Category Archives: love

The Good Family.

December 15, 2019addiction, Christian fundamentalism, commentary, contemplation, creative writing, faith, family history, Fundamentalism, Good Food, gratitude, human behavior, humor, love, memorials, nostalgia, personal testimony, psychology, relationships, social behavior, social commentary, sociology, tributes, truth, Uncategorizedblood is thicker than water, dissolution of family, families, family dinners, family quirks, holiday family get togethers, living in denial, peculiarities among peopleruth ann scanzillo

The best of families live.

In denial.

They have memories of storybook clans, or those they knew from afar. In more recent years, many have taken TV sit coms as models. But, whatever the persuasion, families which remain intact enough to celebrate a holiday together know the meaning of turning a blind eye.

They look the other way when the drunkard shows up. Nobody talks openly about the homosexual, particularly if any one of them can’t see the point. The children who wreak havoc and break things are found to entertain their grandparents’ peals of laughter.

The single young adults who arrive late and forget presents are praised for their hairdos and shoes. The sloppy and overweight are given the best easy chairs, the nervous the napkins and silverware to arrange, and the most chatty the smiles and nods of oblivious disregard.

The best food gets all the praise because why bother, otherwise? Everybody flies in to eat, after all, and all those outside of strict Fundamentalism to drink. Any thoughts of hierarchy of importance, i.e. whose children are the smartest, the prettiest, or the strongest are kept quite private, to be discussed later in hotel rooms or upstairs at the homestead.

The best families tell jokes, and with very great finesse. All debate or disagreement is soundly tabled in favor of palate pleasing platitude. Hugs are felt, peculiar smells at close range tastefully ignored, chin hairs noted in stoic silence.

And, somehow, by the time the plates have been filled, the dinner consumed, and the left overs packed in take home carry ons, all are convinced that theirs was the best celebration ever. All are immensely proud of their own comportment, their positive attitude, their polite if pretensive compassion, their wit, personality, and enthusiasm for life. Each one hopes to be thought of by every one present as the friendliest, warmest, most desirable relative in the room. Each one’s wish is that theirs will be the family which endures to survive another year.

They all know this, each in their own hearts because, without a willingness to carry on, the alternative is unthinkable. They opt, in a world which breeds hatred, violence, loneliness, and isolation to pretend that, at any moment, they might all be saved from it.

Whatever it takes, theirs will be the good family.

And to this they hold on.

For dear life.

Happy Holidays!

© 12/15/19 Ruth Ann Scanzillo. All rights those of the author, whose story it is and whose name appears above this line. Neither copying, in whole or part, nor translation permitted. Thank you for respecting original creative material. You are the better person.

littlebarefeetblog.com

Protected: The Sweet Thanksgiving.

November 27, 2019Christian fundamentalism, contemplation, creative writing, dreams, family history, Fundamentalism, Good Food, gratitude, healing, health and wellness, human behavior, love, nostalgia, personal testimony, poetic prose, prose, psychology, Recipes, relationships, short stories, social behavior, social commentary, sociology, tributes, truth, UncategorizedAfrican violets, boiled lettuce salad, braided rugs, BuCyrus-Erie, canvas awnings, City Mission, collective spirit of nourishment, crane builders, Debbie DeAngelo, Erie PA, front porches, Gospel Assembly Hall, Hellmann's mayonnaise, Irish bell tenors, Jello salad, LECOM Wellness Center, Lima beans, Mammy and Pappy Sweet, manifestations of family DNA, mashed potatoes, parsnips, parsnips and rutabaga, Pennsylvania Dutch cooking, potted geraniums, pressure cookers, rock gardens, rutabaga, sewing machines, stirring the gravy, Thanksgiving dinners in old America, tone deaf grandfathers, toyboxes, whisker treesruth ann scanzillo

Vitality.

November 14, 2019brain research, commentary, health and wellness, human behavior, love, personal ads, psychology, relationships, social behavior, social commentary, sociology, truth, Uncategorizedattraction, attraction between seniors, being attracted, chemistry, love, pheromones, post-menopause, relationships, vitalityruth ann scanzillo

Lately, the whole topic of what constitutes attraction has been pounding away at my not- so subconscious.

Always having been among those who appreciated beauty in nature I have, however, been known to become madly infatuated with certain humans who do not possess what has historically been termed “conventional” good looks; namely, that excruciatingly high standard of physical symmetry has never been the prerequisite in order for me to become irresistibly attracted.

Science has since pretty much, to coin a phrase, proved out the reason why. They’re called pheromones, first discovered in the mink, I believe, and now found to be present near the human nostril. Much like a hormone, as if we didn’t already have enough of these, this one governs the law of attraction; if male pheromones sniff out female, the chemistry is a lock and so are the two hapless victims.

In my personal post-fertile years, though the poundage has remained relatively stable and the skin tone in a holding pattern I have noted a marked drop in the number of looks and/or advances from the opposite sex. Perhaps the absence of pheromones provokes a flat facial expression in place of the former, manic radiance of “come hither”-ness, the ready laughter at the slightest quip, the tendency to reach out and touch. Whichever the case, these pesky little chemicals are sleeping it off, and most of the time I feel secretly grateful to be free to go about my business with a new clarity of lucid purpose.

But, enter the potential for a lasting partnership, perhaps those first couple dates. Is there something else, beyond the chemical, which gives the older girl a reason?

I have to call it vitality.

My father possessed this feature. The bound in his step, the lilt in his voice, the unmedicated, natural light in his eyes. The nimble quickness. And, his skin.

He spent most of his time outdoors, from age 50 to the end, training for these crazy marathons at high noon. But, he downed gallons of water, never a drop of drink or a single puff, and ate wholly, rejecting all processed refined sugars and sodium, even eliminating white flour years before everyone knew why this was a good thing, and his skin glowed. The color was warm, moist, sunned without burning, lined without sagging. Everything about him had rebound all over it. He was vitally alive.

Perhaps we have an instinct for that which we seek. We are in search of our kind, our complement, in my case the one who honors health and wellbeing. We want more life, and we yearn for someone who teems with it.

Dad remained vibrant, engaging, winsome, and endearing until the final months of his 95 years. If my body keeps waking up every morning, I hope to sustain even half of his brand of vitality. And, maybe there’s one more man out there like him. I’ll take another deep breath, and hope.

littlebarefeetblog.com