Category: Family, Friends and Memories


 

Mother’s Day

 

I believe the greatest complement that I could give to my mother is that I’ve spent my life trying to replica her. Thank you, mother, for being every beautiful thing that you taught me. I love you. The connection is eternal. As for my daughter, I am grateful everyday, and thank God for the opportunity to be your mother. I love you. I hope that you will replica all of the good, and become better than any flaws. Someday in your child’s eyes I know you will see me, and feel the abundance of love through which we are all connected, mother and child, one maternal heart.

 

-Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte © 2017

 

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When I was a young girl I wanted to take piano lessons. At the time my father worked with someone that explained his wife gave lessons. So, once a week I began going to the Silverman’s house to learn my notes and scales.

At home, I practiced what I had learned from the workbook but couldn’t play without a piano of my own. Understandably, my father was initially hesitant to invest into buying a piano, as it was a big expense and I could easily change my mind. Week after week though, I proved that I truly wanted to learn.

I can still remember the smell of the piano store, my excitement admiring the shiny ivories, and in choosing the right one along side my parents and the salesman.

I practiced every day.

Mrs. Silverman came to our home once a week and drew with different colored markers on new sheets of music. She made sure I wasn’t being lazy with my pinky (that I sometimes tried to be). Don’t rest your wrists! Hold them up!

Each week I was getting big, happy, check marks on successfully completed lessons for a job well done. Then the day came for Ludwig Van Beethoven’s Für Elise. I can still recall the black notes etched importantly, as if poetry, a language of their own. I thought I’d never learn, but in fact I did. Never by heart though, as I did Fiddler on the Roof, Somewhere Over the Rainbow, or my all time favorite, Where Do I Begin from Love Story.

I loved the piano from everything I can remember, and still do. Yet, one day lessons came to a halt.  I was too distracted being a fourteen year old. I didn’t take the time to practice as much. Reflecting back, I wish for my sake that someone would have instilled the importance of continuing my practice, or at the least had been patient with me on the days I was distracted. Perhaps they were, and I simply couldn’t hear the tune of their words with a preoccupied teenage mind.  Today, I might still be able to play as well, or better!

As an adult, I used to sit down at the piano about twice a month to play what I could recall by heart, and of course from reading the music (though rusty).

The last home I moved into had a challenging set of stairs, and I painstakingly came to a decision to give the piano (a gift to me from my parents) away to my goddaughter.  It was the only thing that made sense to me, or that I could find solace.

My hope – is she will learn to play elegantly, and that I may enjoy listening to her while remembering my own young hands – how they once made beautiful music.

Maria DellaPorte ©2016 All Rights Reserved

 

Swing High

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When I was a little girl I swung high and low,

and tried to touch the clouds with my toes,

in a pair of sneakers with worn-out laces,

that I learned to tie with the help of

a song about rabbit ears.

Collected memories in dirt-filled-soles,

of Mill Pond and the trees I climbed.

Each winding branch an invitation to soar,

to new heights,

in the world and in me.

The days of tall grass fields and Daffodils,

scents of onion, and honeysuckle sweetness.

Oh and how loudly the sun shone!

As if it were a chorus in the sky:

Hopes and dreams sung in children’s voices,

not just light, but imagination come to life–

We challenged one another to balance,

walk on the white wooden fences,

dividing us from the street,

and constructed belief.

I learned to stand tall, even on one leg,

with the other behind, then in front,

arms like a bird.

When you could you flew, and if not,

you fell and got back up again,

dusted-off the scrapes and bruises.

The breeze was delicate, innocent,

could heal and carry you anywhere…

We played softball in a dirt field with

made-up bases, raced up and down hills,

yelled:

You’re it!

We honored our word and knew the importance

of it as children.

…Called teams, jumped rope, hung tires,

even dug deeply down into the clay layers of soil

for China.

It’s true (and we actually believed we could!)

Sometimes with a close friend,

you’d just sit and wonder, talk secrets,

and collect the ladybugs or ants that crawled

onto your sun-drenched skin.

We had no doubts…

When I was a little girl no one ever told me

it’s impossible to touch the clouds with your toes.

They let you believe, reach for, and dream.

We weren’t encouraged not to because we may fail,

get hurt, or that things were unattainable, silly even,

but were encouraged to strive because trying

made anything possible—

As we grew into adulthood and older eyes,

from seeing the truth of things not so playful…

Something somewhere somehow said we couldn’t,

and being so smart we believed it,

and settled into that misfortune.

I carry around my little girl’s heart,

into love, into life, into creating,

in everything that I am—

(and it’s when someone suggests I shouldn’t that I hurt.)

…Into believing, into teaching my own daughter today,

and every little girl (boys too),

that  you should always strive to touch the sky

with your toes, even if it seems no one ever has

or will.

…Be the one trying and believing,

rather than a hopeless fool—

For rigid is the road to devastation.

And you could toss your sneakers,

and live your days in shattered bones.

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

(this is still being edited)

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