OUR LADY OF MT. CARMEL ANNUAL CHURCH FESTIVAL

I am resurrecting an old piece of mine, because this happens to be the weekend of this festival.  I envy my relatives who still live in the area, and can attend at will.  Save some cheese puffs for me, guys!  And thanks to Chris for helping me with a few of the details.

OUR LADY OF MT. CARMEL ANNUAL CHURCH FESTIVAL

I’m scorching hot. My clothes cling to me in the smothering humidity. Add to that the people-laden, sticky black tar church parking lot without a shade tree in sight. Ugh.


Yet, the air is saturated with inviting aromas: potent garlic; sweet onion; roasted peppers; spicy Italian sausage; yeast bread rolls; sweet dough twists with cinnamon sugar; cotton candy … and cheese puffs. My cousin Tom and I make a beeline for the deep-fried sweet dough filled with ooey gooey cheese. Yummmmm!

We race toward the Ferris wheel, dodging through the crammed masses and attractions. My nostrils are suddenly assaulted with the fishy stench of smelt. Eew. This booth boasts a line of cuffed pants; brimmed hats; men’s black shoes; and long-sleeved shirts soaked with sweat, each revealing the standard white muscle T beneath. These older Italian men puff cigars (again, eew!) and pass the time in line playing the loud, fast-paced game of Morra.

“Quatro!” (four!)

“Sette!” (seven!)

“Otto di fuoco!” (eights on fire!)

Roars of laughter rise with the cigar smoke above the cacophony of festival sounds.

From a game booth, a hoarse female voice hails, “Roll down, roll down! Six tries for a dollar!”

Various carnival rides summon as well: Creeeek … screeeeeech … tic, tic … whoooosh!

A button accordion pumps out a Polka, accompanied by the “oom pah” of a tuba. We pause to watch smiling couples bob as they step, quick-step, step, hold their way around a make-shift dance floor.

We spot Nonna at the Bingo Tent with an array of cards spread before her, fervently trying to win an “Infant of Prague.” This uniquely Catholic carnival prize is a plaster figure of the jewel-crowned infant Jesus, clothed magnificently in a robe of rich red, royal blue, or gold. Game booths and tents flaunt eye-catching displays of the satiny fabrics, glistening jewels, and outstretched arms of the holy infant. I feel the contrast of Nonna's satiny cheeks and stiffly sprayed hair as she pulls us close, and presses a quarter into each of our palms.

Continuing to the Ferris wheel, a small stand topped with a six-foot twirling glass of yellow lemonade beckons. Soon soothing icy lemon slush slides down the back of my throat.

I nurse my treat while in line for our ride. Cold sweat drips off the cup into my sandals, and squishes between my toes. A silvery car grinds its way to the bottom of the giant spoked wheel. We hop on, my bare legs sticking to the hot metal seat. Tom slams the safety bar shut, and we rock precariously forward and back.

The car jerks and jolts as we inch up a notch so the one below us can load, and so on -

one

car

at

a

time.

Stuck at the peak, we get a birds-eye view. The setting sun creates peach, mauve, and midnight blue hues. Glistening stringed lights of sapphire, emerald, ruby, and gold crisscross the grounds. Suddenly, my hair flies up and my stomach drops, then settles back in as it grows accustomed to the whirling sensation. For just a moment, I close my eyes and relish the breeze.

Marie Elena

TOM

We each pay our dime,
And enter the theater.
We are greeted with
   Air conditioning,
   The luscious scent
      Of unaffordable popcorn,
   And deafening previews
      Of coming attractions.

We also find we are the only ones

There.

We do what any going-into-third-grade-r would do.

We sit in the balcony.

Then the front row, center.

Then you move to the back, and I stay put

And we wave and yell echoed hellos

And laugh

And laugh

And laugh.

We laugh at Laurel and Hardy,
But we mostly laugh
At the sheer fun of being.

Cousins are cousins.
Or strangers.
Or friends.
But you are the brother
I never had.

HAIKU

God offers heart peace
To the world-weary sinner.
A soothing soul balm.

Marie Elena

Thank you, Jim Donadio, for pointing me to this “heart peace” this morning.  Jim started a new faith-based blog, and it is blessing me greatly.  I love you, Cuz!  http://victoryinhisgrace.blogspot.com/2011/01/identity-crisis-ii.html .

BAKER'S DOZEN

Eleven cousins, my sister, and me

a baker’s dozen, and potpourri

of personality and height –

a childhood of sheer delight.

We’d bundle up and steal away

to ice skate on a winter’s day;

or grab a quarter, towel, and suit

in summertime, in hot pursuit

of Waddell’s public swimming pool –

super crowded; super cool.

Our bike parades: big kids and small,

well-decorated, one and all.

Endless kickball or Red Rover;

who can find a four-leaf-clover;

swinging on the big front porch;

that little Chris was such a “scorch.” =)

These times I look most fondly on

are in the past and long-since gone.

But as I search them out, I find

they’re fondly tucked inside my mind.

Marie Elena

NILES KORNER DAIRY

A long way back, in ’66,
When we were eight years old,
A dime was lying in our path,
And we thought we’d struck gold.

My cousin Tom and I took off.
We ran, so we could pop
Into the Korner Dairy
With the Christmas Tree on top.

The Korner Dairy carried
All the stuff kids LOVE to have.
Every candy known to man;
Yummy sweet-tooth salve.

Bit-O-Honey, Beamans’ Gum,
Mary Janes, and Pez.
Golden Nuggets, Nik-L-Nip,
“Cool,” my cousin says.

Flying Saucers, Circus Peanuts
Goobers, Pixi Stix,
Saf-T Pops, and Tootsie Pops
(They take how many licks?)

Rootbeer Barrels, Good & Plenty,
Necco Wafer Rolls,
Life Savers (made in Cleveland;
Candy rings with holes).

Wax Lips, Mallo Cups,
Bazooka Bubble Gum,
Whistle Pops and Whirly Pops,
And Slo-Poke Suckers (Yum!).

Sugar Daddy and his Baby,
Candy Cigarettes,
(Which today is too P.I.),
And Chocolaty Croquettes.

Charms Blow Pops and Fireballs,
Bubble Gum Cigars,
(There’s that darn P.I. again),
And Hershey Chocolate Bars.

Bottle Caps, Marshmallow Cones,
A Candy Popcorn Ball,
Candy Buttons, Chocolate Coins,
Why can’t we have it all?

We could share an ice-cream cone,
If that is what we’d like.
Or perhaps a giant box of
JustBorn Mike and Ike.

Hooray for dimes in ’66,
So Tom and I could pop
Into the Korner Dairy
With the Christmas Tree on Top.

Marie Elena

STUCK IN THE LAKE

Note from Marie Elena:

Although “Across the Lake, Eerily” is a collaboration of, as we say, two kindred spirits (Walt and me), I desire to share the following poem and message below from a dearly loved cousin, who lived with my parents on Lake Erie for a time. Enjoy. 

STUCK IN THE LAKE

By Christopher Daniel Donadio

It happened one day I admit

The spell of The Lake caught my eye

The thought that had captured me just wouldn’t quit

Until I would give it a try

The peninsula jutted 500 feet

Past the dock at the end of their yard

I knew I could do it just once, not repeat

What a fool for I knew not how hard

The idea occurred from the winds that blew

All the water out from Morin Point

Mud was all that remained and the idea grew

To cross over to McLearys Point

My aunt and uncle delighted at this

To think I would give it a shot

With encouragement, said, “Go ahead Chris”

And I waited until it was hot

The theory I had, the hot summer sun

Would dry up the mud for my path

What a lark I thought, oh this will be fun

What waited…an Erie Mud Bath

As the ladder was placed by the dock

Timidity rose with descent

You would laugh were you timing by clock

How quickly my plans would be rent

The first steps went well, yet doubt set in

Just twenty yards out mud was muck

The laughter it went from thickness to thin

As both boots in the mud became stuck

Note from the author:

This is a true story. Marie Elena’s parents are very encouraging, believing that their daughters, and their crazy nephew, could do anything to which they set their mind and heart.

I am one of the 6 cousins Marie writes about, who grew up as her back yard neighbor: the son of the mother who is the sister of her father. Marie has always been a great source of encouragement to me, even in my early days of writing poetry. With a few breaks in the silence in the last 20 years, I really haven’t written much poetry since living on the western half of “The Lake” near Marie and her family. I love your BlogSpot and your writings, Marie, and Walt, I love the poem of yours that Marie has shared with me (I believe it is titled “Down Syndrome Cousins”).