Category Archives: nostalgia

Promming.

May 16, 2015nostalgia, original poetry, scenes#WithoutShoes, 24 hour restaurant, adolescent hormones, ballrooms, bandstands, Barbie and Ken, bodices, brocade, bungalows, carpool, class system, cliques, Conga lines, crepe chiffon, dancing at dances, DJs, fabrics, faux satin, favorite songs, gay teachers, gym teachers, high school dances, junior prom, linen, making high school memories, mascara, not dancing at dances, organza, Prom, prom chaperones, prom DJs, senior prom, sequins, sociology, split-levels, spongy carpets, tampons, tulleruth ann scanzillo

[*Note: The use of the adjective “sudden” appears without prior knowledge of its similar use in a published poem by my friend, Anna Rose Welch] 10/14/15

A rainbow of sequins shoots across the grey landscape of split-levels, flats, and bungalows.

Too early in the season for fireflies. Just another evening in spring for most everyone….maybe a movie at home, some goodies, a game.

Ah.

No.

Tonight is Prom.

And, the empty streets are budding.

Sudden boys in stiff tuxes, girls balancing on stilettos at the edges of tired sidewalks, leaning in for the anxious lens of a wistful parent.

Then, off. Off to the blooming banquet ballroom, spongy carpet waiting to test the heels, brocaded corners settling in for the clusters of nervous children staring dolefully toward the dance floor.

Regal table rounds, draped with welcoming linens, ready to class the cliques and comfort the outcasts and soothe the swollen feet.

Noisy chattering over the relief of electronic sound emanating from the bandstand, not hearing anything intelligible, not caring. Laughing, just because.

Eyes glistening over icing on tiny cakes, licking fingers. Furtive glances across the chasm at the king and queen’s court, wondering how many minutes before all the chairs are empty. More chatter. More indefinability.

Photos, all. Phones, and photos. Poses, as many as Barbie and Ken could configure on the playroom floor. More songs from the band. Favorite songs. More looks from the DJ, waiting his turn.

Caravans of organza, tulle, crepe chiffon, and faux satin lumbering to the lavatory, clutching palm purses concealing tampons. Tinted mirrors, tugging bodices, mascara wands tracing eyelash tips.

One magnificent Conga line finale, led by the beloved gym teacher everybody knows is gay. No quibbling. No worries. True gaiety.

Trouping to the carpool, hormones at full tilt, sailing up the curb drive into the all-night restaurant. The grand, self-possessed entrance of a wandering circus act.

Mounds of fries and bacon and whipped creme.

Minds, winding down; bodies, wearing thin.

Hearts, hopeful.

Time, gathering its notes for the remembrance book.

littlebarefeetblog.com

Protected: The Scent of Nickel.

May 12, 2015contemplative essays, nostalgia, scenes#WithoutShoes, barbershops, car horns under the bridge, console televisions, crossing the tracks, DeSoto, early 60's nostalgia, Erie PA, flower gardens, freight trains, industrial towns, Italian American barbers, Italian American fathers, Mechanics Illustrated, memories of mom and dad, nickel, nickel plated furniture, nostalgia, Parade Street, Peterman's Market, red geraniums, retro furniture, rigatoni, Sports Illustrated, The New York Line, The Polish Falcons, vinyl upholsteryruth ann scanzillo

“Tony” – by Betty Sweet.

April 25, 2015light verse, nostalgia, original poetryItalian Americans, love poems, love poems from WW II, love stories, mothers and fathers, steam trains, The New York Line, WWII bridesruth ann scanzillo

( I can just hear my father: “HAHAA! Look at that heada hayuh! “)

* This poem was created by my mother, L. Elisabeth [Sweet] Scanzillo, for a Valentine’s Day party. It is the chronicle of her love story. Thank you — RAS

“Twas a night in December, on a railroad train

The steam engine was frozen, we waited in vain…

At the station, in Syracuse (the year, forty-two)

The car packed with soldiers, but not one that I knew!

The stillness was startling: no “clickety-clack!!”

You awoke in your corner, jumped up, and looked back

O’er the snoozing and snoring. “Oh, no! It can’t be!”

“Is that a young chick, all alone, that I see?”

“I’ll just mosey on back there – she looks kind of cute

I need some excitement on this boring route….

“Why, hello there, young lady. How far are you going?”

“To New York”, I replied – as my heart went “boing!”

“Well, isn’t that something? I’m going there, too.

I hope you don’t mind if I sit beside you?”

Your eyes, how they twinkled, your smile was so sweet…

I wanted to answer: “Oh, please, take a seat!”

But, rather than seem too ready and willing

I said: “Aren’t there other seats that need filling?”

“I’ll just sit down, anyway!” you said, with a grin.

(I didn’t even notice the week’s growth on your chin.)

So, all the night long, til the morning at ten

We talked and we laughed, and you sang to me. Then,

we said our “goodbyes” as we got off the train

And, I wondered if ever I’d see you again.

Now, forty-three years have elapsed, and it’s true

Your hair has turned grey, and your whiskers have, too

Your eyes have that twinkle, and your smile is still bright

(Except when you take out your teeth for the night.)

Life with an Italian is never a bore

Although there are times when it is a real chore.

But, our years together have been rather nice

Else, why do you think I married you twice? *

And, now, as I write this, I’m thinking again

If it weren’t for that trip, what my life might have been

For all of these years, since that one, fateful night

Because, I know now, it was “love at first sight” !

by Betty Scanzillo, circa 1987

* Mum and Dad were first married in 1944, then divorced two years later for a total of nearly 10 years, after which they remarried each other. Neither one had married anyone else in the meantime. I was the first child born of their reunion.

littlebarefeetblog.com