Friday, June 30, 2017


Fiorella wrote this sonnet twenty-five years ago, and it holds true today: 


When I am old, so very old I stink
Of unwashed underarms and brain cell death
So old I shake, my spine and stature shrink,
I whistle, quake, and rattle with each breath--
When I am old, so very old I drool,
And age spots big as elephants appear,
When I forget my name and act the fool
And talk too loud because I cannot hear--
Even when I'm angry, trapped in rage,
Become a miser, call each dime misspent,
When I am cruel and stupid in my age,
When I reject you, scotch your good intent--
     Remember once I loved you of my will,
     And in my heart of hearts, I love you still.

Thursday, June 29, 2017

Where Credit's Due

Thursday, and Fiorella is late again, but she's been gadding about. To thank Minnesota son for coming to town to help take care of Husband and rebuild his automobile, Fio took him out to Friend Patricia's horse ranch to meet her friend's Arabians. Son has always been a horse nut, but he hasn't had access to one in several years so this was a real treat for him. For Fio too, who read a lot of Walter Farley in elementary school, but never got to meet a horse up close until she took a college class in Horsemanship (at which she was a total failure).

Anyway, Patricia was a charming and infirmative hostess, and Fio thinks the visit was the crowning glory of Son's visit, a glory he deserves, because Fiorella couldn't have survived these past few weeks without him.

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Snippets Of Real Life

All hail to nurses because Fiorella isn't cut out for it. First of all, she doesn't have the build, so thank goodness that Minnesota son came down to Texas to help. Six-three and and solid, he could provide a lot more ballast than Fio could when walking Husband down the stairs. Second, Fio will admit that she doesn't has the temperament for nursing. She's sympathetic, but impatient.
Fio, who was clocking at 82 mph in the fast lane, was passed in a New York second by a line of cars in the next lane over who quickly disappeared in the distance. It was a Flash pass.
When you need refueling, there's nothing like having lunch with a good friend, one who's stuck with you through thick and thin, who knows everything there is to know about you. Thank you, Paula Marks. You're my lifeline.

Tuesday, June 27, 2017


La Piloto sewed up every plot line last night. John, the consumate villain, gathered all his drug traffic friends /rivals together in his lovely ranch house, then went outside and tommy-gunned them through the window, much to the surprise of los federales, who were preparing for a surprise attack. Sulima escaped the massacre, but with Yolanda confronting her, ended up backing into a whirling propeller, which pretty well took care of her. Dave went after John, and they duked it out like the girls did, but John was hauled off to spend the rest of his life behind bars.

The last episode was puffed up with a lot of unnecessary memory footage, but Olivia and Vilmer, Lizbeth and Raul, Mena and his baby, Rosalba, Yolanda and Dave lived happily ever after. Or did they? The last camera shot was of crazy Santamaria, whom we all thought had been left to rot in jail in a women's prison, watching through his evil eye as Yolanda and Dave embraced.

La Piloto Dos, anyone?

Monday, June 26, 2017

A Piano in the Family

Crashing the keys to make a thunder sound when she was about six was Fiorella's first experience as a pianist, but pianos were few and far between back then so she had to wait till she was in fourth grade to tickle the ivories again. That's when she talked to her mother about taking lessons, which, she didn't realize, would require a piano in the house. But Mom talked to Dad, they bought a spinet from a church friend, and Fiorella was set up with lessons from Mrs. Sykes, partially because her house was located on Fio's route home from school.

Fiorella quickly caught onto the numbered finger system and progressed along to the "third year" book, then slowed down when she hit junior high,  partially because North Junior was in the opposite direction from Mrs. Sykes' house, partially because she had more schoolwork, and partially because her pieces were getting harder. Nonetheless, Fio still enjoyed playing and has continued to do so through the years although, frankly, she doesn't play as well as when she was as a child.

But now she'll tell you who benefited most from the piano in her parents' home--her mother. Mom had always been musical, but her family couldn't afford more than three months of piano lessons for her as a child so she taught herself how to play the mouth organ as an adult. Later, after had Fiorella left home, Mother sent off to Sears Roebuck for the teach-yourself-to-play-the-piano instructional series, and learned all about chords and keys and playing by ear. Fio was always proud of her mother's achievement--and impressed.

Sunday, June 25, 2017


Nothing like opening up the morning with four loads of laundry that Fio brought home from Husband's rehab hospital, son still in bed with a migraine, and a computer that refuses to perform,
The cast iron plants that Fiorella spent hours planting--and replanting--are looking sallow, and an armadillo has been tearing up the planting bed and the lawn. We'll have to get out the trap again.
Fio cleaned out under the couch and found six pens and seven rawhide dog bones, but not the credit card she was looking for.
Estella was killed off in La Piloto. Everyone but the bad guys are getting killed off. Mena is probably next.
Fio's hair refuses to behave. She looks awful.

Saturday, June 24, 2017

Lost Again

Fiorella's card case is gone, the one from the 2015 New York RWA conference, the one she keeps her professional cards and her credit cards in. She knows she lost the case in the house, probably in the den or the front room, maybe the kitchen, and she's been searching up and down for it, with Minnesota son right behind her, but no luck. Now, Fio is no stranger to lost credit cards, and she lost the case at H-E-B once, but how can one lose a card case in one's own home?

Friday, June 23, 2017

Birthday Time!

Today is Husband's birthday, and we are going to celebrate whether he wants to or not. Minnesota son and Fio have arranged to pick up a chocolate cake from Papi's Pies and take it to the rehab hospital where Husband is recovering from knee-replacement. Then we will party, party, party. That's what birthdays are for.

Fiorella is a birthday nut. Her parents always recognized hers with gifts and joy, but she looked around and realized there could be more to it--like a decorated cake and a big party. Thus, when it came time for her own children's birthdays, she went all out. She did the same for everyone else's birthdays too, like those of her parents-in-law, who weren't big celebrators. But Fiorella wouldn't let them off the hook. Every birthday, the family drove over to their home with a decorated cake and sang "Happy Birthday" to them. One of the nicest--and saddest--things her mother-in-law ever said was "Fiorella taught us to enjoy birthdays."

Fio will get into heaven on that.

Thursday, June 22, 2017

Morning, Noon, and Night

Fiorella lives by lists and systems. Her major lista is the one she writes down for the next day (manana), but she also consults her calendario. Her sytems include such things as feeding la perra her daily pildoras--Fio puts a gob of peanut butter on the handle of una cuchara o tendedor (spoon or fork), sticks una pildora in the mess, and presents it to Sonia, who eagerly gulps it down.
If there's a body count category for the Mexican telenovela awards, La Piloto will win it hands down. Not only have the extras died like flies, but several of the minor characters have also been killed off. Of course, our heroine is in peril--again. The only way she could save the life of la bebe de una amiga (who had been killed) was to surrender herself to the sadistic Santamaria. Of course, she was rescued by Dave and her friends, but not before Sanamaria, quien no es un santo, strung her up by her wrists and branded her with a red hot cattle iron. Her scream could be heard all the way to Hollywood.
The day is surprisingly cool for central Texas in late June, and the house is quiet. Maybe Fio can get through a couple more chapters of her work-in-progress before anyyone gets back to the house. Ah, pandemonium, I know you well.

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Sleeping Quarters

First, Husband went to the hospital for a knee-replacement, then to rehab, and now he'll be coming home on Saturday, and next week he'll start in-home therapy. Earlier, Husband had told Fio he would be able to walk upstairs when he came home, which meant he'd be able to sleep in the master bedroom, but now it looks like he'll have to stay downstairs for a while, which means he'll sleep on the couch, and Fio, who usually sleeps on the couch because Husband flails in his sleep and accidentally hits her, will have to sleep upstairs. Of course, there is a downstairs guest bedroom, but Minnesota son, who has braces on his ankles, can't navigate the stairs any better than his father. Fio may end up wrapped in a blanket on the floor.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Time Off

Gonna be quick
'Cause feeling sick
Naught to say
But have a good day.

Monday, June 19, 2017

Mixed Bag

Running late today, but everything is upside down and round-about in Fiorella's life right now. Minnesota son is here to help while Husband is in knee-surgery rehab, but every time Fio turns around, something else goes wrong, like this morning, when she discovered her car battery was dead.. But then there are the good things, like Son jump-starting it for her and, then sending her out to drive around the neighborhood to make the sure the engine understood it had been recharged, which, of course, meant that she stopped on the way back to the house to lay down a few rocks that had been rattling around in her trunk, and a neighbor spotted her putting the rocks in place, stopped, and promised her more rocks.


Sunday, June 18, 2017

Remembering My Father

Fiorella's father was a hard worker out of necesssity. When he was thirteen months old, his father was killed in a coal mine accident, leaving his mother to support their three children. Times were tough until she and one of her sisters got the contract to clean the schoolhouse. Of course, Dad and his brother and sister were expected to help. One of Dad's most poignant memories was looking out the window while he was sweeping the floor and seeing the other children at play.

As he grew up, Dad picked up odd jobs around the neighborhood, like killing chickens and herding cattle down to the river and back. And after graduating from high school, he took the inevitable bus ride from Osceola Mills to Akron and scored a job with General Tire, eventually becoming a foreman, then being sent to Waco, Texas, to head up the biggest department in the plant.

Dad played as hard as he worked. A born athelete, he played basefball and football in high school, added golf, tennis and bowling when he hit Akron, and, in Waco, established a company golf league and bowling league. Fio remembers the rows of sports trophies lining the garage shelves.

But best of all, Dad was a sweet father. His eyes glowed with warmth when he looked at his children, and Fiorella always knew that she was loved.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Rest in peace. May you bowl 300 in heaven.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

What's Up With Fiorella

 You may have noticed that yesterday's poem went through two modifications before Fio was satisfied with it, That's how it goes--anything Fiorella writes or paints is subject to revision until she gets it right. But why does Fio rhyme so much, you ask. Because rhymes are always whirling around in her head like a swarm of demented fireflies--buys/size/lies/tries/dies/guys/highs/pies/rise/ties/thighs/ies/wise/ 
shies/stys/guise. And then there are the half-rhymes....
The elctronic world has passed Fiorella by. She writes on una computadora, uses email, and knows how to text, but that's it. On the other hand, she can also write longhand, use a landline, communicate by letter, and even start a fire without turning on the gas, so maybe she'll survive in a hut out in the woods somewhere.
The ecoles must have closed down for summer vacation because France, which bolstered Fiorella's readership to flatteringly high numbers, has deserted her again. You know Fio's theory--that English professeurs are using her blog to illustrate Ameican colloquialisms.
The end of La Piloto is near. The villains have been winnowed down to Yolanda's former lover, his current girlfriend, the crazed colonel, la bruja, and a crew of disposible extras. No dramatic death scenes like the ones in El Color de la Pasion, though. Just bang, bang---you're dead.
The temperatures are climbing here in central Texas. It's going to be a 100-degree week so think cooling thoughts in Fio's direction. She was not born for hot weather. Remember her genealogy.


Friday, June 16, 2017

Female Fortitude

Mothers do not stop to rest
When they're tired or depressed
But grit their teeth and soldier on
Until the dark becomes the dawn

Thursday, June 15, 2017

National Scene

Anger + firearm = tragedy.


Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Perplexing Situation

Fiorella doesn't understand:

An old man leaks top-secret information to the Russian ambassador and he's still riding high, wide, and handsome. A young woman leaks top-secret information to the American public, and she's put in shackles.

Something's wrong with this picture.

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Late Report

Oops, Fio forgot to post. She's been going back and forth from Husband's rehab center every day, plus meeting with two groups of writing buddies, plus welcoming Minnesota son back to the heart of Texas.  Son is not only a boon companion, but he's committed himself to cutting the rawhide dog bones in two for Sonia dog and fixing some things around the house. He's also great when it comes to electronics. And, no, you can't have him.
Fiorella plans to start laying down rocas again soon. There are still parts of the driveway edging that need shoring up, and she also wants to shovel up the smaller, leftover rocks to use in other projects. Then there are newly-planted cast iron plants, which all seem to be on their last legs. Fio may have to pay a visit to the Home Depot garden center this fall, but what's new?
La Piloto is speeding toward its bloody finale. Now that half the population of Mexico has been killed off, the major villains are turning against each other, one of them even shooting himself in the head. In another thread, after being identified as Amanda's murderer, Sulima turned her pistola on Yolanda, la piloto. then took off in la avion (the airplane).
You do realize, of course, that Fio has always written. And always will.

Monday, June 12, 2017


Where are the poets from the other side,
The voices of whimsy, of hope, of despair?
Where do they hide?
Or are they not there?

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Fiver Again

Fiorella awoke this morning with her inborn rhyming machine going full blast. Watch out, world! WordS that hiSS are Swords!
Minnesota son is coming to town tomorrow, and Fio will dump her electronic problems in his capable hands. He not only understands the digital world, but explains it well and, most important, is patient.
Weekends are hard for Fio because she misses her telenovelas. Yes, two of them, La Doble Vida de Estela Carrillo as well as La Piloto. OMG, she's addicted!
Fio was born limber. Not athletic, but limber, even in her hands. Thus it amuses her, when she is in the hospital, to slip the plastic ID tag up off her wrist. (Fio is also easily amused.)
The family is going DNA crazy. It started with nephew Barrett and his wife, who infected Fio and Husband, then moved on to Minnesota son, and now has spread to Daughter and Austin son. But, truth to tell, it's more an indulgent novelty than anything else. A person is not defined by his lineage, but what he says and does on his own..

Saturday, June 10, 2017

Question and Answer

INTERVIEWER: Why do you write this blog?

FIORELLA: It's my outlet. It lets me drain/ The swamp of my brain.

INTERVIEWER: You answered me in a rhymed dimeter couplet. Why?

FIORELLA: It's a game I play with myself. Blending the message, the beat, and the rhyme is a challenge.

INTERVIEWER: Lately you've used your poetic  skills to challenge Donald Trump. Why not prose?

FIORELLA: People are more likely to remember a short, smartly-turned rhymed verse than a long, thoughtful essay.

INTERVIEWER: You want your poetry to be remembered?

FIORELLA: I want my message to be remembered. We all have our roles in the resisitance movement, and mine is to fuel the fire.\


Friday, June 9, 2017

Manifesto in Rhyme

While I walk this fragile earth
I want to use my dwindling time
To make the world a better place
With my stories, songs, and rhyme
With everything I draw and paint
With every wall I decorate
With every word I speak in tongues
Striving to commuincate,
To be a good mother, wife, and friend
And in all I do and all I say,
Reflect the glory of God's love
Every minute of every day

Thursday, June 8, 2017


While I am on this earth, I want to make good use of my time. I want to draw and paint and decorate. I want to compose, write poems and stories, to learn languages and communicate. to be a good mother, wife, and friend, to be an instrument of God's love in all I do and say. And that's just for today.

Day/say, decorate/communicate--does Fiorella feel a poem coming on?

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Spanish Progress--Or Not

Miercoles--"Wednesday" en el espanol--Fio loves the sound of it.

And, Fiorella, how is the rest of your Spanish going, you ask? Well, lentamente (slowly), to tell the truth, although Fio has a good grip on about ten present-tense verbos now. Her vocabulary of nouns has grown too, partially because she's a faithful fan of telenovelas. (Sp speakers--does carnal, as used by John and Oscar in La Piloto, mean "sexy?")

La problema is that she has a limited number of people to practice on. Her twice-a-month maid and one-a-month yardman are happy to help, but they (and a couple of cooperative fast-food people) aren't enough. The etiquetas stuck on the muebles and listas taped on the paredes aren't enough. Fio needs to find a class.

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Yesterday and Today

Yesterday was tremendous, but today is not starting off well. Fiorella discovered she had somehow destroyed a long, thoughtful essay on spanking and slapping children, then started feeling sicky when she sat by Husband's side as he awaited his turn at knee-replacemnt surgery. There was something in the air, maybe some kind of hospital sanitizer that was getting to her. And it didn't help that she'd been up almost all night because Sonia Dog did not appreciate being locked out of Husband's bedroom, where she usually sleeps. Fio tried to explain to doggie that the hospital had instructed him to sleep on clean, dogless, sheets, but Sonia did not understand. Just like Fiorella does not understand why she got struck with a multiple-paned migraine aura in Husband's waiting room, why she became so weak that she could hardly tow Husband's tote and her own tote to the car, why she felt like she was going to throw up all the way home, why she's been sitting on the couch like a wilting flower for the past three hours.

She's beginning to feel better now, though. This too shall pass.

Post Postponed

Fio wrote a long post on spanking and slapping for today, but somehow it didn't save, and right now she has to hurry Husband off to the hospital to get his knee replaced. See ya later.

Monday, June 5, 2017


Fio is a slave to her wristwatch. First thing in the morning, it slips itself around her wrist like a manacle and the rat race begins.
As Melania has said, if Trump is hit, he hits back three time as hard. So, because Macron over-powered his power grip, Trump decided to screw the world.
Fiorella isn't as enraged as others seem to be about the bodies buried beneath churches, hospitals, and other edifices. Actually, she thinks we all live on top of decay, human and otherwise. Life has been around for a long time now, and death has to end up somewhere.
Fio can write what she cannot say.
I can't do it all
I'm not a one-man band
Come on, people,
Please--lend me a hand

Sunday, June 4, 2017

Penal Colony

We are all mixed bags, and many of the people who are locked away to waste their lives in prison have talents or skills that could benefit society and maybe the world. So why not ship criminals off to a penal colony, like Georgia and Australia used to be, so they can duke it out with each other and maybe, down the line, become founding fathers? Of course, we have to find a barely-habitable planet first.

OMG, is Earth the penal colony for our galaxy?

Saturday, June 3, 2017

Staying Tuned to LA PILOTO

How can you survive without Fiorella bringing you up to date on her current telenovela, La Piloto? 

After escaping and being captured more times than Fio could keep track of, Yolanda has wound up in the clutches of the high class Shadow Cartel, but this time, she has two of her gal pals, the boyfriend of one of her friends, her aunt, and Amanda's orphaned baby with her. Zulima, who, unknown to Yolanda and her posse, is the one who killed Amanda, is also there, pretending to be a member of Yolanda's tribe, although she is actually in cahoots with the Shadow Cartel.

The good news is that Oscar Lucio, a real baddie, finally bit the dust--literally--when he parachuted out of a plane and landed way too hard. That leaves John Lucio, Santamaria, the Shadow Cartel, and Zulima to go. Yes, the villains are being picked off one by one, which means Yolanda and Dave are drawing closer to their happy ending, but not, Fio thinks, before Monica and Mena sacrifice themselves for the greater good.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, your Fio is being drawn into another telenovela, La Doble Vida de Estela Carrillo.

Friday, June 2, 2017


Trump can tweet and Trump can talk
But he couldn't muster the strength to walk
On his tiny little feet
Seven hundred yards down the street,
So hailing a golf cart, he arrived dead last--
Outpaced, outwitted, out-handshaked, and outclassed

Thursday, June 1, 2017


What if all species consider themselves to be dominent--the lions and tigers and bears, the cats and dogs, the birds and bees, the army ants, the microscopic amoebas? Sure, various subspecies have gone extinct every now and then, but that doesn't mean they weren't dominent. Several species of humankind have gone extinct too, and some day, we all will.