Secrets Untold Unfold

On Day 9 of Laura Shovan's February Daily Poetry Project, the prompt led me to remember a secret that was untold until I was in grad school. Rachel Patton Toalson chose the theme. secrets stating "I've been thinking lately about how no matter how long you've known a person, there are still aspects of their lives that remain mysterious." I share with you a special story in my life that unfolded when I was a fledging adult.

Secrets Untold Unfold

3rd grade lesson

where are you from

didn’t know so

I asked at home

she did not tell

secret held close

others Irish

family French???

years later, secret

untold opened

mom rode boat to

America

from Italy

a little child

with her mother

father waiting

one family

together grew

American

lifestyle with friends

Italian 

speaking with grand

until age five

moving onward

during grad school

swirling with pride

tale unfolded

told with honor

dressed like old world

childhood stories

pizza fritta

joy provided

where am I from

nonnie and mom 

Rome New York- first

generation

©Carol Varsalona, 2026

Legacy from Nonnie

At a very young age, I learned how to bake in Nonnie's kitchen.

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So you may have realized the secret. Now, I will tell you why there was a secret for so long. My Nonnie believed that her children should be Americanized once she arrived in America, around 1921. Since I was the oldest grandchild born in the United States, I needed to act like an American. That meant speaking English and graduating from college. Life was different in the 20th Century. I did not know that I was a first-generation child of Italian descent until I was an adult. Where are you from?

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Join me as I share my Slice of Life with my Two Writing Teachers from across the globe. Click here.

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It's June!

"It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside.” (Maud Hart Lovelace) This quote reminds me of my childhood's summer years visiting my Nonnie. 

It was a June to remember.

Nonnie's rose gardens

filled the air with aromatic smells.

Large blooms of brilliant colors

radiated under the blazing sun

like buried golden treasures.

🌞🌞🌞

Her watering can remembers my childhood.

I clutch the old can she used

trying to fix the nozzle chipped away by the years.

Watering my small garden beds brings me back.

Memories flood the earth

along with teardrops.

©CV, 2022

"What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade." (Gertrude Jekyll)  

June is the closing of spring and the opening of summer, a time to be realistic about what can be done and what needs attention during the rising heat. Due to the slow healing of my eyes after cataract surgery, I am still designing my Poetryliscious Gallery but you can still visit my padlet to see the artistic expressions that have been gathered. The latest insert is from my artist/poet friend, Michelle Kogan.

 look close

what will you find...susie's leaves,

milkweed sprouts, and be

©2022 Michelle Kogan

The Poetry Friday Roundup is hosted this week by author/poet, Karen Edmisten. With Yeats at her side, she takes us to the Lake Isle of Innisfree. Join me there for more poetry goodness.

Childhood Thoughts (PoetryCUBED)

Coming from an Italian family, tomatoes were always a treat. My Nonnie would buy bushels of juicy, ripe tomatoes and make tasty pasta sauce, pizza, and salads. Every Sunday, I would stand on my tiptoes to dip my bread or meatball into the sauce. The hearty, lip-smacking taste always delighted me. 

I spent each summer with my Nonnie learning how to enjoy the ordinary routines of life. She taught me how to wash clothes with her old-fashioned wringer washer and dry our wash on a clothesline. When older, I learned the art of making tomato sauce from fresh tomatoes. I added salt, pepper, fresh garlic, and parsley while stirring the squishy mixture. To this day, I love the smell of tomatoes sauce on top of a plate of spaghetti. 

I cherish the time I spent with my Nonnie learning how to cook and bake. While there were no dogs in our family or neighborhood, my one precious little cat, Frankie Boy, was my 4-year-old friend until he jumped out of my hands and was hit by a car. It is amazing to me how photo prompts can bring back memories long forgotten?

There is one last memory, the question that I always remember. Is the tomato a fruit or a vegetable? Do you know the answer? Do you remember the Encylopedia Brittanica? It was a favorite research tool in my K-8 elementary school. I always found the best information between the pages. You can find the answer to my probing question here.

licking good

tasty treat

tomatoes

all-season

tongue-slurping

heart love

taste, wink, smile-

childhood thoughts

in a jar

©CV, 2022, Tricube

😉

Long-ago memories flowed from three photo prompts offered by poet-author Matt Forrest Esenwine in his National Poetry Month challenge,

PoetryCUBED Contest.

Check out the following rules Matt offers. 

Perhaps, you will be interested in offering your own poem.

• Use the 3 images ("cubed") above as inspiration to write a poem.
• The poem can be any form, any number of lines, rhyming or not. 
• The only hitch is that you need to include a reference to all three images in the poem – either via concrete imagery or something more abstract.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for a meeting place on Slice of Life Tuesday to connect with a community of reflective writers.

Friday Night Pizza

Each day after closing on our Long Island house on Monday, we spent on unpacking so when the social committee of Regency at Creekside (the development we now live in) announced a social gathering on the lawn with a food truck selling individual pizzas, I said, "Let's go". Unfortunately, the weather did not permit the event. 

Lucky for me, after our closing on Monday, I bought fresh pizza dough from a local Italian bakery on Long Island. Tonight, although I was exhausted from unpacking, I decided it was time to make the pizza with tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil. I combined two pizza doughs to make one large pizza. I kneaded the dough using on my Nonnie's pizza board. 

Yummy, what a treat that was! I think my Nonnie would have been proud of my efforts. After all, I was only four or five years old when I started following her around, learning everything I could about baking and cooking. I will remember this pizza party after a long week.

Day 19 of Two Writing Teachers' March SOLSC! #SOL21, March Musings 2021

Holiday Cookies

It's that time of year.

Flourdust flutters.

Scents of sugar and spice

aromatize kitchen air.

Tasters peek in. 

©CV, 2020

Years ago, I watched my Nonnie knead dough made of gooey batter. Her roller pin was long and heavy for a little girl, but her aged hands helped me roll the dough with precision. Years have passed, most recipes not recorded, but memories remain. I can still see the array of Christmas cookies always ready for little fingers to nibble on. There was an enormous dark closet that held foot-high honey dolls. Chewy biscottis, cherry-pieced cookies with lemon frosting, mincemeat confections, and many more Italian cookies were freshly-baked. My grandmother passed on her love and skill for baking to my mother who shared her talents with me. I shared my love of baking chocolate chip cookies with my daughter who joins my sister and me as we bake with my 3-year-old granddaughter. I usually shy away from rolling dough, but this year I thought I would try to make sugar cookies for my 3-year-old granddaughter. I left a box with the family when I traveled to Virginia for my newly-built home pre-settlement walkthrough. I found a Christmas video in Sierra's Google Photos album. She seemed to like Grandma's recipe for anise-flavored chocolate chip cookies, a variation on my Nonnie's chocolate chip Italian cookies. 

Thinking ahead for Christmas Baking:

   Christmas confections

 lOvingly made as

  Obligatory musts for

  Kris Kringle who

    Irresistibly

  Eats every bite and leaves a

  Special thank you 

            ©CV, 2020   

           🎄🎅🦌🎄🎅🦌🎄🎅🦌

 

I now move over to Slice of Life Tuesday at Two Writing Teachers with recollections of every bite of Christmas cookies I taste-tested these past few days. I plan to enjoy baking the other batches yet to come. 

#BalanceforBetter-March Musings'19/sol19/Day7

I come from a line of strong women who sought balance amidst everyday challenges. They traveled far from home to settle in an unknown land. They toiled, wept, rejoiced, and engaged in life to celebrate living. As a child, I watched in awe as my Nonnie mindfully practiced her religion and joyfully engaged in creative arts. Then, when I had children of my own, I had the opportunity to watch my creative Mother lovingly guide my children.

Tonight I join poet, teacher Catherine Flynn, host of Poetry Friday who is celebrating International Women's Day and Two Writing Teachers for the March SOLSC 19. In tribute of strong woman everywhere, I celebrate my Nonnie and Mother. Their story started long ago in Italy. 1921 was a year of change for them, as they sailed to America.

Remember the women

Life creators
Inspiration givers

Vessels of hope.

Grandmother, mother
With gentle hands 

Providers of joy

Blessed are they. 
Pure in heart and spirit
Theirs is the kingdom of heaven
Their place of peace.

Remember these women
Who came before us

Who left a legacy of
Strength and pride.
They are remembered.
Their memories are
Held in the hearts
Of the living.  
©CV, 2019



From the poet Rupi Kaur, #1 New York Times bestselling author and illustrator of two collections of poetry.  

i stand
on the sacrifices 
of a million women before me 
thinking
what can i do
to make this mountain taller
so the women after me
can see farther

                          7/31

Watering Can Memory

"Gardening is the art that uses flowers and plants as paint, and the soil and sky as canvas." - Elizabeth Murray

With that quote in mind, I whimsically created a palette of colors to salute a summer's day. I used the apps MobileMonet and FotoJet to render an artistic touch to the photo, similar to what an artist would do when painting a still life.

"Painting is but another word for feeling." - John Constable

Creating digital art allows me to artistically express myself and use the end-products as prompts for writing poetry. I flip-flop between original photos to slightly digitized ones to digital art pieces to create an array of "painted" images to evoke different feelings and moods. Below is my first attempt at a writing a cherita, a poem that tells a story, from my latest rendering of digital art. I have been admiring the cheritas that fellow poet friends have written and today I am pleased that I moved past my comfort zone to try one.

midday heat respite

petunias perfectly posed

wait patiently

afternoon ritual

remembering childhood summers

with watering can in hand

©CV, 2018

***

Each day I use my Nonnie's watering can, thoughts of my childhood summers with my grandmother flashback to decades ago when I would playfully dance around her beautiful gardens. Each bed was filled with fragrant aromas from gorgeous flowers. When I watered the flowers they stood tall to salute the sun. This ritual brought much joy to me. My grandmother's watering can has been painted and repainted over the years to preserve it as an artifact of childhood happiness.

Poetry Friday is being hosted by Carol Wilcox today. Carol, not only is greeting the writing community with a dazzling summer blossom but is introducing the poetry of Lynn Ungar, a poet that "uses small details to share big truths".

I Remember It Well

There is a time gone by.

I remember it well.

Nonnie's pride and joy

my charmed hiding place

its silent wheel in idle repose-

Nonnie's watchful eye

my pitter patter glee

its treasures stored-

Nonnie's small round bobbins

my tiny hands examining

its threads of many colors-

Nonnie's love for child

my love for Nonnie's hands

its shiny cabinetry-

Nonnie talking gently

my gleeful spirit

its busy wheel in idle repose- 

There is a time gone by.

I remember it well.

Her hands cradled mine

my hands longing to touch all she owned

its up-down- sing song motion

There is a time gone by.

I remember it well.

The dream to peddle 

what could not be

for a little one's hands.

Years later

mother owned her own

I learned

it was loved.

Generations passed.

Great-grandchild 

owned her own machine

its needle busily moving again.

Nonnie passed.

Mother passed.

Sewing machine lives on.

©Carol Varsalona, 2016 

There is a time gone by. I remember it well and pay tribute to multi-generations of loving hands engaged in creative arts.

When sewing a handcrafted item or creating a digital poem there is a process by which the artisan engages. There are steps, forward ones and backsteps. There are highlights and challenges. There are intertwined thoughts and feelings of joy, perseverance, and accomplishments. There is also a time to set aside what was done while waiting for the recheck. It is the act of creating that pays tribute to process while enjoying the rewards of the product. 

This post is being offered to two writing communities tonight:

• Laura Shovan's Day 21 of her Found Object Poem Project that you can access here.
• DigitLit Sunday founded by Margaret Simon. Today, the topic is Process or Product? Please visit the blog site.