Wanda the Wilopent Book Trailer

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

Reading Wanda the Wilopent at School

 

Netherlands Horse Rescue 2006 with names of rescue riders

Uplifting and amazing video!

What Child Is This?

Our new grandson was born a few weeks ago and christened William Albert, named after both his grandfathers. Every week his little face changes and draws such attention from everyone in the family. When he was born, the resemblance to his father was striking. Now he looks like his mother's Dad.

William's birth was a long time coming, conceived after five trying years of countless "almosts" and tests and then finally . . . the invitro that secured his place in the world of the living! Such longing, waiting . . . hoping for this child to be born and at every stage in utero another concern to address: my daughter's blood disease, her asthma, two painful needles every day stuck in her belly. Yet, little Will continued to thrive and grow within my daughter's womb, and each sonogram painted a promise . . . this child is perfect.

At his Christening, the tender words of Deacon Pat fell like the baptismal waters upon his tiny head, as he anointed William with holy oil and claimed him for Christ. This sleepy Babe, adorned in white, the scent of newborn clinging still, was slowly roused by loving sighs of all who watched and smiled at him.

I began to hear an ancient echo in my heart, "What child is this?"
He is his parents' child, yet he belongs to all of us who promised to be a caring part of his life. He is of our clan, one of us. Our heritage, our stories, our memories and hope are all within his every cell. He is our future. William Albert is the new life in our family . . . full of wonder and possibility.

And I felt for one small moment what those who came to the Stable one night long ago must have felt as they gazed upon that Newborn Babe in wonder. "What child is this . . . so filled with light? What child is this . . . who brings such joy, such hope?"

I know now for certain that each new child born into this world brings a promise and a blessing for mankind . . . and it rings through the universe. . God still believes in us!

Joanne Cucinello 2008

Sharing Spaces

I was thinking this morning how things have changed for children in today's society.
When did the notion start that kids had to have their own rooms? This certainly is far from what exists in many other countries and also in many parts of our own. But nevertheless, it seems as though it's just expected that in these days parents who can afford to buy a home, look for one with as many bedrooms as their number of children.

I remember growing up having to share my bed with my sisters . . . let alone my room, which wasn't MY room anyway, but ours! My two brothers shared a room too. We were five kids and two parents . . . and one bathroom. When I think of it! The line outside the door sometimes grew very loud with hurry ups and threats, some of which I won't mention. Getting ready for school and taking care of personal needs while someone else is banging on the door presented its own set of challenges, while trying to find your own clothes in a closet shared by three girls was yet another. I'm not talking about a walk-in either! I'm thinking that these circumstances might have been a reason for kids leaving home much earlier than they do today.

When I got married and we began our family, the same numbers were replicated . . . five kids and two parents. The first thing we did when we moved into our four bedroom home was add another full bathroom and we even had a half bath extra to boot. Our three girls were still small at that time, but I wasn't waiting. My memories of teenage years pushed me to get ready for that primal female energy to resurface once again when my own daughters became teens. And god, did it ever!!! Still, they had to share one bedroom for a long time. When our oldest girl's asthma became really troublesome, we moved her into her own room. Yet, there were many nights we'd find her sisters and brothers with blankets and pillows, sleeping on her bedroom floor! I guess there remains a special comfort on stormy nights for children to snuggle up together and feel safe. Pillows and fluffy blankets shared seem to always calm the soul.

But as time goes on, things change, needs change and we all get caught up in one way or another to strive for bigger and better things. It stands to reason that the more we own, the more space we need and that seems to be one of the problems. The need for privacy and independence is another. But how much and how soon? I guess there is a certain status we unconsciously or consciously aspire to in this world where achievement is honored . . . and expected. I just wonder why for so many it has to begin so early in life, when childhood only lasts for just a moment and I wonder too . . . just how much better off as a people we really are.

The Clothesline

I wrote this poem one windy autumn day
20 years ago, when I still used clothespins!
Perhaps it will stir some of your own fond memories . . .

The Clothesline

From my window
it’s a comical sight, even musical
the way the wind plays posie
with my wardrobe hanging there.
Today, shirtsleeves wave to me
and flutter high and low
now and then
when wind swirls toss the trees
appearing
to be raising arms in unison
like graceful rows of Muslims
praising God . . .
they make their bows to Allah.

A merry sight, this autumn day
despite the fact that
folding clothes
will occupy my time tonight.
I still find viewing them delightful.
Never mind
that I’ll be picking bits of leaves
and twigs
from playful sweaters
woolen socks and sheets.

It’s sweet nostalgia
come to visit me today
bringing me to Brooklyn streets
and brownstones with their backyard lines
childhood thoughts of neighbors
hanging wash
tattle tales and peekaboos
hung dripping on the line.
Minny’s see-through underwear
and Bobby’s holey socks
Alice wears a bra now . . .
and you don’t!

Soon the winds will grow too cold
for hanging clothes
but still . . .
I might just do it one day, anyhow
just to see
the frozen stiffs come off the line
remembering
the laughter in our kitchen then
when Mother pulled them one by one
hard and cold
through the window . . .
clothesbodies
waiting to lie down
on toasty radiators
and dream away defrosting.
And I waiting too
to sniff the crisp winter’s air
that floated through that place
filling little heads with happy memories
times too easily forgotten
in a world gone electric.

Joanne Cucinello
1988

Blessed

I dreamt I sat at the edge of time
holding my five babies
in my arms
asleep across my breast ~
as the full and fertile moon
covered them with blessed light
and my whole being came ablaze
with wonder at how God
could have loved me so.

And I awoke knowing I have been
truly blessed and gifted ~
because the babes I yearned for
in my simple youth ~
the prayer I whispered
in my heart of hearts
was granted ~
as one by one
each sweet wonder grew
within my womb.

There never has and never will be ~
a greater gift than that bestowed on Woman
the gift to bring forth life
not just for propagation's sake
but for that which encompasses
the heart-love yearning
the hope and salvation of humankind
and I ~ who once was barren,
have seen the wonders of this universe unfold
each time I gaze into those globes of light~
my precious children's eyes.


Joanne Cucinello