Ode to the Storytellers

once upon a time

long, long ago

holding court around a fire

a story was told

what is this? they asked

what does it mean? they cried

but they listened

to the fantastical and improbable

ridiculous and laughable

and found magic in ordinary days

 

once upon a time

long, long ago

a told story traveled

to faraway lands

what is this? they asked

how wonderful! they cried

so they took the story

cupped it in their hands

planted it in their hearts

and made it their own

 

with music and dance

poetry and prose

the story became more

thank you! they said

for legends, poems

tall tales and fairy tales

for once upon a time

and long, long ago.

*from the files of very bad poetry by bia

Reinvention

So many kind people have reached out to me lately wanting to know how I am doing now that Timothy is away at college. The truth is, I don’t know.

Everything happened so quickly. You live with someone for 18 years and then one day you drive them somewhere, and leave them there, and your husband then spends the entire drive home patting you on the shoulder because you cannot stop crying.

So yes, I had my ugly cry, but I’m fine. Really. It’s just been strange sorting through the emotions of not having a child in the house anymore. Yes, there are empty hangers in the closet, the grocery bill has plummeted, and it is quiet when Joe has to go out of town, but mostly I feel the need to reinvent myself because there is no denying that life now is different.

The last time I reinvented myself was in 2007 when I decided to start writing about family life and all the funny, crazy, aggravating, loving, inexplicable things boys do. Set within the framework of faith and my Italian heritage, I started my blog, La Dolce Vita, the Sweet Life with Three Sons. The blog opened doorways I never imagined: Steve Crawford published several of my articles in the Columbia Country News Times, I had an op-ed published in The Augusta Chronicle, I was invited to speak at The Sacred Heart Garden Festival, and I began working as a contract writer for Catholic Stewardship Consultants. When I published my book and gave book talks, the blog was the source of material for both. Even the idea of sponsoring the Girls’ Trips to Italy was born of the blog.

But if everything I write is grounded in my little blog and my sweet life with three sons, and if now my muses—Nicholas, Jonathan, Timothy—aren’t here anymore, what then? Who will I write about now? Will my life still be sweet? Will my days be as interesting or funny? Will I be as interesting and funny? These questions sent me into a little panic the other day. I mean, I already like to wear black and now I’m going to be uninteresting and boring?

Deep down I know this is a transition period and it is okay to feel different, to change, to shift a little.  Acceptance will come, along with the peace that this is as it should be, and it is going to be okay.

And it will be okay. Even if I have to reinvent myself.

An Ocean, an Airplane, and Two Countries Full of Kisses 

(sketch, Chapter 2)

I love ...

I love silhouetted pine cones 

and tiny green seedlings 

and cows by the fairway 

and easy-to-find golf balls.

Watching the Wayward

Sometimes, children stray. The reasons may vary—it could be due to drugs, or rebelliousness, or self-destructive behavior—but to the parents longing for their child to come home again, the feelings of helplessness and despair can be consuming.

In her book, Watching the Wayward, Wendy Gorton Hill shares her journey on what it is like to be the parent of a prodigal. It is honest and raw. Beautiful and uplifting. And her heartfelt, beautifully written psalms reflect a journey which is often painful, sometimes despairing, but always steeped in faith.

Much like the Psalms in the bible, Wendy uses her poems to lament, praise, despair, and celebrate. They teach, but also serve to remind us that all things are possible with God.

In her psalm, Frequent Flyer on If Only Airlines, Wendy explores the “if only” scenarios concerning her son. If only this had happened instead of that, if only we had done this, if only we had known. Those two words—if only—bring such pain when contemplating a past that cannot be changed, but by the end of the psalm Wendy replaces her if only statements to only if, thereby putting everything in God’s hands. Only if we turn to God will we cease to stray, only if we are emptied can we be filled, only if we acknowledge our need will we seek Him as a source.

In Dancing With the Worst-case Scenario, Wendy explores how imagining the worst, or making assumptions, is like being pulled into a two-step dance, whirling and twirling to the music of fear and dread. She begs the Lord to break in on the dance, to lead her in a new kind of dance. One of safety and peace.

By the end of the book, Wendy has come full circle as a parent of a prodigal. Her psalm entitled Surrendered gives everything back to God, which segues perfectly into The Gift of Prodigal Parenting in which she expresses gratitude for the lessons this journey has taught her. But it is the last psalm, Conveying Comfort, which reminds us of the true Christian spirit of turning one’s pain into comfort and hope for others.

Along with the psalms, Wendy includes supplemental scripture and journaling questions, all of which encourage introspection. Watching the Wayward is not only a book for parents of prodigals, but for all parents as we watch our children make their way in this world.

Wendy Gorton Hill website

Watching the Wayward on Amazon

1,449

Today was Timothy’s LAST day of work at Publix!

He started work April 2020, worked through a pandemic lockdown, over three summers, during two soccer seasons, and on countless weekends and holidays.

He bagged groceries and carried out groceries. He worked as a cashier, monitored the self-checkout lane, and cleaned bathrooms.

He logged 1,449 work hours.

And today was his last day. Thanks to those who marked the occasion—the Casellas with a generous tip, Liz Klebba with a jar of Nutella—and to all those who stopped to chat with him these past two years and who took photos of him at work and sent them to me.

He’s not totally hanging up his apron. Publix will welcome him back next summer.

In the meantime, aside from sleeping in every morning, he’s looking forward to a beach trip with friends and spending a day at the track with Xtreme Xperience where he will drive an Audi R8 supercar.

And in three weeks . . . VROOOOM! Off he goes to college.

I love ...

I love red

and white

and blue

and barbecue.

Hanging up the Robes

This past Saturday was Timothy’s last time serving at Mass. When Fr. Ross asked Timothy to stand and be recognized for his eight years of service, I was emotional.

Altar serving was always something our sons did. Nicholas was first, followed closely by Jonathan. For several years the two brothers served together on the altar until Nicholas left for college. Jonathan served alone until he left for college.

And then it was Timothy’s turn, and a photo taken before serving at his very first Mass shows a little boy, wearing a robe with sleeves down to his knuckles, looking slightly terrified.  

When each of our boys started high school and thought about quitting, Joe and I talked them out of it. After all, we told them, we are at Mass anyway so why not use altar serving as an opportunity for stewardship? And so, they continued serving at church, at a few weddings, and at several funerals.

Last Saturday, when Timothy served for the very LAST time, there was a young boy who was serving for his very FIRST time. And I took a photo—the young server, smiling and drowning in his robes, and Timothy, over six feet tall, ready to hang up his robes.

As a family, we are at a strange juncture of looking to the future while reminiscing about the past, of saying goodbye to traditions and routines, and hello to changes and new beginnings. High school graduation is behind us, college begins this August, and in less than two months our “baby” will be gone and Joe and I will be sitting alone at Mass.

I suppose that is why I was emotional.

As much as change can be exciting, it is different, you know?

And it takes some getting used to.