New Year’s Eve had been a big event in my family. Every year we’d pack up and travel to Long Island spending the holiday at my aunt and uncle’s home with a house full of loved ones. Although I lived in Staten Island, New York at the time, and my cousin Christy lived in Long Island, New York, we were nonetheless close. We looked forward to New Year’s and when it was over, we’d count down the days until the next New Year.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the abundant amount of food we eat on Thanksgiving. In fact, I look forward to it every year. It’s one of my favorite holidays. But it’s more than just the food.
There are two reasons why Thanksgiving matters to me. The first reason begins when I was a child, we spent every Thanksgiving at my grandparents house in Brooklyn. My Sicilian grandmother barely spoke English and my grandfather had always been a quiet man; however, once the whole family with cousins, Aunts and Uncles were in the room, it had been a festive event of chortling and great food in a tiny apartment with one bathroom and approximately twenty-five of us.
For Breast Cancer Month
A dear friend of mine passed away from breast cancer and I’d like to write about her experience and how we became friends.
My husband and I met Maggie and her husband Ray at a neighbor’s barbecue in 2005. We immediately clicked. I don’t know what it was about Maggie, but I found myself confiding in her. Concerned about my horrible experience on September 11, 2001, she understood my fear of driving and not mingling much with people. Twenty-four-years older than me and she offered to do my grocery shopping. Of course, I couldn’t accept. This was truly a kindhearted person. I’m sorry after that barbecue we didn’t speak again until 2011.
chooses her favorite gift.
Bright red roses,
the smell of spring,
although snowing. Continue reading True Valentine – Poem by Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher
Melissa is happy reading a good book
rather than watching television.
Hours spent on the couch, feet up, sipping tea,
a favorite pastime.
She closes the book and looks out the window.
Birds are nesting and chirping a soothing tune.
Photo credit: Greg Semendinger/NYPDT
On the day after, we walked from downtown,
from our apartment to 14th Street to catch a train
to Penn Station, but the subway was closed.
Most streets were glutted with silence, empty
of the usual yellow cabs with their impatient horns,
and people, except for one block just east of here.