Holiday Archives | Page 5 of 6

Happy Father’s Day, Robert A. Smith

As my regular readers know, my usual post day is Monday. But today is Father’s Day, and I couldn’t let the day pass without acknowledging my father, Robert Smith.

or all the times when I was a little girl and you came home from work tired, but not too tired to carry me upstairs. I’d wait outside your room for you to change just for you to carry me back down again. I know that was the last thing in the world you felt like doing, but you always made time for me when you got home. You always made time for me, period. It made me feel special.

nd then I’d sit with you while you ate dinner. Except when Eric Sevareid came on the television. (I don’t know why I liked him, but I’d run to the TV to watch him, and when he was over, I’d run back to you.) I always went back to you. And why wouldn’t I? You were my hero. You still are.

hen as I got older, you tried to teach me to swim and to ride a bike. (I know I wasn’t the easiest of students, but I remember your efforts. And I did finally learn!) I also remember easier days, playing cards or you pulling me on the sled in the snow. We always had such fun. I still enjoy spending time with you. I just wish we could do it more often.

ow we made it through the teen years, I don’t know. I would go to you with questions or for permission because Mom was stricter and you were wrapped around my finger, or so I thought. But we did fight. And then I’d cry. I hated having my daddy mad at me. I still do. I’m just glad it doesn’t really happen anymore.

ven though some of those times were ugly, we got through them easily with just a quick joke. Even a bad joke, or a “Bob joke” as they’ve come to be called, would do it. Once, to get out of trouble, I called you “Bob” and I said I said your name backward. Goofy, but you laughed. You never could stay mad at me. I hope that never changes.

emember when I was in college and you were helping me move out of my apartment? We had that tiny Plymouth Horizon and that other family had a huge van, but we packed my whole apartment in one car and that other family was full-up after just a few trips? We laughed about that half way home. Of course, we weren’t laughing when we moved the furniture and the couch flipped onto the Parkway. You really didn’t laugh when someone at work mentioned seeing the incident. It was a good thing they didn’t recognize us! You were always there, helping me. You made things seem easy that I know weren’t.

Dad, growing up with you as my father was the best thing that could have happened to me. You made work fun (remember spraying each other with the hose when we were washing cars?), you made play even more fun (nobody makes Clue as enjoyable as you do), and you were always there for me.

When I got married, I was so excited to walk down the aisle and start my new life with my husband. I smiled and laughed that whole morning. Everyone, even you, commented at how relaxed I was. And why wouldn’t I be? I was marrying the man of my dreams. But before I took that first step, I felt your arm tighten around mine. I remembered I had said I was worried about wobbling in my heels and you had said you wouldn’t let me fall. When I felt your arm, I knew you had me. And I knew it was the last time I’d be relying solely on you. I looked at you… and then cried the whole way down the aisle. But you didn’t really give me away. You just expanded our family and took my husband in. It’s much nicer looking at it that way.

They say girls marry men like their dads. That’s probably true to some extent. I had the best grandfather anyone could ever want. And when my mom chose a husband, she chose a man as wonderful as her father. I have the best dad ever, and when I got married, I chose a man as special as my father. I hope my daughter continues the tradition. Although, I’m not sure they still make men like this.

So thanks Dad, for all you’ve done and for all you do. I love you.

Happy Father’s Day to my father, and to all fathers today. Dads come in all shapes and sizes, and with all kinds of titles (dad, uncle, godfather, stepfather, grandfather, brother, friend), but any supportive male presence in our lives deserves this recognition.

In Memoriam

In the past, many of my family have served this great nation.

Currently, my niece serves in the US Navy.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I wouldn’t be surprised if more of my family answered the call.

memorial day — Source:
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tomb_of_the_Unknowns.jpg

I’ve been fortunate that none of my loved ones have ever lost their lives in the line of duty. But there have been many,

. too many,

. who have fought,

. and bled,

. and died

so that I, and all of us, could hold up our heads proudly and say,

“I am American, and I am free!”

There are no words of thanks adequate to them or their families.

. There is no show of unity to express my solidarity.

. There are only my prayers, and my undying gratitude.

Happy Memorial Day

Happy Mother’s Day, Carmella N. Smith

This isn’t my usual type of post, and it’s not on my usual day, but I couldn’t let Mother’s Day pass without taking the opportunity to honor my mother, Carmella Smith.

any times I came to you, upset or angry, and you always knew just what to say to buoy my spirits and shed light on the problem. You were there with sage advice and wisdom beyond your years, helping guide me.

ther times I came to you to share funny stories about things that happened during the course of my day. You were always there to listen, and to laugh with me, even if it didn’t amuse you, just to humor me.

hen there were the times that I wasn’t sure of myself and my abilities. You were there, cheering me on, letting me know I was more than good enough, more than ready to face any challenge that comes my way.

appy childhood memories are of me and you together. You taught me to read while I sat on your lap. You taught me to spell while I followed you around with a tiny pink dust cloth. I’m a writer today because of you.

ven though we joke about the rules we grew up with, it’s because of your ethics that I have the strength and character I have today. You taught me your faith, your fortitude, and your convictions, and I thank you.

ight about the time your work should have been done, I had my own children. You were there with me, calming my fears, wiping my tears, sharing my joys, and offering me council. For that, I’m truly grateful.

Mother, I don’t tell you often enough or show you clearly enough how much I appreciate all the things you’ve done for me. There really are no words to express gratitude for life, for nurturing, for care, concern, and compassion for over forty years. So, on this Mother’s Day, just like I do every day, I’ll just say I love you.

Happy Mother’s Day to my mom, and to all mothers today. Moms come in all shapes and sizes, and with all kinds of titles (mom, aunt, godmother, stepmother, grandmother, sister, friend), but any nurturing female presence in our lives deserves this recognition.

Why Small Gestures Mean So Much

Those of you who read my blog regularly might remember my Thanksgiving entry: “Why I’m Thankful for the White Tornado.” It was a post about my grandmother. Well, yesterday was her 95^th birthday, and instead of posting something about it here, I chose to post on Facebook. Not on my author page, but on my profile page where family and friends who also know her would see it. It got a lot of comments. Of course it did; it’s my gramma, and she’s awesome! But back to the point of the story. Because I live seventeen hours away, I jokingly said that, since I couldn’t be there, I’d like it if someone could give her a hug in my place.

I never expected anyone to actually do it.

Someone actually did.

Hope Shick and I have known each other for more years than I’m going to write here. We grew up in the same town, went to the same school, know the same people. She knows what my family means to me. Maybe she just gets the importance of family because she has a large one herself—she’s the mother to seven children. Also, like most people in my hometown, she knows my grandmother personally, so she knows what a special person she is. Stopping by to give her a hug probably wasn’t that big a hardship.

Except she had to rearrange her whole day to do it.

And she stayed to visit with her for about an hour.

See, that’s the thing about small towns that I miss the most. You can count on people to come through for you. It kills me that I wasn’t there to celebrate my grandmother’s 95^th birthday with her. I didn’t get to bake her a cake or see her face when she opened my gift. I didn’t get to kiss her cheek or sit and laugh with her. We didn’t share a cup of coffee, and even our phone call was short because she had company and couldn’t talk. But because of an old friend, I got to share a hug with her—by proxy. And after talking with her this morning, I know that simple gesture made her day yesterday. It was a simple gesture that touched my heart more than words can ever express.

When I sit down at the keyboard and work on building my story worlds, these are the traits I draw on. The love, the camaraderie, the selfless gestures I find in the people in the small Western Pennsylvania town I grew up in. I hope you see these things in my work, and I hope you can draw on your histories to find inspiration for your art. What things motivate you?

An Italian’s Take on St. Patrick’s Day

Yesterday was St. Patrick’s Day. I tend to relate most strongly with my Italian roots, so I don’t mention my father’s heritage often, but it seems only fair to acknowledge it on the one day a year his nationality gets top billing.

My dad is a wonderful man whose heritage is a volatile mix of Irish, Scottish, German, and Swedish. So, yes, in addition to the passionate Italian in me, I’ve got some whiskey-downing, Scotch-swilling, beer-chugging, Viking-loving blood coursing through these veins. There’s some partying blood in there, and there’s some warrior blood in there, too. So, it’s no surprise I’m not a shy person. I embrace life to its fullest, which means I love big, I cry big, and I get mad… big. Why do anything half-hearted?

I also celebrate big, which means yesterday’s holiday was a festive one, especially because my in-laws are in town to celebrate with us. (Yes, I’ll use anything as an excuse to celebrate, but come on, a holiday and family visiting? Who wouldn’t celebrate?) Beer, Irish stew, cabbage, potatoes, soda bread… even Irish coffees for dessert.

After all that, I swear I saw a leprechaun with his shillelagh in my yard, holding a four leaf clover sitting on his pot of gold. But before I got outside to greet him, he disappeared over the rainbow, and it was just me in the yard trying to keep my dogs out of the pool, which, I have to tell you, is not easy under the best of circumstances.

Now it’s time to settle back into Lenten restrictions until Easter. So, I’ll leave you with this Irish blessing as I countdown the remaining weeks:

May you always have walls for the winds,
A roof for the rain, tea beside the fire,
Laughter to cheer you, those you love near you,
And all your heart might desire.

The Year in Review

It’s Christmas Eve. I haven’t been writing as much as I usually do. I guess I’ve been taking a “holiday” vacation leading into the Christmas season. It’s been a busy year for me, so I don’t feel too guilty (who am I trying to convince, anyway, you or me?), but I promise, after the New Year things will go back to normal.

So, the year in review for my girls and me. My sister Michele has a degree in Accounting. When she got a job at a newspaper, no one was more surprised than I was, but it was in the accounting department, so it seemed to fit. Then they asked her to write book reviews. I had seen her write. I wasn’t optimistic. So I helped edit every last one of them until she left the newspaper. And became… what you ask? A technical writer! Who would have guessed my sister was interested in writing and would not only develop an interest for it, but a knack for it, too. This year, she published her first two pieces: a memoire essay, “Letter to Krista,” which was published in the Spring 2012 issue of Pastiche and a poem, “Shadow People,” which was published in the Fall 2012, 6^th issue of Canyon Voices Literary Magazine. Congratulations Michele!

My friend Rhonda is one of the most creative people I know. She has ideas that amaze me time and again. But she constantly insists that writing is difficult for her because she doesn’t have the education that I do (which I tell her is ridiculous… technique can be learned, creativity can’t). She’s been working really hard. We’ve attended local seminars, taken local classes and even gone to our first conference. With a lot of encouragement and even more hard work, Rhonda got two things published this year. She got a four-line western published in Cactus Country III and a short story called “The Devil’s Growl” published in Bigfoot Confidential: Finally the Truth Revealed. Way to go, Rhonda!

One of the local classes I just spoke about leads me to Joy. Rhonda and I met Joy in a short story seminar and we formed a writing group of our own afterward. We’ve become good friends through that experience. Joy is truly a joy… she brings laughter to our group, which is kind of funny, because she mostly writes horror stories. Joy is also an incredibly hard-worker. We meet around her work schedule (she seems to always be at work, and when she isn’t there, they seem to be calling her to go in), plus she freelances for a magazine, and she still finds time to write… and she has time for family and friends. She is, in short, a joy. And she is, now, a published author. She also got a four-line western published in Cactus Country III and got a short story called “Legend of Dark Mountain” published in Bigfoot Confidential: Finally the Truth Revealed. Nice job, Joy!

As for me, my progress and published works are always available for review by clicking on the tabs above, but I’ll give you a quick rundown here. My short story, “No Peace in the Quiet,” won second place in the Storytellers Magazine division at the OCW Conference. I had a story published in Female First, a UK online magazine, called “Bridging the Five Year Gap.” My short story, “The Den,” was published in Bigfoot Confidential: Finally the Truth Revealed. I also had a four-line western published in Cactus Country III. My short stories “Dudley” and “Code Blue” can be found in the HSFAC anthology. I won first place in an online teen fantasy fiction contest for my short story, “Rite of Passage.” And I’m now an Associate Editor for Frontier Tales, the Western Division of Pen-L Publishing. (Can you picture my fingers cramping? It’s been crazy!)

So, we’ve had a productive year, and we’re all working on projects that promise to make 2013 even better than 2012. Congratulations to my fellow writers mentioned above, and to those of you out there who also reached new heights in your writing careers this year. Let us know in the comments how you did, and what you are hoping for in 2013.

I’m done blogging until the new year. I’ll be celebrating Christmas with my family. The picture here is the nativity scene my brother and sister gave me and my husband as a gift the year before we got married. My brother built the manger and storage case; my sister was responsible for all the figurines. Not only is it one of my most treasured possessions; it’s what the season is really all about. I wish you all a blessed holiday, and I’ll see you all in 2013.

— Staci

HELP THE ELF: I Found Santa’s Missing Nice List!

Hi everyone! As you may remember, a few weeks ago Pete the elf had a touch too much Eggnog at the Holiday Christmas Party and as he stumbled home, he lost Santa’s NICE LIST.

The North Wind scattered the papers to all four corners of the world, and The Bookshelf Muse put out a call to help find them in order to SAVE CHRISTMAS.

Ever since I read about it, I’ve been on the lookout. And then today, EUREKA!

Yes that’s right…I found part of Santa’s missing NICE LIST. There it was, fluttering in the
wind, half caught under the corner of my welcome mat. And shock of all shocks, I recognized the names, and I bet you will too.

Here they are below:

NAME: Michele Jones

LOCATION: On her way to Vandergrift, PA

NICE LEVEL: 91%

NAUGHTY LEVEL: 9%

OBSERVATIONS: Michele is a great sister, hard worker, and makes time to edit drafts, even long distance.

RECOMMENDATION:

a) Coal

b) Gift X

~~*~~

NAME: Joy Keeney

LOCATION: Fayetteville, AR

NICE LEVEL: 93%

NAUGHTY LEVEL: 7%

OBSERVATIONS: Joy is overworked, and has been spending all her free time visiting a loved one in the hospital, yet she still finds the time to write and edit for her friends.

RECOMMENDATION:

a) Coal

b) Gift X

~~*~~

NAME: Rhonda Lee

LOCATION: Springdale, AR

NICE LEVEL: 92%

NAUGHTY LEVEL: 8%

OBSERVATIONS: Rhonda has the most creative mind, puts her friends and family before herself, and works hard at writing and editing.

RECOMMENDATION:

a) Coal

b) Gift X

~~*~~

Because poor Pete is dashing all over the place trying to hunt down the rest of Santa’s missing Nice List, I decided to take care of these three myself. Michele, Joy, Rhonda… I feel so blessed to know you! Enjoy the gifts I sent to your inbox and have a wonderful Christmas!

Idea courtesy of The Bookshelf Muse: http://thebookshelfmuse.blogspot.com/

This Italian’s Guide to St. Nicholas Day

religious stockings Yesterday was the first day of the Advent Season. We lit the first purple candle on our advent wreath, sang verses one and two of O Come, O Come, Emmanuel at Mass, and have already finished decorating our home for Christmas. That is, after all, what the Advent Season, is all about. It’s the preparation for Christmas. Parents everywhere are baking and shopping, and if there are young ones in the home, lists are being made for Santa’s visit. But wait! Didn’t we forget something? Christmas is actually Christ’s Mass, and there isn’t really a Santa Claus Day, but there is a St. Nicholas Day, and it’s this week. Due to the commercialism of Christmas, it’s been overshadowed, but there are customs and traditions that are still alive, some of which I’ve kept going in my own family.

Nicolas was born to wealthy parents in land under Greek control. His parents died when he was very young, and he followed Christ’s teachings to give his wealth to the poor, giving the whole of his inheritance to help the sick, needy and suffering. At a young age he became Bishop of Myra, and was known for his generosity, particularly to children and sailors. He was persecuted and imprisoned for his faith, and finally released when the prisons were too full of religious prisoners to hold actual criminals. He attended the Council of Nicaea in 325, and finally died in Myra on December 6, 343, where he was buried in the cathedral. In the spring of 1087, his remains were moved to Bari, Italy for easier pilgrimage access. The Basilica di San Nicola was built over his crypt, allowing tourists to pay homage to the saint who assisted children, sailors, prisoners, famine victims, and others in need.

In Italy today on St. Nicholas Eve, children put a plate on the table with a letter to St. Nicholas. They promise to be good in the coming year, and in exchange they ask for gifts from the saint. When St. Nicholas visits overnight, he reads the letters and fills some of the requests. He’ll also leave candies and cookies on the plate for the children to wake to. On St. Nicholas Day, grandfathers will sometimes dress up like St. Nicholas and hand out the presents. Good children will get their gifts, but naughty children will get sugar candy that looks like lumps of coal.

St. Nicholas is the patron saint of young women wanting to get married. There is a special ritual in Bari for young ladies hoping for a husband. They go to the Basilica and drop a note to St. Nicholas in a special box, along with three coins. In Sicily, young ladies will wear traditional dress on December 5 and 6 and sing special songs to him.

My daughter isn’t old enough to look for a husband, and I wouldn’t expect her to sing for one or drop notes in a box. We’re going to do things the American way, I think. But we have adopted the celebration of St. Nicholas Day, because, if as Americans we can commercialize Christmas, then as Italians and as Catholics we can celebrate the life of the patron saint of children.

We have special “religious” stockings in our house. These are our St. Nicholas Day stockings. On December 6, our kids know to look in them for little gifts. Also, there is always fruit in them, usually an orange or an apple. I’m not sure when or how that tradition started. I think it had to do with my grandfather and there always being fruit on the holiday table, but for St. Nicholas day, there is always fruit.

To help the less fortunate, St. Nicholas used to throw bags of money through windows and fireplaces of people’s homes. Those bags would land in the socks that they’d hung to dry or in the shoes that were warming on the hearth. That’s how the stocking tradition began. And that’s why we give our St. Nicholas gifts in the religious stockings at our house.

We don’t make nearly the production out of St. Nicholas Day that we do out of Christmas. (After all, it’s not Christ’s Mass.) But we do celebrate it. It’s a nice reminder of where our family came from. This time of year is hard for my family because we don’t get to spend it with our extended family. Celebrating this holiday is just another way we can keep family traditions alive. Perhaps it’s a tradition that you’d like to start with your family.

Why I’m Thankful for the White Tornado

It’s a few days early for Thanksgiving, but I always post on Mondays, so I’m posting today about what I’m thankful for. God has been good to me. I’m truly blessed. I have a loving husband and a wonderful son and daughter. I have two adorable dogs that bring us joy every day. We have a beautiful home and, given all the areas of the world that have been hit with disasters in recent years, it would be wrong of me to complain that it’s too far from my extended family… but that’s really the only thing that bothers me about my house. It just isn’t in my hometown.

And that brings me to the topic of this post. I could write about so many different things this year, but what (or I guess I should say who) this blog post is focusing on is in my hometown. I’m going to tell you about one of my favorite people in the world: my grandmother, Mary Naccarato. I know almost everyone thinks they have the best grandma, but I have to tell you, this lady is one in seven billion.

Gramma, or Nana (as the great-grandkids call her), is a ninety-four year old dynamo. Because of her bright white hair and her unlimited supply of energy, she’s earned the nickname “The White Tornado.” This is a woman who still climbs ladders to polish the crystal on her chandelier, sweeps and scrubs her porches, and adheres to the same weekly housework schedule she created when she first got married… probably the same one she learned from her mother, because it’s the one my mother uses and it’s the one I (kind of) follow.

Her parents came from Italy when she had just one sibling. She was born in Colorado and spent her early childhood there, where she developed a love for horses and the wilderness. At a young age her family (which eventually became seven children) moved to New Kensington, Pennsylvania, where she eventually met my grandfather. She had other suitors, but it was my grandfather who won her heart. He used to walk the fifteen to twenty miles from Vandergrift to her house just to see her. When they married, she knew he had to take care of his mother and younger siblings (his father had died at a young age and he was the man of the family since he was fourteen), so she acquiesced her position as woman of the house, letting my grandfather continue to support his family.

His siblings were eventually able to care for themselves, and my grandmother got her own home. She lost her only son in a difficult stillbirth, but she went on to have two wonderful daughters: my mother and my aunt. The way I hear it, their house was the town hangout. She would make cookies or pizza roll or any number or wonderful treats and the kids would congregate there. There were times my dad and his friends dropped by when my mom and aunt weren’t there, just to visit and grab a snack. Why wouldn’t they? She’s the world’s best cook and she tells the best stories. She’s a great listener, too.

Things didn’t change when Gramma’s children were out of the house and her grandchildren were roaming the town. My friends and I used to drop in all the time for a snack and a visit. So did my brother, my sister, and my cousins. Sometimes our friends would drop by without us. It turns out, no one can go past my grandmother’s house without saying hello. And hello leads to a visit. And a visit leads to food, so…

When I got my license, I had a built-in shopping buddy. She was my good luck charm. If I needed something, really needed something, I’d take her with me. I always found what I was looking for if she was with me. Even if it took a while. Once I told her I needed to take a quick run to Staples for some things for my writing portfolio. We were there for two hours. To this day when she sees a Staples commercial she thinks of me. But I did manage to get everything I needed. She’s my good luck charm.

The week before my wedding, when my husband had his bachelor party, all of my bridesmaids had something else going on. One was underage, two were out of town, one was at the hospital with her fiancé, and two were moms with young kids at home… I wasn’t having a bachelorette party. I could have gone out with other friends or hung out with my parents for the last time. But I chose to spend the time with my grandmother. We went to my new apartment, papered my kitchen shelves, reminisced about my grandfather and other family moments, and then we went out. We had a blast. We talk about it to this day. It was one of the best nights of my life. I wouldn’t trade that memory for anything in the world.

Once all the grandkids were married, the great-grandkids came. We have traditions to carry on. Sure, we are learning them from our mothers, but Gramma is still there helping us, reminding us what is truly important. She came to my house and helped make homemade ravioli for the last Easter I hosted before I moved out of state. She still shares recipes and tells stories. She shows us pictures and gives us heirlooms. She is a living tradition.

I don’t get home very often. I miss seeing her, hugging her, baking with her, sharing these things with her. But then I remember, when her family left Italy, that was it. They never went back. They never even called home—the cost was too much. Because of technological advances, I can talk to her whenever I want. I have the luxury of hearing her voice. No, it’s not the same. I can’t sit at her kitchen table with a cup of coffee and a few pizzelles, but I haven’t lost touch with her.

And as long as I have her, I will give thanks for that.

I hope this Thanksgiving you all have someone in your lives for whom you can be as grateful as I am for my grandmother.

On Veterans Day

I grew up in Western Pennsylvania. It has a high concentration of Italian Americans. But, after a few years of marriage, my husband and I relocated to Beavercreek, Ohio, which is very near Wright Patterson Air Force Base. The area has an incredibly diverse culture, mainly because of the influx of people from several different backgrounds and nations. While we lived there, I met people whose ancestrage was from Vietnam, China, Korea, Syria, Iran, the Netherlands, Mexico, India, (and yes, Italy too)… all over the world. I even learned to speak a little Dutch while I was there. (Thanks, Iris!)

I treasure my time there because my children were exposed to such rich and varied cultures. They also learned the importance of military service while we were there. Many of our friends’ families were employed at the base. As much as we admired what we learned from others, that doesn’t mean we don’t still treasure our own history.

My husband and I are not first generation Italian Americans. It was our grandparents’ and our great-grandparents’ generations that settled here. But they brought with them a sense of duty, honor, and love of country that Italians feel for their homeland, and that is the environment in which my husband and I were both raised. Both of our fathers were in the Navy. We have grandfathers, uncles, and great-uncles who served this country proudly.

Strong values are not a tradition that our families have said goodbye to. We and our siblings are raising our children the way we were raised, with the same code of ethics and honor that our families instilled in us. My niece took those lessons to heart. She is currently in the Navy. Given the state of foreign affairs, my first reaction should be abject fear for her safety. But it isn’t. It’s pride. Yes, part of me is frightened for her, but mostly I’m honored that she would put her needs and wants aside to serve her country, to protect me, my family, her family and friends, and the millions of other people she’s never even met. It’s humbling to think that she, and so many like her, would give so selflessly.

Today isn’t about whether you agree with the wars that are being or have been fought. Today is about thinking of and thanking those soldiers who have made a difference in your life, whether you realize it or not. Their sacrifices, and those of the families they’ve left behind, have given us the freedoms we currently enjoy.

To you, past and present military personnel of America, I thank you. Know that I don’t take your sacrifices for granted, and I offer up prayers for you and your families. May God bless you.