Monthly Archives: January 2010

distanced by a decade, memories breathe still

Three years apart in age, my mom (b.1928) and dad (b.1925) were born at the beginning of the Great Depression. Their early childhood stories are family-focused, tales of sacrifice and tragedy, of making do with all that they had. Their joy sprung from the little things: trips to Coney Island, walking along the boardwalk, hand-me down bicycles, the surprise of roller skates for Christmas, card games, family-style Sunday dinners, visiting aunts, uncles and cousins just a short walk away, church on Sunday, Knights of Columbus dances, and movies.

Almost all of my childhood memories include my mom and dad dancing. Old photos show them sharply dressed, swirling across the dance floor. The most vivid images live in my memory bank: from weddings and garden parties to BBQs and beach days. An open melody, the crooning of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and others in the background, the tap-tap-tap of the shoe on the hardwood floor. It wasn’t long before my father would stand and ask my mom to dance. Even right there in the living room.

When not dancing, my parents would watch the classic movies popular during their youth. Snuggled together on the moss green sofa a montage of the greats moving across the television screen: Gregory Peck, Lauren Bacall, Barbara Stanwyck, Laurence Olivier et al. Sometimes they would share stories of movie releases, the double features, saving their pennies to see the latest film, waiting for autographs to be signed. Sometimes they would each be lost in their own reverie of shared moments with friends and family, way before they thought to start their own.

I remember my mom and dad dancing, early fall 1999. A few weeks before my brother’s wedding. They are in the living room watching a program, the autumnal sun is fading. There is music playing and Dad asks Mom to dance. Her eyes light up and with all the energy she can muster, she stands. I clear the furniture from the rug and Dad holds her hand, quick-quick-slow-slow as if they are on pause. Dad is smiling and she is laughing, happy.

Three months later she is gone.

I will forever in my dreams see them dancing, a perpetual couple waltzing atop a music box.

Lucy Romano Preziotti
b. 9/19/28 – d. 1/23/00

Movies from the ’40s ||  Classic Movies || Love Songs of the 40s & 50s ||


rambling words, reading books

Last night despite an abominable week at work I stayed up well past midnight to read. I have been on a streak as of late,  voraciously reading through a book every other day. A physical book..not sure if or when I will convert to a Kindle perhaps when the price is not so astronomical, so out of reach.

Presently I would prefer to reach for a paper bound  book: touching its skin, feeling the raised print, taking in the non-odor of new books, the faded scent of the old, reveling in the  lost and found, dreaming of the journey of those crinkly, yellow pages vintage travelers, the total recall of where a phrase lives on a page dependent on its edition, finding a phrase with your fingertip, tracing the lines a recitation of the past.

Food for thought:

Book Nostalgia – Consuming Content One Page at a Time || Convenience of a Kindle – One tech writer’s POV || The Kindle vs. The Book – The Video Series – The Great Debate with interesting comments ||Bibliophilia – The Art of Collecting Books


the written words of others

in some ways i feel as if i’ve been reading Shantaram for an eternity, as if like Lin I too have been on an ardurous journey to self-enlightenment. the passages, read intermittently, take on episodic flash fiction like qualities. they become stories within chapters within stories.

in the rest stops along the way I have found myself drawn to darker, tragic tales. the sort that wrap around your mind and beckon you to follow the main character into the shadows. stories of hope-laced desperation, of personal sacrifices, all for the journey all for the loved ones left behind.

what I’m reading:  Gregory David Roberts’ Shantaram

what I’ve read recently: Cormac McCarthy’s The Road; Sapphire’s Push; Monica Ali’s Brick Lane; Patti Smith’s Just Kids

now that I’ve read the books I feel more comfortable seeing the movies:  Precious, The Road


online profiles gone bad…

How can you pique my interest, you haven’t written anything about yourself. Other than the bathroom shot of your upper torso, spiked hair and camera holding hand, all I can infer is that you work out and you purchase hair products. I already know you’re (may be) single never married, and never could have guessed from your love of Goodfellas and the Sopranos that you’re Italian. Looking for that special lady? Sorry that’s definitely not me.


Snagit Mac Beta

Snagit Mac Beta.

Today is a happy day thanks to Snagit’s For Mac Beta Release 🙂