Category Archives: writing

Bite Bite Bite

Food, Travel, writing, , , , , , ,

I was wandering alone in Florence (Italy) recently. It was the last day of my vacation, and I decided to get as much as I could out of it. Lunch at a sidewalk cafe seemed just the ticket. After a quick glance at the menu, I took a seat and ordered lunch #5. A nice little bite to eat and I’d quickly be on my way to the cathedral a few blocks over, right? Ma, no!

The primo piatto (first plate) was pasta.

Delizioso.

Next, the secondo piatto (second plate) appeared.

Dio mio. I managed to eat most of it.

And then … dolce (dessert). And not just any dessert, but my absolute favorite dessert, tiramisu. And this tiramisu was out-of-this-world good.

I enjoyed every last bite.

P.S. Today’s post was brought to you thanks to today’s Daily Post prompt, which is the word “bite.”

On this 27th day of the November daily blog challenge otherwise known as Nano Poblano, I found myself coming up blank. I’ve already used songs, haiku, personal confessions, humor, autobiography (disguised as fiction), history, and photography. What else was left? I don’t have a cat, so a cute kitty meme just wasn’t possible. I had no other choice but to post photos of what I had for lunch!

In Sync Saturday

Uncategorized, writing, , , , , ,

I’ve heard people say that there are no coincidences. I take that to mean that they believe in a grand plan, where whatever happens to us happens for a reason. Or that we’re reliving the same events over and over. Or that the universe serves up whatever we imagine. Or something like that. I’m not really sure what I think about all of that. I do know one thing for sure: life is a mystery, and our tiny brains aren’t very well-equipped to understand it. When I meditate, I feel a connection to something, or maybe it’s a biochemical reaction to getting more oxygen to my brain. I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure. That really bugs me. I want to know why we’re here and what it all means. But for now, I’ll have to be satisfied with just scratching my head in wonder at all of the weird coincidences and synchronicities that keep happening all around me.

For example, after posting my last blog post about Lena Spencer and her coffee house, I googled Ms. Spencer and learned that she was the daughter of Italian immigrants from Avellino. I have an AMAZING coincidental story about my Uncle Frank that I’ll tell you sometime (if I haven’t already, haha) having to do with Avellino.

But the reason I’ve been thinking about synchronicity today is the coincidences that my mother and I have been experiencing when working on crossword puzzles. That’s something we do when I visit her. And several words in our puzzles have been popping up here and there in our real lives — on TV, especially. Here are a few strange, coincidental examples:

1) Crossword clue: a staple of Southern cooking

Answer: OKRA

We happened to see it on the menu while out to dinner the same day that I was working on the puzzle. How often do you see OKRA on the menu?

2) Crossword clue: Actor “Pat” in Karate Kid

Answer: MORITA

We were watching an artist paint a picture of some dolphins, and out of the blue he mentioned that he knew “the actor Pat Morita from Karate Kid.” I think they had some sort of a dolphin connection. About an hour later I picked up my crossword puzzle and the word I needed was MORITA.

3). Crossword clue: Cheese named after Italian word for “sheep”

Answer: PECORINO

The day before that puzzle came into my life, Mom and I were watching the Travel Channel (we actually do more than just watch TV, believe me!) and the host of the show just happened to mention that Pecorino is the Italian word for “sheep,” a fact I filed away for future reference without realizing that it would someday find its way into a blog post.

4) Crossword clue: The Green Violinist painter

Answer: CHAGALL

Mom heard his name on TV just the other day.

5) Crossword clue: _______ Dhabi

Answer: ABU

It must have been in the news, because Mom remembers hearing it somewhere recently, just before doing her daily puzzle.

I’m going out with my sisters tonight. I wonder what other coincidences will befall me while we’re out . Oh, I just remembered … the name of the band we’re going to hear is Georgie WONDERS Orchestra!

Branded on Black Friday

poetry, writing, , , , ,

BRANDED

Who are you wearing?

Whose name’s on your shirt?

What’s on your label,

your purse, and your skirt?

Where did you buy that, and

where was it made?

Is it a knock-off?

How much have you paid?

Did you go shopping

or order by mail?

Visit an outlet store?

Find a good sale?

Did a designer

initial your dress?

Is that a Gucci?

Oh wait, let me guess!

What’s in your closet?

Did you pay enough?

Or did you just order

a bunch of cheap stuff?

Can you keep up with

her wardrobe, or mine?

Is yours generic,

or top of the line?

What does it say

on the soles of your shoes?

Do you insist on

the higher-priced booze?

Are your kids’ crayons

imported from France?

Do you have signatures

sewn on your pants?

Black Friday is here!

(so the ad-man demands) …

but can you imagine

a world without brands?

Coffee House with a History

music, Travel, writing, , , , , ,

Quick, what words pop into your mind when I say “coffee house”?

Did you think of Starbucks? Pumpkin lattes? Cold brew? Okay, now step into my time machine, set the dial to 1960, and transport yourself to Saratoga Springs, New York. What do you see?

There’s a two-story brick building on Phila Street, a red awning over a narrow door, an even narrower staircase leading up to the second floor, a room with chairs and tables and a small stage, a couple of long-haired folks carrying their guitars up the stairs, and a woman with a dark bun holding the door open for them. Her name is Lena.

You are standing outside of Caffè Lena, probably the oldest continuously open coffee house in America. And by coffee house, I mean the legendary spot referred to by the New York Times in 2013 as “Folk Music Heaven.” It’s where Bob Dylan tried out some new songs in the early 60’s, and where musicians, poets, and other performers continue to keep the place in business.

Lena and Bill Spencer opened the place in 1960. Lena’s warm hospitality kept it going after her husband left. It seems that Lena struggled to make ends meet but was always generous toward the folk musicians that she hired, one time paying Don McLean (who wrote and recorded the song, “American Pie”) $300 instead of the promised $150 because he “did so well.” Sadly, Lena Spencer died in a fall down the narrow stairs in 1989, but Caffè Lena lives on.

As of today, a total of 35,231 artists have performed there over the years. I had the pleasure of attending a show at the coffee house last July, and I saw two amazing musicians (Happy Traum and Del Rey). I hope to get back there again soon. If you want to learn more about the history of Caffè Lena, I recommend reading “Caffè Lena, Inside America’s Legendary Folk Music Coffeehouse,” by Jocelyn Arem.

More Clues

music, Travel, writing, , , , , ,

My last post (Where Am I?) included two photos and posed the question, “Where Am I?” So far, none of my readers on WordPress, Facebook, or Twitter have come up with an answer. Either you haven’t clicked the link, are too busy with Thanksgiving preparations, or you truly don’t give a crap. It’s understandable. There is just too much crap out here to read right now, and more important things to do. But in the meantime, I’m still hanging out here somewhere, wondering where in the hell I am. So if you happen to know, please tell me so I can find my way home in time for Thanksgiving!

I do have another clue for you. Remember the first clue was “coffeehouse.” The next one is “1960.” Oh, and here’s another photo.

Good luck. Hopefully, I Shall Be Released from this mysterious place soon. (That was another clue, by the way.)

Maybe Monday

poetry, writing, , ,

A poem inspired by a conversation I had recently, and also just because it’s Monday:

MAYBE

Maybe I use the word “maybe” too much,

imagining motives that might or might not be

the actual meanings for certain behaviors,

when maybe I need to just think and keep mum.

Someone’s suggested a savvy solution:

stay silent, stop guessing, and simply say “hmm …”

However, if I’m to hum “hmm …” for an hour,

what will become of my quizzical questions?

Will they queue up in my querying mind?

Will I develop a wrinkled expression,

willfully wandering, seeking solutions

to confounding conundrums?

Will I go crazy?

Hmm? Well … maybe.

Mountain Man

poetry, writing, , , , ,

Today I attended the funeral of my brother-in-law, Jerry. He was married, had two sons, worked for 30 years as a self-employed building contractor, and loved nature. He climbed all 46 of the Adirondacks mountain peaks. The room was packed with friends, neighbors, and family who came to say goodbye. There was a tremendous outpouring of love for Jerry. My mind is so full of all of the beautiful reminiscences, quotes, anecdotes, stories, and descriptions of the man that I am at a loss as to what to say on this page tonight. All I can do is tell you a little bit about him through the following poem that I wrote for him.

For Jerry

When I think of you, Jerry,

I think of mountains

and oceans,

your arms and hands

gentle yet well-suited

for climbing

and fishing

and building.

I think of your smile

and of fatherhood

and of sticking with a plan,

and of your interest

in our family

and in many things

other than yourself.

I’m so sorry you are ill

but I’m thankful that you feel no pain

I hope for your recovery

and yet I know that you are climbing

the steepest mountain of your life.

(Is it number 47?)

And we are here with you

calling out to you,

steadying your feet,

handing you a rope,

but we don’t need to do that

you can handle it

you with those mountains in your eyes.

Some of us are up ahead,

and others of us, well,

we aren’t too far behind

we’re keeping our eyes on your light

shining like a beacon on the mountainside.

img_2134-1

Saturday Night Flight

humor, music, Travel, writing, , , , , , ,

I’m traveling tonight from Tucson, Arizona to Albany, New York. During my 3-hour layover in Chicago, I passed the time by writing a song parody, to be sung to the tune of “Chicago” by Fred Fisher:

Chicago, Chicago

I’m charging my phone,

chrome table, I’m able

to sit here alone

On my way to New York, I plunge a fork into

salad, raw salad,

waiting for connections is just the time to

write ballads, (like this one)!

I’ll soon board

and move toward

that row in the back,

grab aisle seat, throw luggage on the rack

(packed)

settle in now, sit back, close my eyes

soon I will fly in the friendly skies of

Chicago, Chicago and then New York!

(Below: Tucson International Airport, Chicago O’Hare Airport)

Here’s the original version of the song:

https://youtu.be/NoKn7vkSMBc

Haiku Hour

poetry, writing, , , , ,
Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

Haiku Hour

Can’t sleep, up at five
check my phone for messages
someone liked my post

I eat my breakfast
granola and some coffee
now to get to work

I could try haiku
I get a pad of paper
broken pencil point

maybe I’ll give up
go back to bed and dream of
being late for school

but something tells me
try again, you idiot
so what can I do?

another coffee
a sharpened pencil this time
and an eraser

it’s five thirty now
the sun has not arisen
birds are still asleep

my street is quiet
I don’t hear any traffic
writing time is now

ten minutes have passed
I have not written a word
the page is empty

maybe I should try
a little meditation
and see what happens

find a quiet spot
close my eyes, breathe in, breathe out
repeat my mantra

buzzing in my ears
I feel like I am floating
a dog is barking

five barks in a row
silent for a moment, then
seven barks, then five

secret learned today:
all the world is poetry
glad to be alive.

© Lori Bonati, 2017

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