Death of the Heart

I am working on a fictional short story for my English class and received some rather disturbing feedback from my teacher. Just a little background, my professor is Judy Glass, yea, you know, the one that writes (or has written) for the NY Times.

Lovely.

She said that my story, posed from my outline, would be confusing with all of the interconnected stories and lack of dialog. The assignment is supposed to be a fictional story based on a true life event...semi-fiction, as I like to call it.

Anyway, I would like to share part of my short story with you guys and get your feed back on it. Is it confusing, can something be changed, added, deleted? Let me know. Please. And be honest.

Death of the Heart

Micca stood by the window, staring out into the bleak lawn of the Primary Hope Hospice and Elder Care Facility. Lawn was not the word to describe the sorry attempt at some form of landscaping with a few dead shrubs positioned in an overgrown flower bed. The inadequate back porch, barely wide enough to hold three adults was covered with cigarette butts now absorbing the rain like a newspaper in the front yard when the sprinklers kicked on.

It was a rather chilly Thanksgiving in Louisiana, one which was ushered in by the drastic climate changes likely due to the massive hurricane season which ran rampant through the Gulf only months earlier. The water trickled down the window in streams of fractals that only nature and Jackson Pollock can produce.

Micca had given up on the chair next to Saul's bed, finding it as uncomfortable as the generic bed he slept on in his dorm room. With springs jutting out, only wishing to break the skin, and a foam pad which had seen at least thirty years of wear, the window seemed more enticing. Micca stood at the window growing completely unconscious of the rain outside as his mind went back to the solitary memory of his father.

"Daddy, wait up," Micca called as he and Saul trekked through the densely wooded area behind their house. Saul didn't need to look back to see his son was falling more and more behind, of course his short legs were no match for the five-foot strides stolen over the underbrush. Saul had been whistling a tune as he heard the little voice call out.

"Don't worry boy, I won't leave without you," Saul called as he turned around and knelt in the damp leaves, arms wide open, waiting, longing for his son who was now running at a pace slightly faster than a sloth.

Micca's memory seemed to fade with every step he took towards Saul in that forest. Months after, Saul left Micca and his mother to fend for themselves as he had done with his previous three wives and their eight children. None of the other children were there for Saul as he rested in pain. The hum of the machines and rise and subsequent fall of the respirator broke through Micca's now fuzzy head.

Micca continuously wondered why, of the nine kids, he was the only one by his father's bedside. How could there be an emotional bond without a physical presence? Micca was plagued by this strange emotion, confused by the fact that he was standing in the dimly lit room while he should have been training, like the rest of his team, for the Olympic trials only months away.

"Micca? Excuse me, Mr. Camponelli?" Micca's thoughts were interrupted by the nurse standing at the door.

"Mr. Camponelli, are you ready now or do you need a little more time?"

Micca's eyes rolled over the body of the brunette nurse, not at all comprehending what she was saying.

"Huh?" he said, rather boyishly, taken back by her beauty lost somewhere in the purple and blue scrubs. They were obviously company issued as all the other nurses in the facility were getting bigger in direct relation to their age.

"Are you ready or do you need just a little more time?" she repeated quietly as if
not to disturb Saul.

The day was coming to an end and she was ready to be relieved of her shift and all the cares that came with it.

"Just a little more time," he fumbled with the words. They were like bricks trying to
roll off his tongue.

This is obviously not finished yet, actually this is only about a quarter of the way done, but I wanted to get a little outside direction on it before I went any further. Let me know what you think downsairs in the comments section. I look forward to you best, and most harsh critiques.

Photo Credit: William L. Moore

~Sal


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What's In A Name?

Jess and I have been going through numerous names trying to find the best one for our newest son who is on the way. It is amazing what some names mean, like Gabriel, which means Man of God or Strength of God, or perhaps Asher, which means happy and blessed. Each night we narrow it down to two or three names that we really like, then suddenly end up with another five or six on top of those.

We know that we want to go with a biblical name and as of now we have Israel, Gabriel, Asher and Josiah picked out. By tonight there will probably be another couple to add to that list as well. The reason we are diligently searching for names is because we have found out that a person's name is supposed to reflect the blessings that God has on their lives, or something descriptive about them that God will uniquely use.

Going through all of these names has made my mind (spin in circles, yes, but that is not where I was going...stop getting ahead of me) start to wonder about MY name. Now I understand that Salvador means savior or one who saves, but more importantly, how did I get my name? My father had three sons, that I know of. I am the youngest by far, but for some reason I ended up with his name.

The reason that I absolutely needed to know was because of all of the myth and haze surrounding my father. I haven't had a chance to talk to any of my sisters about this yet, but it definitely on my list of things to do at some point (I have a lot of questions and in the process of getting to know them again, why not have some of these answered as well). With all of this mystery came a slew of generational issues that followed.

This makes me curious because if a son gets the father's name, it is usually the oldest son, not the youngest. At this point, my brain was on fire, so I did what I do best...RESEARCH.

Turns out that I was completely wrong about the naming traditions. According to a multitude of sites, here is how the Italian naming traditions work.

The first son is named after the father's father
The second son is named after the mother's father
The third son is named after the father
The fourth son is named after the father's oldest brother

And just if you are wondering, it works the same with the daughters, but using the maternal side.

I am not sure, as I have never been in contact with my other two brothers on my dad's side, if this custom was followed, but from where I stand, it looks like it was.

My family is from Sicily and from what I have gathered, they are usually pretty consistent with naming their children. Like I said, I can't speak for the 1st and 2nd sons, but apparently I fell right in line with tradition. Go figure.

~Sal


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Family. Values.

I mentioned in my post yesterday that I had just stumbled upon, what was probably the most exciting thing in my life (other than coming to know Jesus...and my wife). Within a 24 hour time frame my immediate family increased by 13 members.

13 WHOLE PEOPLE.

This has to be as miraculous as when Jesus fed 5,000 with a few fish and a couple loaves of bread!

Anywho, the best part was, when they finally found me, literally, the first thing they said (well, I guess they really wrote it, but they probably said it while they were writing it. At least that is what I do) was "My little brother is a CHRISTIAN."

You have to understand something about me and my family. First of all, we are Italian and I think it is in our bloodlines that family trumps all (well, execpt again for Jesus). They are my sisters on my dad's side of the family. I guess that technically makes them step-sisters, but they are family, and as such, they are sisters none-the-less.

Our dad was never a big part of any of his children's lives. He had 9 kids with 5 different women. After 3 boys and 6 girls, he was on to another area. Dad died in 2001 from something the doctors said "looked like a mix between Alshimers and Parkensons."

Anyway, I digress, the part that really got to me (must have been hot in the room at the time because my eyes started sweating) was that was the first thing they noticed about me. You can't understand how big of an impact that had on me. I said before that my dad was never around, and without the solid father figure in my life, when it came time to have kids (you can ask Jess, I was more than ready, but that is another story) I struggled with the doubt that I wouldn't be a good father. For them to see that I was a beliver right off the bat was a tsunami of encouragement.

People from the outside looking in can see that I will be a great father.

Still to this day I battle with the creaky floor boards in my mind that only serve to remind me that I didn't know what it was like to have a dad, so how could I become one.

My sisters are all believers too, which totally amazes me because of all the places we could have looked for fatherly figures (sports role models, friends, school teachers) we all chose to look at our Heavenly Father in place of the Earthly Father we never had.

This is where I get into family values. As a family, even being separated for many years, we all still developed similar, if not the same, values. We all enjoy our families and our relationship with God. We all overcame the deficit we had in lacking a male figure in our lives, grew up and became great parents and people. It is these values that the world is missing today, these values that bring a family closer together during tough times, these values that draw the strings tighter and allow a family, once separated, to reunite.

Family.

Values.


BE BLESSED!
~Sal

Photo courtesy of TrinityMBC


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A LOT of BIG News

OK, just a heads up, this is going to be an EXTREMELY long post!

The last couple of days have been incredibly awesome. Yes, I know that those two words don't usually go together, but I can't, for the life of me, think of any other two words to describe the last two days. So let me give you a rundown of what went on so that you can nod your heads in agreement that the last two days have indeed been incredibly awesome!

Tuesday, one of my great friends (and I am truly blessed to be able to call such a man, a great friend) and I were invited over to a couple's house to pray over them and the house. The whole day was spent meditating on what needed to be done.

Let me tell you this, when we walked into the house, the forces at work there were thick. We spent about 3 hours with the couple and it was amazing. By the time we left, we had prayed over the house and the couple and the atmosphere was completely different. The best way I could describe it was that when we arrived, there were thoughts shooting around every which way at the speed of light and when we left, there was a single thought flowing through the house like a trickling, calm and peaceful stream.

Afterwards, I had a full understanding of what Jesus meant when He said "I have food to eat that you know nothing about." John 4:32 I was refreshed and on fire!

Needless to say, that in itself was incredibly awesome. I totally appreciate that couple for inviting me into their home and trusting that God would move.

He ALWAYS does.

Wednesday evening found me cleaning up in the back yard a bit, watering plants and removing debris from potted plants, or so I thought. When I grabbed a handful of moss and leaves to pull it out, I realized it was all interconnected. Come to find out that there was a little white ball with pink splatter painting all over it.

You guessed it...A Robin egg. OK. Whoops. Didn't meant to touch that, better just set it back in place and walk away.

Well, we have NEVER seen any birds flying into or out of our potted plant, which sits right beside a HUGE sliding glass door. I sure hope when those birds come back, the excuse my human smell and continue on in the process of hatching their little one.

The funny thing was that I even started looking around to see if I was being watched like I had just stolen the most expensive Fabergé egg in the world.

Awkward.

After that nonsense was over and I was safely back inside without being bombarded by screeching and squawking birds for "attacking" their baby (oh come on, you know you have seen those videos where the cat gets dive-bombed by the birds...yea, that could very well have been me).

I sat down on the sofa, next to the most beautiful woman in the world, who also just happens to be my wife, and proceeded to dink around on Facebook while she watched TV. The next thing that happened was, no kidding, probably the most exciting thing that ever happened to me.

I had 3 friend requests. OK, so having 3 friend requests isn't what was the most exciting about it...and now that I read back on that sentence it seems as though I have just entered that awkward silence that isn't supposed to happen in writing, only conversation.

OK, so I have a lot more than 3 friends, I promise, but it was the people BEHIND the friend request that caused the amplitude of excitement.

Let me first give you a little background. My father died in 2001 and I never really knew him other than the few times I had run into him between 1987 and Thanksgiving of 2001. I did know that he had 9 children including myself, with 5(?) different women, but thought that I never really knew any of them. I knew of them, but unfortunately didn't ever have the chance to get to know them.

Well, turns out that the three friend requests were 3 of my sisters. Between the three of them, they were all married and had 7 kids. I remember hanging out with the three girls when I was REALLY young, but for some reason always thought they were my cousins or something...little did I know...

OK, picture this. Within a 24 hour window, you completely change the atmosphere of a marriage and a home, hope that you are not suddenly attacked by rabid robins, and your family explodes into another 13 people you never knew before.

WOW.

I see that this post is getting to be even longer than I expected, so I am going to sign off for now, but trust me, I will be back in the next day or so to give a full update on each portion.

Until then...

BE BLESSED!
~Sal

P.S. On another note, I just read back through this post and realized that I used a LOT of capitals...and for that I am EXTREMELY sorry!


Photo credit found on toon-wallpapers.com


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Eye of The Needle

This semester I am taking an English Creative Writing class because I thought it would be fun and a welcome break to my other classes. Our assignment this week was to take a piece of artwork and either write a 1000 word essay on what we felt and how we viewed the art. OR we could write a 14+ line poem that uses at least three different types of poetic style (alliteration, onomatopoeia, rhythm, rhyme, etc).

I was feeling in a rather spunky mood last night when I finally sat down to do this paper and decided to step out of my comfort box and write the poem. I wanted to share that with you all today. It has been ages since I have penned anything close to poetry so it was a big step down memory lane. Let me know what you think.

Eye of The Needle

Crash, clank, bleat, groan;
So goes the camel at the head of the line.
Bearing the burden of bread,
His broken back begins to balk.
Others behind take heed as the thread comes to a halt.

The cameleer is heard throughout the heard;
Encouragement abounds to anger;
Praise is weathered to wrath.
Pulling and pushing amount to loss;
The thread still lies right where it was tossed.

As the sun sets; little progresses;
Then there is movement as the color regresses.
The line starts to move and weave on by;
So goes life;
Like a camel passing through the eye.


Eye of The Needle by Vladimir Kush

~Sal


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Relationships. Matter.

Last night we had a couple over at our house for dinner. Now, if you know me or anything about me, heck if you even see me walking around, you will know that I love to eat. And what is better than eating, than cooking food for others to enjoy. Last night was, what I would call a good warm up for Easter weekend. Easter is going to be all sorts of fun at my house, as is every other occasion to get a large group of people together around food and to just sit, talk and hang out. Occasions usually fall on holidays or important events. For example Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, to be quite honest, I would even consider Tuesdays as a proper occasion.

A Sticky Situation

I love having people over and sitting around a table full of food. Why? Because when you sit down and eat with someone and when someone eats with you, you are throwing away all of your inhibitions. The more messy the food, the better because where else can you feel completely comfortable with someone when they have barbecue sauce all over their face, knowing good and well that you to look like a smothered piece of chicken sitting in a chair.

Anyway, I digress, we have been getting close to this couple for the last two months at a Fireproof small group that our church puts on. NOTE: Insert shameless plug for the movie here...Fireproof is an awesome movie. If you haven't seen it, rent it this weekend and watch it 4 times. If you have seen it, rent it again anyway and watch it another 4 times. It never gets old.

Awkwardness Ensues

So we were having a great time, sitting around the table stuffing our faces with my latest grilled chicken - throw it together at a moment's notice - creation when my son decides that he is going to hurl, no, not just throw or toss, but hurl his fork towards their oldest daughter. Oh, you should have seen the look on her face. It was one of those "I can't believe he just did that, but I don't know what exactly to do about it" kind of looks. That cross between disgust and confusion...come to think of it, I think that is the look my wife gives me every time I break into some sort of story with people over.

Anywho, the night progressed and we ended up breaking up the party around 12:30ish in the morning (yes, we here at EDT do work solely on ish times), at which point all of the kids had pretty much fallen asleep or were only mere minutes from doing so. The best thing about building relationships with other people is that you have someone to connect with. Relationships are the cornerstone of the church. Just as Jesus had his close group of friends to do life with, we too thrive for that personal connection which can only be found in small intimate settings.

Relationships Matter

Have you ever felt that church was getting to distant and "churchy" for you? If so, evaluate your relationships. If you have some, make sure they are ones that feed you well and along the same beliefs. If you don't have any, well, get some because otherwise church is just a building where people gather and might as well be called work/school/blah.

I task you with this, on this eve of Easter weekend. Find a church that has small groups. Pick out one you want to try and give it a shot. Build those relationships with people and don't be afraid to open up. After all, church shouldn't be some sort of plastic gathering, but more like a big pot of gumbo where everything gets mixed together and melds for one delicious dish that we call life.

Happy Easter everyone!

~Sal


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And The Winner Is...

So, with all of the changes going on around here, I figured what better time than to announce the winner of the baby naming contest. There were some great names tossed around and it took a little while to come up with a winner.

We rolled each name off of our tongues and let the sound resonate inside our minds for a few days. Braxton Makai is still the name that we are settled on for now, but there was one name that was a very close second. While the middle name was already taken by our other son, the name Elliot, give by none other than Writer Dad won the name game.

Sean, email me and let me know where you would like the $10 gift card to and it will be done and sent your way.

Thanks to everyone who contributed, I was desperately trying to convince Jess that Thelonius Monk would be a great name, but alas, if he can't play the piano that is just bad ju-ju.

Now that I have your attention, I will reiterate from yesterday that you might notice some changes going on (if you haven't noticed them then go have another cup of coffee and remember the first rule of Everyday Thoughts...There shalt be no commenting before caffeine.)

Please give me some feed back on what you like/dislike and even what you would like to see. I am working on getting the other pages set up and maybe something a little more colorful with the background. If you have any ideas, throw them up and let's see where they land.

I will be back on Friday if not before. Until then, make yourself at home, kick off you shoes and grab a bite to eat and remember, mi codo es su codo...

~Sal


If you like what you are reading, please feel free to make yourself at home and subscribe to my feed. I promise you won't regret it.

A Change is Underway

If you have been around these parts for any length of time, you will notice that the place doesn't quite look the same. If you are brand new, then you will have absolutely no idea what I am talking about, so don't worry too much about it. I am changing the look and feel of EDT right now, trying to get the physical to match the imaginary can be a bit chalenging some times.

Please bare with me through this time of change. Oh, and before I forget, if there is anything you see that you like, let me know. On the other hand, if there is something you don't like, let me know that too. Make some suggestions, throw some ideas my way. It is all appreciated.

Until then, go read Samar's guest post on my blog from yesterday. It is awesome!

~Sal


If you like what you are reading, please feel free to make yourself at home and subscribe to my feed. I promise you won't regret it.

Sometimes, You Just Gotta Breathe

Today, we have the first guest post to grace the pages of Everyday Thoughts. I am honored to let you know that Samar has been one of the best friends ever. She is strong enough to let you know how it is, but caring enough to lend an open ear at the drop of a hat. I don't think I can say enough about Samar to do her, or her writing for that matter, any justice, so in the world of freelance, the greatest honor is having your writing published un-touched. Without any further adu, here is Samar Owais. BTW, each of the three links above are to her different websites, go check them out and give her some love, says me.

Sometimes, You Just Gotta Breathe.

By Samar Owais

Life often comes in the way of our plans. We can work out all the details, make all kinds of contingencies but they don't always happen the way we want them to.

Come to think of it, planning usually seems to backfire on me. A classic case is of us planning on starting a family. I don't know about most women, but I've managed to make myself a complete nut case where getting pregnant is concerned.

Over analysing has become my middle name. Is that a wave of nausea? Nope, just my stomach telling me that I don't like mushrooms and really shouldn't put it through the torture of having to digest them. Oh my god! I'm feeling car sick. Oh. Its probably because I'm reading in the car. I'm a day late and there are no signs of my signature cramps - could I possibly be pregnant? Should I get excited or wait a couple of days before I break out the early home pregnancy test? Sod it, I'm calling my husband at work and planning the nursery! Then I'll do the test.

Guess what happens the minute I get off the phone? Cramps.

There's no way to put the desire to have a child into words. I could talk about my insecurities and idiocies. Like the fact that I want a girl simply because I have no clue how to raise a boy or the fact that I avoid saying 'daughter' and 'son' (those two words are laden with responsibility I can't even begin to understand). The truth is that there are no words to describe the terror, anticipation, love and sheer wonder I feel for a yet-to-be conceived child.

When I've worked myself into a state, I thankfully remember my mother's words. 'Breathe, Samar. Things happen in their own time. You can't rush them and you can't delay them.'

So that's what I do. I breathe and I wait. Not that I have much choice. There's also the small matter of keeping my mum from giving me 'the look'. You guys know which look I'm talking about right?. Distance has done nothing to quell the effect of the look.

It's the look that says 'I raised you to have better faith than that'.
And while I breathe, I make plans, watch them fall apart, then write guest posts about them.

Note: Sal's been kind enough to let me guest post on his blog. It's a welcome distraction from having to write for my own. He's my first freelancer friend whom I respect tremendously - as a person and as a writer. Which is probably why I've spent hours trying to write the perfect guest post and it's nowhere near as polished as i wanted it to be. My initial elation at guest posting turned into horror as I started nitpicking my work before I'd even written it. I hope that I did justice to it!

~Sal


If you like what you are reading, please feel free to make yourself at home and subscribe to my feed. I promise you won't regret it, not to mention you get awesomeness like the post above almost every day.

When Words Escape

Hey everyone, go and check out my guest post for Tony of Life With Tony. He is one of my best friends and was stupid generous enough to leave his blog in my hands for a day. No, really, go and check it out and give him some love.

~Sal


If you like what you are reading, please feel free to make yourself at home and subscribe to my feed. I promise you won't regret it.