewel-crowned infant Jesus, clothed magnificently in a robe of rich red, royal blue, or gold. Game booths and tents flaunt eye-catching displays of the satiny fabrics, glistening jewels, and outstretched arms of the holy infant. I feel the contrast of Nonna’s satiny cheeks and stiffly sprayed hair as she pulls us close, and presses a quarter into each of our palms.
Continuing to the Ferris wheel, a small stand topped with a six-foot twirling glass of yellow lemonade beckons. Soon soothing icy lemon slush slides down the back of my throat.
I nurse my treat while in line for our ride. Cold sweat drips off the cup into my sandals, and squishes between my toes. A silvery car grinds its way to the bottom of the giant spoked wheel. We hop on, my bare legs sticking to the hot metal seat. Tom slams the safety bar shut, and we rock precariously forward and back.
The car jerks and jolts as we inch up a notch so the one below us can load, and so on –
one
car
at
a
time.
Stuck at the peak, we get a birds-eye view. The setting sun creates peach, mauve, and midnight blue hues. Glistening stringed lights of sapphire, emerald, ruby, and gold crisscross the grounds. Suddenly, my hair flies up and my stomach drops, then settles back in as it grows accustomed to the whirling sensation. For just a moment, I close my eyes and relish the breeze.
The chair Mom rocked me in when I was a baby, and when I wasn’t ready for her to stop.
The chair from which Grandma would flash that playful grin at me, holding out the adorable ceramic kitten she would let me hold, as long as I was in her lap. (That kitten is now mine.)
Decorative pillows Deanna brought home from Nepal for me that now enjoy both my mom’s and my grandma’s touch.
The Tiffany-style lamp Dad turned from gas to electric, and that now throws rainbows across my floor and onto my walls
and that sits atop the chess table he made and the box that holds the wooden chess pieces.
The African violets started by my father-in-law. They received the best upbringing, as he stroked and spoke to them.
Large windows that let in sun’s cheer, even as the scenes change outside them. Visitors that grace those scenes …
colorful, talkative birds; various kinds of squirrels; chipmunks; deer; delivery trucks that had halted during the pandemic;
moms and dads and grandparents pushing strollers or walking dogs; children riding bikes; the love of my life cleaning the gutters before tonight’s expected storm.
Home Is The state Of my heart: Heart-shaped Ohio. “Ohio, The Heart of It All,” Is more than its slogan, to me. It’s a certainty Born of dappled sunlight, porch swing swishes, marching bands, sure love, and lingering laughter.
Just one more chance to hear your drum set swing,
And feel the pride well up inside my core.
And I believe I’d give most anything
To watch as you conduct a band once more.
To hear you call Mom Sweet Pea one more time,
And see the love for her in aging eyes
That cleaved to days of youth, well past their prime,
Embracing the enchantment love implies.
From time to time, I feel as though you’re near.
I sometimes hear your words play through my mind.
Oh how I’d love to linger for a year
While you are here, and death is left behind.
Though we may try to hold what fades away,
Our yesterdays were never meant to stay.
pictured words 