Nana Loves You

One Starry Night That Changed the World

2011-12-11T09:22:00.000-08:00

And the story is told
that the first believers were simple Shepherds,
who were taking turns watching their flocks one dark starry night.
When lo and behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to them,
surrounded by radiant swirling billows of light.
Stirred from their sleepy watch, the Shepherds were terrified,
but this beautiful angelic being, floating in mid-air,
began to speak to them in words something like this:
"Do not be afraid.
Listen, I have something wonderful to tell you.
After tonight, you and everyone else will never be the same.
You are going to be so ecstatic . . . just filled with wonder.
I can't wait to see your faces!
You're going to want to share this joy with everyone.
I know, it sounds incredible, but today
in Bethlehem a Savior has been born, and he is the Christ,
the One you've all been waiting for!!!
I know it's hard to believe, but listen, here is a sign for you:
You will find the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes
and lying in a manger."
And with that , the angel whooshed up right over their heads.
Suddenly, a whole bunch of them appeared,
swirling in gorgeous golden lights, praising God and singing:
"Glory to God in the highest and peace to men of good will."
And then, just like that . . . they disappeared.

Now, you can picture the shepherd's faces,
looking up and then looking at each other, saying;
"What was that? Did you see what I saw?
Did you hear what she said? Do you think it could be true?"
And with that, a few of them decided to go and find out,
since the small town of Bethlehem was just over the hill.
They were filled with excitement and took nothing with them
except for one little lamb, a gift for this baby, should they find him.
And they did find him, just like the angel said,
wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.
They entered the humble stable and gave the parents their little lamb,
telling them how the angel came to them in the fields that night.
They told Mary and Joseph that the angel called their Child the Savior, the Christ.
And they stood there together, on that quiet starry night,
looking in wonder at a sleeping Babe
who would change the world forever.

Joanne Cucinello © 2001

Winnie the Pooh Movie Trailer Official (HD)

2011-07-24T11:35:00.000-07:00

Nana Loves You: PLEEEZZ!!!

2011-05-15T05:25:00.000-07:00

Nana Loves You: PLEEEZZ!!!

PLEEEZZ!!!

2011-05-14T09:04:00.001-07:00

This is what I used to tell my kids when they were young, teaching them to cross the street: Stop! . . . look (both ways) . . . and listen. Three important words every child needs to learn very early in life.

STOP! . . . Is that a word anymore? Are parents allowed to yell that in public? When your two year old is trying to poke the dog's eye out with a twig . . . can you quickly shout "NO"?! Or are you now advised to ask your child if you can have the twig . . . PLEEEZZ??
I remember years ago when my youngest son was two and we'd gone to the playground one cloudy day. I was pushing him on a toddler swing next to three other Moms and their little ones. All the tots were giggling and squealing, when all of a sudden it began to lightly rain. As the drops became bigger and wetter, the two Mom's to my left and myself began declaring . . . "Okay, it's time to go!" . . . "Two more pushes" I said to my pouting child and then took him out of the swing as the other two ladies did the same . . . just before the downpour started. But not so for the Mom to the right of us. She was standing and pleading in front of her two year old daughter in the swing . . . as they both were getting drenched . . . "PLEEEZZ, Sweetheart,can't we stop now?" The little tyrant just shook her head "NO!!!" and screamed bloody murder as her Mother attempted to come near the swing. So the woman stood there crying and repeating her need for permission from a two year old.
I wouldn't be surprised if she's still standing there pushing that swing!

Life Is Love

2011-05-14T08:31:00.000-07:00

Life is so fragile
we are all waiting to be born
and held forever
in the palm of God

Life is so beautiful
we've been given a heart
that keeps the beat
for all who've come before
and all who have been promised

Life is so magnetic
attracting, holding fast
the good and bad of humankind
the very best and worst of us

Life is purely gift
forgiving one creation, leaping to another
to please the smiling God whose
only dream is love.

The Visit

2011-05-10T10:22:00.000-07:00

“I saved these just for you” she said.
“I knew you’d come one day to find them.”
Bending to her bureau drawer,
the moonlight swept across her face
and there ‘neath tattered wings I saw
a form familiar.

She picked up bits of ivory
with her musing fingertips
worn now from the years.
A smile, soft and lovely,
graced her frail and shallow face
and flash-backs
just like shreds of lightening . . .
flooded me.

“It was you, wasn’t it?" I gasped.
“All the while it was you . . .
tiptoeing past my bed
like a thief who’d stolen jewels.
I thought that I was dreaming . . .
swore I saw those wings . . .
yes, and that fairy scent you always wore.
You lived with us back then, Grandma,
and all the while . . . I thought that thief was Mom!”

She bid me, “Close your eyes and open up your hand.”
and as if I were standing small again . . . I anxiously obeyed.
Then she dropped them,
my tiny ivory tooth buds saved since childhood
toppled in the center of my palm,
"treasures, jewels" she said . . . her memories.

And there we lay that evening
recalling heart-soaked lullabies
rocking in the dark
till all the breath of all the years
dissolved into my arms
and the long cord of Grandma's love
~ wrapped my heart with gold.

Joanne Cucinello 2010

We Are Never Alone

2010-12-07T08:20:00.000-08:00

This morning, I was remembering a certain Sunday long ago when I was young, sitting in Church and feeling quite alone. The priest that day ended his sermon with these words from Isaiah 49:15 . . . "See, I will not forget you. I have carved you in the palm of my hand."

The image, those words conveyed, gave me such comfort . . . and continues to stay with me throughout my life, especially through difficult times . . . reminding me always of God's faithful love.

It was my Dad who made that image so real for me . . . that day sitting at the kitchen table. He was tired, working three jobs to support his brood of five, all alone, after my mom had left. Dad was an optimist, tomorrow would always be a better day. We were alone together that particular morning. My brothers and sisters were still asleep. I remember asking him if he wished we were rich. He smiled with affection and touched my cheek. Then he took out his worn brown leather wallet and wanted to show me how rich he really was.

Out came five folded little papers he'd kept safe through the years, one small note of affection from each one of us and he let me read them. Dad was all teary eyed and said something like . . . "See, these are my jewels . . . you kids. I'm the richest man on earth." I knew then, that in his own simple way, my Father had carved us in the palm of his hand.

Moments of love, shared at a kitchen table, little notes of affection saved close to the heart . . . small, but present remnants we have each passed on to our own children, in hopes that they will never feel alone, so that even when we're gone . . . . they'll remember how much they were loved.

What Will We Do?

2010-09-10T09:13:00.000-07:00

What will we do
to save our children
from the monsters that hide
not under beds
nor in the shadows on the wall
but prowl the streets
and wait for the yellow bus
and that one last lingering child
who dillydallies
jumping over puddles
skipping down the road
singing silly songs
she only learned today?

What will we do
to hold back mothers and fathers
from taking the law into their hands
when we ourselves have decided
to join them?

How do we turn this world
upside down and inside out again
and will it ever, ever end . . .
the sacrifices of the innocents among us?

What will we do
when the seas dry up
and there is no more salt
left for tears?
What will we do
when poets are no longer needed?

Joanne Cucinello 2009

Kids Don't Learn Respect . . . Unless You Teach Them

2010-08-28T07:34:00.000-07:00

I remember back then when my brothers and sisters and I were young. We could be a wild bunch at times,the five of us, but that was only allowed inside our own home. When our parents took us to visit we were warned way in advance to quell the rising fear of . . . Oh my God! Ciro and Marian are coming with the five kids!!
One Aunt in particular, my mother's older sister Aunt Mary, was pretty well to do and had a house that looked like a museum. It stayed that way even with her three children living there, thanks to her diligence and fanaticism. There was a long four cushioned sofa against one wall in her living room, just long enough to seat five children and that's where we were forewarned to sit and mind our manners . . . or else! And we did just that until compassion overtook her and she bought us cookies . . . but WATCH the crumbs! Why were we so obediently mild-mannered on family outings, you might ask? Because we knew with certainty that my mother meant business when she said "This is not our house. Do NOT embarrass me!"
When I had my own five children and they were small, I passed on the warning too. Behind the issue of embarrassment was the greater core of Italian-American family life . . . RESPECT! You respect your elders, your parents, your teachers . . . and last but not least . . . YOURSELF. My children knew very clearly what was expected of them from early on. No, they weren't perfect, but they learned respect. I remember my young son Brendan's astonishment when a schoolmate who came to our house one afternoon, walked right up to the refrigerator, opened the door, and grabbed something to eat for himself. Before I could say anything, my seven year old said "What are you doing?" The boy replied nonchalantly, "Getting something to eat, why?" And Brendan sternly said in his little gruff voice, "You better put that back. This isn't your house and you didn't ask!" The boy turned around and saw me standing with my arms folded and sheepishly returned his booty back to the fridge. Then Brendan said, "Mom, I think Adam's hungry." I asked the boy if he'd like something to eat and he shyly shook his head yes and I fixed them both something nice to eat. Adam started smiling again. The next time he came to our home he remembered that we don't starve hungry children here and all he had to do was ask.
Another time, a different friend came over and used the bathroom. When he came out, Brendan was next in line to use it. He walked in and ran right out pulling his friend back into the toilet in a panic. The boy had peed all over the seat and decorated the wall also and just walked out. I heard my son warn him that if his Dad came home and saw that mess he'd be very angry and he won't let you play here again. And then he added, "You have to aim inside the bowl in our house."

It's called . . . Respect. It's called . . . I CARE!

Allowing and encouraging children to grow and explore their world is a task that does not come without responsibility. Respect for oneself and others begins at a very young age, but those values taught and supported through childhood continue throughout one's life. Children need boundaries and when they're in new and unfamiliar places they need to know what these boundaries are. Do unto others as you would have them do to you is a wise lesson to learn early in life.
Children can't grow up alone or in households where no one ever has time for them. They learn respect from their parents first. It all goes back to the beginning. Kids need to play and have fun, to be free and be loved. It's not about restricting their good times. It is about learning how to live, give, and share the world around us and discover what joy means.

Wanda the Wilopent Book Trailer

2009-08-30T19:50:00.000-07:00

Make a Smilebox scrapbook

Reading Wanda the Wilopent at School

2009-03-03T14:35:00.000-08:00

Netherlands Horse Rescue 2006 with names of rescue riders

2009-01-23T08:20:00.001-08:00

Uplifting and amazing video!

What Child Is This?

2008-12-11T04:28:00.000-08:00

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

2008-09-13T04:14:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-04T06:13:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-24T09:48:00.000-07:00

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

I Remember You

2008-07-20T13:12:00.000-07:00

“I saved these just for you” she said.
“I knew you’d come one day to find them.”
Bending to her bureau drawer,
the moonlight swept across her face
and there ‘neath tattered wings I saw
a form familiar.

She picked up bits of ivory
with her musing fingertips
worn now from the years.
A smile, soft and lovely,
graced her frail and shallow face
and flash-backs
just like shreds of lightening ~ flooded me.

“It was you, wasn’t it?" I gasped.
“All the while it was you
tiptoeing past my bed
like a thief who’d stolen jewels.
I thought that I was dreaming,
swore I saw those wings . . .
yes, and that fairy scent you always wore.
You lived with us back then, Grandma,
and all the while
I thought that thief was Mom!”

She bid me, “Close your eyes
and open up your hand.”
and as if I were standing small again
I anxiously obeyed.
Then she dropped them,
my tiny ivory baby teeth
saved since childhood
toppled in the center of my palm,
treasures, jewels she said ~ her memories.

And there we lay that evening
recalling heart-soaked lullabies
rocking in the dark
till all the breath of all the years
dissolved into my arms
and the long cord of Grandma's love
~wrapped my heart with gold.

Joanne Cucinello 2007

christian the lion

2008-07-08T06:19:00.001-07:00

Please don't pass this by. It's less than a minute . . . but it's worth a million!

Judy Garland - Somewhere Over The Rainbow

2008-06-29T05:44:00.001-07:00

I wish every child could feel what I feel . . . every time I hear Judy sing this song!

It's Not Okay!

2008-06-17T03:11:00.000-07:00

"Okay" is a friendly little word kids love to use. It quiets Mom and Dad down real quick sometimes and that's probably the first thing they learn about this useful word tool. It can also be posed as a question asking for approval, as in: "Mommy, I'm just gonna give the puppy a haircut. He's too hot. I'll bring the scissors right back. Okay?" When the little Barber of Seville's request is denied and the screaming tantrum is over, it can be heard in its long drawn out form of resignation: "O . . .kay!" Often, this word is used to preface a leadership activity and can be heard if you listen out the back window when one of your kids has decided to take charge, like: "Okay, Lucy, now you go first. Taste the mudpie and make pretend it's yummy!" If your little Politician In The Making gets Lucy not to spit at her and run away, she will have realized the power of her words. If not, she will learn that she'd better brush up on her manipulation skills if she wants to run for office 40 years from now.
Reality bites when your child's actions start evoking the dreaded parental "No! It's NOT okay!" These words will be uttered often for at least 16 years or so depending on each individual child's attempts to transgress and bring shame to the family name. Hopefully, by the time your teenager is ready to become human once more, he or she will be familiar also with the proud and joyful use of the affirmative O-KAY!! . . . its highest form of approval that goes along with wonderful achievements and positive decision making choices, the ones that give a thumbs up and the long happy sigh of relief for a job well done!

Daddy's Girl Remembers

2008-06-08T09:41:00.000-07:00

My Dad passed on in 1994, a few days before his 80th Birthday. His car was hit by a drunk driver and his life was over in an instant. I wrote this poem for him one Father's Day many years before and I'm so glad he really felt what I was saying and still longed for even though I was a young mother with five kids of my own by then.
He called me on the phone a few days later and asked if I'd like to take a long walk with him! I said yes, of course, but only on one condition: that neither of us would talk about our kids (he had two new ones from his second marraige)we'd just talk like we used to . . . just for this one time . . . about us, how we'd grown and were still learning to live. And . . . I added one more thing: "Can you put your arm around my shoulder, like you used to?" Guess what? He did it all! How blessed I was to have him.

I Will Always Love You, Dad

There's a little girl inside my heart
who still on Father's Day
is taken back to years ago
when both of us would play
a game of "who's my special girl?"
and "who's my daddy dear?"
I'd ride upon your shoulders high
and never have a fear.

Sometimes we'd walk for hours it seemed
around the reservoir
Forest Park or Highland . . .
we never traveled far.
But you were always there for me
when my young heart needed love
and someone who would listen
when the going got too rough.

And yes, it did get rough at times
as only you would know
but gosh, you were a trouper
and how I loved you so!
Although I'm not that little girl,
at least not on the outside,
there's still a little part of me
that somehow I just can't hide.

It's that part that's still your daughter
and though I've changed and grown,
the years that I did live with you
were the happiest I've known.
You really made me special
and gave me so much love
I'd like to give it back to you
but that wouldn't be enough.

I still need time to share with you
the person I am now,
the things I feel, the dreams I have
this space just won't allow.
You'll always be my father, yes,
but time is passing by.
So many things we haven't said,
there's times I want to cry.
I really miss you Daddy,
so much I want to say.
I'll have to make a date with you
and talk the night away.

Do you think that we can do it?
Do we need a reservoir?
Or will a cup of coffee do?
I really don't live far.

Joanne Cucinello . . . a long time ago.

One Umbrella-Two Princesses

2008-05-31T10:18:00.000-07:00

A trip into Brooklyn to visit my sister, both of us grandmothers now, both of us in love with our granddaughters . . . hoping they'll stay small a little longer. Can't you just eat up your grandkids? Don't they bring back so many memories of their parents when they were small? You know some day they'll be skipping out the door, just like their parents did and off to live their grown-up lives. That's why I intend to make lots of happy memories for them to keep . . . so they'll never forget how much they were loved.

More Precious Than Gold They Will Always Be . . . My Family

2008-05-29T07:49:00.000-07:00

They are the center of my world. What ever I do revolves around the fact that I am a wife and mother. It's what I've wanted since I was young and the answer to my childhood prayers. Some people go through life without ever finding their soul mate. I can't imagine living all these years without mine.

Little did I know that fairytales only come true when you're willing to work at them. Keeping a marriage alive for 45 years, raising five children, marrying some off and letting some back in when their marriages ended, accepting their new partners and learning to love again. Disoriented when two of your kids "come out" . . . even though, if you really dig deep down, you can see the truth of their lives even clearer now. Watching your world fall apart when tragedy overcomes you, fear when illness strikes, learning to pick up all the broken pieces and start sewing the patches together again; these are parts of the fairytale, too. Losing your faith . . . finding your faith . . . losing your faith. But through it all, we stay connected. My circle of light may flicker at times but then . . .oh my, how bright it burns!

Love Is a Decision

2008-05-28T11:58:00.000-07:00

So much of life centers on food . . . a primary need for our existence. Without it, we couldn't live and we learn that from the first suckle at our mother's breast or the bottle of warm milk. But much more is involved in those first experiences of nurturing and sustenance for the human child.

Few things can compare to the feelings transferred between mother and infant in those early moments and days of warmth and cuddling. Gazing into the eyes of your newborn, whose face was still unknown just days ago, is a mystical transport to wonderment and will begin to build the first layers of love's bonding.

Throughout life, the need for food of many kinds will be a driving force in self-fulfillment . . . the need for nourishment of body, mind and spirit. Yet, our children will always need the food of our love and acceptance throughout their lives, whether some believe it or not . . . they do. The roots of love grow deep and are buried in the souls of our offspring . . . ingested by every cell that remembers and long after we are gone they will remain.

I remember a phrase from long ago on our Marriage Encounter: "Love is a decision" and those words came alive when our kids were teenagers. Love isn't always easy when the rebels are roosting and your son's hair looks like a pink chicken is his mother. Love isn't easy when your fifteen year old daughter tells you she thinks she's pregnant. And where is love when a son calls his father sobbing he's been locked up in jail for drunk driving? Oh, where are those feelings we had for them when they were little and innocent? Well again and again, and again . . . those words ring true: Love is a decision." So after you rip out your hair and make strange promises to God, after you threaten to disown that mortification of a child . . . take a minute to breathe and look in the mirror . . . you might get flashbacks of your own rebel days . . . you might even say " This child is mine and I will love him through it" and make the decision to do what must be done . . . with love. Don't wait or turn away blind. Blunders are opportunities for growth . . . and to quote an old wise person: "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!"

Joanne Cucinello

To Never Never Land

2008-05-25T08:54:00.000-07:00

Keeper of Childhood Memories, come and visit me today.
Bring with you my pillow, where once
I lay my head in slumber, sweet and pure . . .
perhaps that long forgotten toy I held and cherished.

Let me touch them once again with searching fingertips,
recalling childhood comforts buried there.
Whisper in the long forgotten voices of my brothers and sisters,
small like me, so that their sounds might ring
a chime of recollection . . . echoes of our laughter long ago.

Bring me back the scent of home, my bed,
that favorite little chair or corner where I played . . .
my mother’s laughter and her lullabies,
the softness of her fingers on my heated brow.

Just one look at my reflection in my father’s eyes,
the smile upon his face and hands so strong
that lifted me high upon his shoulders,
where I could see the world.

Take me to that place where childhood past is kept,
safe from toil and fear . . .
the place where children’s spirits go to romp and play,
where every word once spoken still lives on
and floats through stars . . .
to Never Never Land.

Joanne Cucinello 1998

The Lord's Prayer

2008-05-25T04:55:00.001-07:00

How precious is this?!

Where Have All the Children Gone?

2008-05-16T11:40:00.000-07:00

I know so many of you must be thinking the same thing when you watch the news on TV or your computers . . . maybe even some are still getting the paper thrown at the doorstep every morning. Where have all the children gone? How can we save Childhood?
It's as if the Pied Piper has come to claim them for his own and lead them off to some strange Never Never Land promising to make them forget they were ever children. Little pseudo adults in Jr.High mimicking their sexy heroes and heroines on the Silver Screen and You Tube, feeling inept and unpopular if they aren't sexually active yet and taunting unyielding peers to jump with them to the rythmn of the Piper.
When a 13 year old can be so glued to her email and have so little self-love that she'd let herself be tormented for 5 weeks in the seclusion of her "privacy" . . . believing what is written to her about her "worthlessness" . . . so much so that she could end her own life! . . . Don't you want to SCREAM!! . . . IS ANYBODY HOME?!!
What kind of monsters are prowling in the dark of children's minds and on the Internet? What needs to change in family life and the loving of our precious children and how do we work together to find the answers?

Things I'll Never See

2008-05-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

My heart still beats within my mother's womb.
I cannot leave this place...nor do I want to.
Inside these walls, safe and silent
I live and breathe in rhythm
with her slowly rising chest.
There is only warmth and purring water
circling round my head, comforting my skin.
I hear her voice and know her sighs
and there is peace when she lies down
... we dream.
I bounce with her laughter
as she tries to paint her toes
and curl up close when she cries.
Is she lonely for my face?
I'm afraid...fearful she won't know me
on the other side.
I don't want to leave this place
but there are things I'll never see in here....
my mother's eyes
her smile...
my own face in the mirror.

Joanne Cucinello
1997

Lia Paris

2008-04-24T08:32:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago
I said “Yes” to my heart
when I learned you were coming into the world.

A baby’s coming!!!
Don’t know how I’ll love again, I thought,
a tiny one . . . full of dreams and stardust
and everything brand new.

What will I do?
How will I love again . . . knowing
someday I’ll have to let go once more?
(Knowing you will make me a dreaded Grandma!!!)

Little did I know that what I dreaded
would become the joy of my life!

And you came . . . My precious Lia
My little teacher . . . pint-sized guru
fairy princess . . brown-eyed beauty

You came with so much love to give
You must have stolen it from angels
I can still see their soft white feathers
floating round your shoulders
when you grace me with your dimpled smile
and capture me with hugs and kisses.

You opened the door to my heart again.
You even stand aside to let me love the others too.
But you and I are twined together with a golden cord,
a cord your darling mother must have weaved
to hold me tight when she was small like you.

I’m forever with you, darling Lia . . . Your Nana

Angels Envy

2008-04-14T06:43:00.000-07:00

**This picture took me all the way back to when one of my own babies would fall into sweet sleep at the end of a busy day . . . and how my motherheart would long for the captured moment of their innocence to live on forever. And so I wrote this poem for all young parents who gaze in wonder every night at their little miracles safe and snug . . . while the angels watch.

Angels Envy

Sweet child of our longing
caught in slumber's net tonight
the stars live in your eyes.
Dream your fairy dreams
your tiny body rest.

Bewitched though you may be
in daylight mirth
casting spells
of giddy laughter . . .
this night I see my Cherub
still in heaven's light
a countenance
so fair
that angels envy.

Stay awhile
small and innocent.
Do not fly away just yet
joy of my life
my child.

Joanne Cucinello ©2007

A Beauty Treatment for Nana

2008-04-10T13:04:00.000-07:00

Now these little perks don't cost more than a glass of milk and some cookies, but they're soooo worth it. Today I had a Nana Special, compliments of my 2 and 4 year old grandaughters and their eager little hands. All it took were a few small items . . . a brush and comb, some cotton balls, a hand towel and 5 or 6 empty odd shaped plastic containers (for make-believe). The expensive part was my willingness to sit motionless on the floor for about 30 minutes and let the little ones "make Nana pretty".

Oh, they were so busy, going back and forth with their pretending.
I had my hair parted, combed and fluffed . . . in twenty different directions, cotton balls stuck to my eyelashes, make-pretend lotions and creams, shampoos and nail polish . . . just like a day at the Spa! The difference was that after every treatment, my patience was rewarded with little rosebud kisses and teddy bear hugs and the magic words when they handed me my mirror . . . "See, Nana, now you look beautiful!!"

These days fly by like passing clouds, but they'll never leave my heart, nor the heart of my daughter, who watched her little busy bees at work, remembering herself small like them . . . once upon a time.

Loneliness of the Young Mother

2008-04-07T05:43:00.000-07:00

It's a very real fact that many young mothers experience deep periods of lonliness and feelings of isolation. It seems to begin soon after delivery. The excitement of bringing a child into the world, the feelings of wonder and pride, the combined exhaustion and elation of childbirth . . . all fleeting, as reality slips in and baby comes home . . . for the rest of your life.
I remember the apprehensive feelings that came over me after childbirth. Here was my first baby at last in my arms, our child with the whole world out there in front of her and totally dependent on ME . . . to keep her alive right now! I would have dreams that I lost her and would find her days later, starving and near death or I'd dream that I forgot I had a baby and weeks later remember . . . just in time, before she withered away.
Other feelings were flooding me with sadness too at this time when I felt I should be so happy. The first nights without her in my belly strangely brought on waves of melancholy. I was just me again, after 9 months of being and feeling "we". Loneliness engulfed me. I could swear I felt her moving still inside me when I slept, as if she left her little ghost behind and I missed wrapping my arms around my baby belly.
My body took care of her while I was pregnant and protected my baby from the world outside, but now things would be different. Doubt and misgivings were threatening to make me feel unworthy of my new rank and title . . . Mother.
I remember coming home from the hospital in the car with my sleeping little Cherub. As my husband pulled up the driveway, I looked at our front door and let out a deep sigh thinking ~ "Now we'll be a family". I had told my mother-in-law that "No thanks, I won't be needing you to stay with us right now. We need time to bond . . . just the three of us." (a statement I would live to regret). I was now Donna Reed and we were both in love with our new baby girl. Everything would be perfect. After all, the nurse at the hospital assured me that newborns sleep for almost 18 hours a day! LIAR!! We walked into our quiet little lovenest and I laid my little sleepyhead in her cradle thinking, well, let's see, she was just fed and changed a half hour ago before we left the hospital. The nurse said "She'll probably wake up hungry in about 3 hours . . . don't worry, she'll let you know." I have never trusted a nurse again!
My coat was barely off when she started screaming . . . and screaming . . . and screaming! What could be wrong? Could she be wet? Check! Nope! Screaming louder now. She can't be hungry, she just ate! My husband said "Look at her, she's starving! Do something . . . QUICK!" Okay, okay,I thought. Calm down, she's an Italian baby, of course she's hungry! This response was the beginning of my bout with cracked nipples.
Three days later, when I came to realize that I was going to DIE . . . I sheepishly called my unappreciated mother-in-law in desperation, pouring my heart out. She was on the train that afternoon and knocking on my door with her suitcase in one hand and a burping cloth in the other. This was a stellar moment in my life; Mary Poppins was closing her umbrella and marching through the door. "What about the bonding?" she asked with a smile. And I said "To hell with the bonding! Thank God you're here!" Little did that sweet Lady know, she'd become my Mary Poppins four more times over the next seven years! My own mother had passed away long before and I felt stranded and alone out in the boondocks of budding Long Island.
Elvira became a lifeline for me as the years went by, my confidant, my helper . . . the mother and grandmother my family came to cherish. After her retirement, she lived with us till she was 93. Elvira was Mom in every way I could have hoped for and her love is legend still to all our family.
She was family and she helped heal the loneliness of a young mother named Joanne.

Loving the Children

2008-04-05T07:36:00.000-07:00

It sounds so easy . . . loving the children, but it isn't so easy for everyone, especially those whose childhoods were lived in fear and desperation. When a baby is loved and cared for it comes to know trust and acceptance. The "look of love" is an underestimated gift we pass on to our children. By that I mean, the love that pours forth from the eyes of a parent to his/her child. It is uncontrollable most of the time, but once in awhile we do consciously gaze into our child's eyes and communicate, with or without words, the deep and tender love we have for them.
I am a grandmother now, but sometimes when I close my eyes and think back, I can still remember the look in my parents' eyes when I felt such love. And just the other day, I realized something profound to me. I am blessed to have visits very often, sometimes daily quick pop-ins from one of my grown daughters or sons. It's easy to give a quick hug and kiss, which we mostly do, but the other day I was caught by love. I stood looking at my daughter, how hard she works, how loving and beautiful she is, what a gift she is to me . . . and I realized that I hadn't really held her in my arms and looked into her eyes . . . you know, deeply, and remind her how much she is loved. Yes, we hang up the phone saying "love you", write sentimental birthday cards expressing our love, but this day was different. I took her by surprise, and the surprise was that she responded just as she did when she was little. We rocked for a few long moments in each others arms and tears washed our faces. We both were needing to stop and be really present. These moments happen with each of my grown children, not every day or week or even month . . . but they happen and we are blessed.
So I encourage you to take the step if you haven't already. Give that "look of love" to your child, no matter what his/her age . . . because you know it well . . . time waits for no one and tomorrow may never come.

Silly Poem for Silly Kids (#2)

2008-04-04T08:03:00.000-07:00

If My Mother Was A Walrus

If my mother was a Walrus,
I'd be so mad at her.
I'd be so embarrassed and nervous
for her to meet my friends.
She would smell real awful
and make loud terrible noises . . .
and then she'd try to smile
with those big fangs.
IT WOULD BE HORRIBLE !!!
I'd try to tell her to go back in the house
and she'd whack me with one of her flippers . . .
and I'd be out cold on a rock
for the rest of the day!
Then I'd finally come to
and there she'd be again . . . BIGTOOTH !!!
saying "Aw, honey, I wath only kidding! Give Momma a kith."
Yuck! A face full of blubber!
Poor me . . . if my mother was a Walrus!

Joanne Cucinello © 2008

Silly Poem for Silly Kids (#1)

2008-04-03T07:46:00.000-07:00

If My Mother Was a Hyena

If my mother was a hyena,
I'd go to the drugstore
and buy earplugs!
I couldn't stand it . . .
laughing all day and all night.
Open the door . . . she's laughing
Close the door . . . she's laughing
Fall and cut your knee . . .
SHE'S LAUGHING!!!
I'd be jumping up and down on the bed
yelling "STOP THAT LAUGHING !!!!
And she'd run around the whole house
laughing even more!
My friend would ring the doorbell
and Mom would open the door . . .
and LAUGH . . .
right in his face!!!
And I know Joey,
he'd run and tell the whole neighborhood
"Hey, Mickey's mother's a laughing hyena!"

What would I do?
I'd have to go to school
with a brown paper bag over my head
and hope she didn't see me sneak
out the back door.

Poor me . . . if my mother was a Hyena !

Joanne Cucinello © 2008