Wednesday, October 24, 2012


If a picture speaks a thousand words, then get ready to read a book. The story of my Creator's Creation.


Saturday, June 23, 2012

Full Circle

Many, many years ago, in a galaxy far, far away....oh, wait!! Wrong story.

Many years ago, when I was eleven, a "Surprise!!" baby was born into the Anzalone house. He was a darling thing all pinchable cheeks and chubby legs, brown sparkling eyes and wispy hair. And did I mention that he was a light sleeper? At the time, my 'older,younger brother', Joey was sharing a room with said cherub, Mikey. But every time Joey rolled over or made any noise, it would wake up the baby. Anyone want to guess what my Mom thought about these nocturnal interruptions? You guessed it. Something had to go. And in this case, it was Joey.

My mother's solution was to move Joey into the room I shared with our 5 year old sister, Marianna. After all, the basement was not finished, and Mom must have sleep, to keep her household running. So into our tiny room came this nine year old boy, and we hardly had room to walk between our bunk bed and Joey's bed to get to the closet. Needless to say, it was tight!

After several months, I was so desperate to get out of that tiny, crowded room, that I moved to the basement. My room was windowless, had no door, and cool concrete floors...and it was HEAVEN! I painted it "Road Stripe Yellow" to off-set the lack of windows (as if!), and filled it with white furniture and all things pre-teen. I still go straight back to late nights reading in my haven, every time I hear Lionel Richie croon "You are once, twice, three times a lady..." - egads!! YOU know those lyrics too?!? Wow, we are sooo old!

Anyway, that bedroom was always the BEST room to sleep in because in the hot Georgia summers, in an un-airconditioned house, it was always so cool! It was also always so very DARK, being windowless and all, and to this day, if you need to really get some zzzz's at my Mom and Dad's, that is the room to sleep in. By the way, it has a door now. And carpet. Oh, and it's not scary yellow either.

Fast forward, oh, 40 years or so and you will find me living in Georgia once again, after a long stint in Colorado. I now have an almost eleven year old of my own, along with soon to be seven and eight year olds and guess what?! I also have a basement room with NO windows!

This morning I went looking for said children. It was after 9 am and we needed to get a move on! I went down to the play room (aka the Tornado room, because the lack of windows makes it a GREAT place to hang out during storms) to waken the slumbering ones, and found them in the complete darkness of the play room, door closed, snoring away after their weekly "slumber party".

Like I said. Full circle. Only this time, there is no Lionel Richie.

Sunday, February 26, 2012

Holland is Beautiful!

Have you read this before?

"When you’re going to have a baby , it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum, the Sistine Chapel, Gondolas. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting. After several months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland!” “Holland?” you say. “What do you mean, Holland? I signed up for Italy. I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.” But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine, and disease. It’s just a different place. So, you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around. You begin to notice that Holland has windmills. Holland has tulips. And Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.” And the pain of that experience will never, ever, ever, go away. The loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland."

This was written in 1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley...let's see, in 1987 I was engaged to my husband, planning to marry the following New Years and start a family right away. In my plans, we would quickly have a house full of children, whom I would stay home with and homeschool. Each of them would be perfectly well mannered, talented at something and always say "Yes, Ma'am" and "No, Ma'am". They would never disobey, never lie or do anything to embarrass me in public and never yell at me and call me an idiot!!

You see, I had made my plans. I was going to Italy, and no mistake about it!

So, what happened? How is it that I find myself in Holland with a special needs child who does not speak the language I know? What do I do with this child God has given me, who yells at me and calls me names. Who hits me and lashes out in anger. Who does not save his theatrics for home, but will explode just about anywhere, for who knows how long. This child. This child does NOT speak Italian!

This child. This child with the amazing green eyes. This child with a sense of humor that has me laughing every day. This child who knows things beyond his years. Who has endured things I don't even want to contemplate. Who has an inner strength and fortitude that is formidable. This child who loves his Mommy. Whose favorite place after a big explosion is curled up in Mommy's lap. This child speaks Dutch.

Guess what? I am starting to learn Dutch. I have thrown out my Italian language books, my Fromer's guides, my links to good Italian restaurants. I am developing a taste for bread and herring, for cheese and sausage. I am learning to love living in a place I never wanted to go. I am beginning to accept that Holland is exactly the place for us.