HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, DAD





Bartholomew

Were my father still alive
he would be eighty-nine today.
I wonder what
in the long thirty-one years
since he passed,
would have been...
for him...
for us.

I know he'd still be the
Kitchen God of my youth
who could coax exquisite
tastes-smells,
and sheer amount
from the merest ingredients.

White chef's apron tied high
on his portly frame,
his huge brown eyes missing
not a thing
as he surveyed his Kingdom.

A tall, tall man of short stature
who loved long, sleek Lincolns
though once he brought home
a lowly Nash.

A self-trained musician
bending his alto sax
to high jazz
as we kids eagerly sat
on the scratchy, green parlor sofa...
a rapt audience,
sure he was a star...

and he could belt out a song
in his huge baritone
rich with chestnut notes
that at other times
might send us scurrying.


He was a suitcase kind of Dad-
an on-the-road salesman
hawking kettles--
not just any kettles, either
but STAINLESS STEEL
none of that aluminum for food
he'd eat or serve!


He'd be off for a week at a time
sometimes two
demonstrating his wares
in other people's kitchens...
roast beef, braised with very little water
(that was an important component)
to tender perfection in his largest kettle,

in the smallest one, ruby red beets
that he would later demonstrate
left no stain...
potatoes steamed on low heat
little water
certainly not boiled to death.

Sometimes, to my delight,
we might accompany him,
the clean-up-crew of kids.
He had a tiny office front
in Rochester, NY
where we might stay over night
if the 'dinner party' went late-
and in the morning he'd fix us
salami sandwiches,
not just any salami, mind you,
but hard salami sliced so thin
you could see right through it,
on Italian hard rolls
so crusty that flakes broke off
with every bite.
I loved this breakfast
in that tiny space,
relishing the almost naughtiness of it.

Sometimes
cooking in my kitchen,
Iris, earnest and supremely focused,
stirring by my side,
I know he has come through
(he may never have held her nor
felt the aching sweetness of her arms
around his neck)
but he is there in her,
as he has been in me...
cooking on.

 

 Novemberr 24, 2010

Joanne Adragna Shird

IRIS' RECITAL

This nine year old young lady played her solo during the violin recital last Sunday.  She nailed it!!



I love this look of utter concentration that takes over her face while playing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is a child who loves music and I have heard her say that music changes everything.  I love how deeply she feels music.  And I agree, music does change everything.

 

I am so proud of her.



A BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE

Forty-four years ago today at just about this time of day, noonish, I was vigorously walking around Vermillion, S.D., doctor's instructions, trying to advance the minor, beginning contractions of birth.  And it wasn't until much later that day that Jonel made her appearance at the Yankton hospital...and as all mothers know, it was and has been, a life changing experience.

 

Only a few days home, and we are resting well.  I can still feel this warm, sweet little girl on my chest.

 

 

 

The photo for family.





 

Jonel today, a mother of her own with daughters Elsa and Iris.  My daughter now knows the sweetness, pains, heartache, overwhelming love, worry, care and concern of motherhood.

 

No matter how old my daughter, I almost daily know the sweetness, pain, heartache, overwhelming love, worry, care and concern of being a mother.

 

 

 

 

 

Taken on Easter Sunday.

 

I cannot express in words how she has embellished my life.  I am so proud of this woman: strong and determined; a patient and loving parent; a solid, giving and loving partner and wife; a woman who not only holds the earth in high regard but follows through in all ways to respect it; a master of the written word; a compassionate and empathetic being who is generous in all

ways;  a lover of the outdoors;  and a deeply spiritual being. 

 

I love you, Jonel, and am thankful for your being.

 





ELSA, THE BIRTHDAY GIRL

Pool Party

 

 Elsa decided she wanted a 'Pool Party' for her 7th birthday, and she requested a Pool birthday cake....She loved it....especially the cookie people/heads which she kept trying to 'steal' unnoticed.

 

...lounging along....

 

 

 

...lots of children, lots of water, and no one except the adults noticed the overwhelming chlorine smell.

 

...three little beauties...

 

 

 

It is hard to believe that Elsa has turned seven already.  I know that time plays tricks, collapsing years into moments, but seven???  This little 'quick-as-a-minute' child, filled with love and wonder, gratitude and a good measure of silliness has reached seven in what seems only days to me. I am deeply grateful to have been so involved in those seven years and look forward with love for all of the years to come.



FOR MY MOTHER

It has been many years now since my mother's death.  I miss her daily...I think of her daily....I rue all that she has missed, too.

 





 

My mother holds Corky, one of our childhood dogs.  I'd have to guess, but I think she was in her 40's here.  She had already had ovarian cancer by this time.  I was too young to really know the depth of fear that accompanies cancer.  She spent time at Rosewell Hospital undergoing radiation.  I remember her coming home, I remember her 'browned' stomach.  She recovered, only to have cancer two more times in her life.  She was a strong role model for me.



This is one of the later photos of her, still a lovely woman.

And here a favorite.  She came to visit one Easter, maybe 15 years ago.  How I see myself in my mother.

 

 

I remember how special I felt one day, I think I was about seven or eight, when she and I, no siblings, walked hand in hand to town.  It was about a mile and a half walk, and I had my mother just to myself.  I remember how sweet it felt, her hand and mine together.  We lived with my grandmother, an aunt, and I have two sisters and a brother...we were a busy household, so a stroll with my mother was very special.

Despite being of advanced age myself, I miss a mother in my life, I miss my mother.  There is an emptiness in me, an ache that never goes away.  It subsides, but is never gone.  It rears up boldly when, for example, I want to call her and tell her something of Iris and Elsa.  I wish she had known them, I wish they had known her. 

Today when I look in the mirror, I see my mother.  I have grown to look so much like her, it seems uncanny. 

My mother taught me so much, inspired so much in me, gave me so much, and expected much as well.  I took dance lessons from the age of six through twelve.  My mother sewed all of my dance costumes on our old Singer treadle machine.  I recall my dance teacher always pointing out the costumes my mother made as being so well done.

Although my father was the Artist at cooking, my mother was a wonderful cook.  I learned so much from her about day-long cooking, fresh ingredients, 'organic' before it was organic, and the simple love of feeding family.

I know my mother lives on in me, in my very flesh and blood and bones.  I feel her strongly at times, even as I feel the grandmothers of old surrounding me.  Although my mother died what seems a long time ago, she has really never left me alone.

  She

 

She fills my days unseen

     yet everywhere,

permeates my life with

     a love that caresses

and carries me forward,

     even as it reaches

as far back as my birth.

 

‘Mother’, you so far exceed the

     bounds of that word,

the entire lexicon fails

     to capture you…

and it is this, my life,

     my beating heart,

the flow of my blood,

     the strength of my bones,

that holds and honors you…

 

and even now, so long after

     your passing,

you fill me with your love.

3/22/15

 

 

 

 

 



GIFTS

Finally, a photo of all the grandkids, and a happy time it was, Easter at Doug/Kari's house.  They are growing so fast and time does not slow down.  What a lovely group of children...we are blessed.

 

 

 

Morgan, Nolan, Macy, Iris and Elsa (standing).

 

Friday, despite the bitter winds, we hiked along the Kickapoo with Luke Murphy and his girlfriend Dar.  It was, of course, stunning as usual, and these two city folk (Chicago) were taken with the beauty of our area.  (They did express they were really urban people and could surely never give that up.)

 

 

 

 



Freddie and I standing on a rock outcropping above the river.



Luke and Dar (Freddie peeking from behind) above the river.



  

I never tire of this kind of view, looking down from above on the river.

 

 



 

 

 

 

On the Kickapoo Valley Reserve there are numerous Hemlock trees, lovely with their lacey 'leaves', and these are Hemlock trees, however I have never seen them growing with their roots so exposed above ground...strange sight evoking banyan trees.

 

Spring is having some difficulty settling in, but it isn't far off.  The Reserve, in all its seasons is a gift to be treasured.



GRANDGIRLS AND EASTER BREADS



It has been quite some time since I have posted on this blog, and I am not exactly sure what has kept me away.  But with recent good news about my son-in-law Andy, and this good weather (except for the recent snow storm) I have felt renewed.  So here are some not so profound, yet lovely events of the past few weeks.



Our eldest granddaughter, Morgan, had her pencil drawing at the State Capitol rotunda as a part of student art.  Her drawing was selected from Tomah's middle school students.  We are so proud of her...this 'growing up too fast' young woman.

 

 

 

Nonnie Day was last Tuesday for Iris and Elsa.  The weather was beautiful, and we were able to spend much time outdoors.  Snack time at the picnic table was not just for Iris and Elsa, but

 

 

as you can see, for their horses as well.  After this, we took them for a walk on Jug Creek Road.  They each cradled their horses lovingly and gently in their arms, and I found this almost unbearably sweet.

 

 

Most years I make a large variety of Easter Breads from around the world.  Somehow Easter crept up on me, and when I realized it was only a few days away, I scrambled to make three....

 

 

 

...an Italian loaf called Gabana, rolled and stuffed with lots of goodies...

 

 

...one of my old stand byes the Italian Easter Dove...

 

 

 

...and of course, Hot Cross buns...

 

So, as my friend Janet/Mark had just returned from a month long vacation in Mexico I thought we'd get together to hear about the trip.

 

 

Table laden with lots of goodies.

Geri/Steve and her dad Ken joined us.

 

and Mark and Janet, of course.

 

We had a wonderful time laughing and talking, and drinking wine, of course.