[Stylist] poem for your enjoyment

[ckuell at comcast.net]

Hey Annie,

 

I enjoyed this poem-thanks for sharing.

 

It's almost like 3 poems, a memory mash-up, if you will. So while it reads
perfectly fine as is, I could imagine it being broken up into 3 smaller
poems. With the kitchen utensils, your father's carpentry, and gardening as
themes, you tap into warm  memories that might be enhanced with the senses
of sound and smell and taste. You already have these elements, but I imagine
they could be expanded. 

 

 

Again, thanks for sharing.

 

Chris

 

From: Stylist <stylist-bounces at nfbnet.org> On Behalf Of Ann Chiappetta via
Stylist
Sent: Thursday, October 13, 2022 2:35 PM
To: 'Writers' Division Mailing List' <stylist at nfbnet.org>
Cc: Ann Chiappetta <anniecms64 at gmail.com>
Subject: [Stylist] poem for your enjoyment

 

The Masher's Last Stan

By Ann Chiappetta

Blog: https://www.thought-wheel.com/the-mashers-last-stand/

 

I learned to cook prior to food preparation machines and commercial blenders


We used whisks, hand-crank mixers and potato mashers.  I stood on the Romper
Room emblazoned stool beside Mom until my little arms tired. I whipped
cream, eggs, and sifted flour. I was practicing to be a Suzie Homemaker,
don't you know.

 

After my parents divorced and we moved into an apartment, the budding skills
became necessity. At nine I learned to scramble eggs, boil water for
macaroni, and help make

meatloaf and meatballs.  The spoon with the little holes and the potato
masher made the move with us.  

I estimate the utensils are over fifty years old, the spoon is solid
stainless riveted to hardwood handle grips. The masher is also riveted and
sturdy, not even a bit of rust. 

 

Dad's carpenter's   measuring stick   given to him by his father

was the final tool

Laid in a reverent place among elderly scrapers, hammers and planers.

Bobby, said a friend, your making mistakes, get rid of that thing.

 

The measuring tape wasn't as fun to play with

And pinched my tender fingers more than once

Dad would release the stop and we listened to it retract as if by magic and

He would chuckle and say something about

The wonders of modern technology

Then whip out the stubby pencil from behind an ear, mark the wood

clip it back to his waist and return to work with the hand saw.

 

I pretended the curled papery bits from shaving the wood

that fell like

Dogwood petals onto the shop floor were

Secret messages from fairies or a mouse

 

I put them to my nose and inhaled the fragrances 

Cedar or pine was the best

 

Pop gardened and gave me the first taste of fresh mint

Strawberries warmed and sweetened by the sun

Pickled cucumbers in jars so big a child's hands could not 

carry or open them 

My little fingers squeezed

Lupini beans from their casings as directed

By the little Italian lady visiting

>From next-door

and my lips tingled from

a bit of afternoon antipasto 

and my confidence was tempered

by losing a few hands of Casino

 

I tried buying lupini beans and couldn't find them

Though I remember the card game rules and pulpy fragrant

Refinements Of the shop

And how attached I am to a few outdated implements

The telltale products of my youth.

Anniecms64 at gmail.com <mailto:Anniecms64 at gmail.com> 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ann M. Chiappetta, M.S.

Making Meaningful ConnectionsThrough Media 

914.393.6605 USA

Anniecms64 at gmail.com <mailto:Anniecms64 at gmail.com> 

All things Annie: www.annchiappetta.com <http://www.annchiappetta.com>  

 

 

 

 

Ann M. Chiappetta, M.S.

Making Meaningful ConnectionsThrough Media 

914.393.6605 USA

Anniecms64 at gmail.com <mailto:Anniecms64 at gmail.com> 

All things Annie: www.annchiappetta.com <http://www.annchiappetta.com>  

 

-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://nfbnet.org/pipermail/stylist_nfbnet.org/attachments/20221013/0883974d/attachment.html>