Category Archives: love

The Refuge.

EPILOGUE.

She could already feel the cushion beneath her weight.

The car sped, following its familiar travels, winding north then west and north again, as if of its own volition, her hands on the wheel just some form of balance as she sat, riding along.

The trip home. Always such clarity, on this route.

More than the place called by its name, the house was her.                                                                  Protector; solace. Nobody had given it, and nobody could take it away. She had earned every inch. Moreover, having a place to go meant, increasingly, the place to be.

No matter that three decades of accumulated life had found a depository. She was a keeper, not a dispensary; every detail of her life experience had found some representation within its walls. Embodied sentiment; symbolic memory. Lost spirits were welcome, and likely took up residence while she slept.

He was all about property ownership and maintenance. Investing, then selling; every four years or so, he’d moved on, taking his profits. And, the place he currently called his own both stood to generate plenty and required every minute of his self imposed standards to keep up.

If he had a soul, he kept it to himself. Lawn; garden; dogs; hens. Beverage. These were friends, family, and mistress enough.

Into the occasional cracks of empty time she’d found herself, inserted.

Convenient entertainment. Easily displaced.

Desolating.

The fog would lift, by morning. Only two miles remained. The lost spirits beckoned her to her own bed, in the place where she could always go, with the promise of sleep at the center of self love.

All this she knew, on the road home.

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© 8/3/19    Ruth Ann Scanzillo.    All rights those of the author, whose story it is and whose name appears above this line. Thank you for respecting original material.

littlebarefeetblog.com

 

 

 

Pride, not Prejudice.

I’m so happy and encouraged that everyone, regardless of sexual orientation, can feel loved and accepted now, at least in theory and, increasingly, by law.

Now, I hope that straight people and gay people alike can befriend, hire, promote, and even fire without regard for sexual identity.

Nobody ever likes to feel pre-empted because of sexual identity. Women hate it when men do it; men hate it when women do it; minorities hate it when majorities do it; majorities hate it when minorities do it; gays hate it when straights do it; straights hate it when gays do it.

Let’s choose our friends, our colleagues, our employees, our managers, our leaders, on inherent merit and value, alone.

Please.

Let’s at least try, and see if we can.

 

love XO,

Ruth Ann Scanzillo

© 6/30/19

littlebarefeetblog.com

 

The Kiss.

 

I swooned with everyone else.

Not only was he tall, strong, and handsome, Cuomo was fresh, well rested, adroit, and the picture of health. A shrewd contrast to Maddow’s incisive, rapid fire analysis, this broadcasting commentator offered a more streamlined, to the point style which appealed not exclusively to heterosexual females but to everyone on the go seeking a solid, bottom line summary of the day’s political events. The package was just the icing on the beefcake.

Frankly, tuning in was already old to me; I’d been a daily news viewer for years. Perhaps growing up in a fundamentalist sect affected my latent thirst for up to the minute real time check ins on world realities. Who knew? For the past decade following the ticker had become my thing, and what better way to finish off the day than with a face which harkened to my own beloved? It’s true; both Cuomo and my significant other are genetically similar, bearing the wide, toothy grin and broadly open eyes of either Calabria or Campania, though mine a decade or so ahead in age and, okay, we Dagos like to keep it in the family. Besides, being on call in a hospital keeps my own absent on most evenings. But, you aren’t convinced.

So, it was time. Time for the latest heartthrob of the astute and vigilant to visit Colbert Nation.

He wouldn’t have been the first. AC had already been, as had his own late night comrade, D Lemon. But, he would be a first, and inimitably so. Chris Cuomo would bring his winsome charm all the way to the mats.

They’d made it nearly to the end of predicted reparte, “getting after it” for a solid twelve. Can we even remember how it came next? No. We can’t. But, we won’t forget it, either.

Somebody challenged somebody to the floor. Who could do 100 push ups?

The ties came off. The cuffs came up.

It was brain to brawn, lean to clean, waddaya mean. Counting aloud, the audience held their collective breath.

Then, just past 40-something, the inexplicable happened. The five second delay kicked in, and the frame froze. No amount of rewind could retrieve it; the outcome was lost. Cable rarely gave out, not nearly as often as dish, but it would be the next day, on the Tube, that we’d see why.

The host had been the first to give, well, because he was the host. Collapsing to the floor, Colbert curled almost fetal, closed his eyes, and smiled like a baby in a bassinet.

Then, Mario’s youngest did what all good Italian boys do. He laughed, crawled over on top of Colbert like a puppy in a litter, hugged him, and kissed him on his face.

Did the tape stop, on purpose? Was there a mad dash to edit?

Now, it might only be the Italian Americans who will have understood. We claim no corner on the market of affection, but we do hold this court. And, I’m betting that even the most stoic Swede in Minnesota felt it, right where open meets honest and fake is the joke, right?

That’s right. It’s all there, in the heart of everyone with a will and a brother.

Swoon on.

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© 5/29/19   Ruth Ann Scanzillo.   Thanks for the read, and the respect. Be well.

littlebarefeetblog.com