• A blog about a smidgen of time each day and the hope you spend it with me

Tuesday, April 10, 2018



              Habit...no not that meaning...

                    I'm writing about a nun's uniform...The habit.

When I was going to change schools I begged my parents to send me to Catholic school. You see, I was bullied all throughout elementary school and I feared that it would get worse. 

My parents agreed and so I attended Catholic school.

The nuns wore something like this.

                                     Image result for nuns habit

When I was little I toyed around with the idea of becoming a nun. I think It was because of the movie The Bells of Saint Mary.

                                          Ingrid Bergman looked so beautiful and she was so kind and tough when she needed to be.
                                            Image result for ingrid bergman nuns habit

I was never scared of nuns even when they wore the black habit covering everything but their faces.

I was never afraid ...until.

I went from being afraid of bullies to having a bully for a teacher.
I was scared to death of her.
She was mean.
and yelled a lot.
She made it a point to humiliate students.

Reviewing homework in class was where my anxiety would reach it's peak. There was so much homework and more often than not I would be up until 11pm trying to finish it. Many many times I just couldn't. All the other kids seemed to be just used to the load, but I sure as heck wasn't.

She would make the dreaded announcement and everyone would take out their homework. She would walk up and down the aisles looking down at our work as the students would take turns answering each question. 

Now and then she would pick up a child's notebook and criticize their penmanship or the fact that the page was ripped or she looked at a child and comment that there was something wrong with their uniform or if their hair was unkempt.  Once she made a boy stand in front of class and asked him why his hair had not been cut yet.

"My, mom has been busy Sister, she's been working overtime, she couldn't take me"

She answered " If you dare come into school tomorrow like that, I'll cut it myself!!!"

She meant it

He was absent the next day.

Even though I was so happy all my friends from our neighborhood church attended that school, I was living in fear of this nun.

The day came when it was my turn.

I was fiddling with my pen as she was teaching.

I was paying attention.

I was not clicking the pen or making any noise with it.

She just wanted every one's hands on the table and eyes in her.

She yelled my name

I froze then said "Yes, Sister?"

She yelled again " What are you writing?"

I answered " I'm not writing anything Sister"

She stomped her swollen legs towards my desk and I swear I thought I was going to pass out.

She grabbed some old papers on my desk and accused me of working on homework and not paying attention. She yelled at me and made me feel like a liar.

I looked around at all the relieved faces of children that were glad it wasn't their turn yet.

They were scared too.

I became angry
and I prayed silently that God would do something about it,

and then something happened

She hit her side on the corner of her desk and I could tell it hurt.

She winced,

and I am ashamed to say I smiled just a bit.

I could tell my classmates were cheering in in their heads. I could almost hear it,

because for one moment she felt the sting. 

I decided then and there if I were to become a nun that she would be the example of what NOT to be.

There were plenty of nuns in my life that were kind and tough and funny and cared about children.

I wanted to be like them. They would be my example....

and then I discovered boys...and that was the end of that.

Wednesday, April 04, 2018

D is for Donuts

               I completely forgot about the A-Z challenge...Let me back-track a bit. In the last week there have been a few emergencies in our family. Like driving ten hours to get our daughter at college because she became really sick; to two trips to the emergency room with my own mom...and a bunch of stuff in between.

Its been (needless to say) a bit hectic. 

        So hectic that I forgot about the A-Z challenge

I'm sitting here in my messy living room trying to accept the fact that I haven't written anything at all and the challenge is already up to the letter D.

So instead of coming up with a brilliant post...something that will knock ya down, pick you back up and knock ya down again...

I'm thinking about Donuts.

I want one so badly

There's a dunkin' donuts down the road

and I'm thinking about getting in my little car and getting one ( or dozen)

But I know if I get that one (or dozen) I will regret it because I'm supposed to lose weight.

I also have a wedding next week and I need to look my best

and Lord knows that If I have that one donut (or dozen) I will expand at such a rate that my once sexy dress will become a sexy donation in the Good Will pile.

What to do what to do

               Such a dilemma of epic porportions

               I shall resist

               I shall not falter

               I shall

               I shall

               I shall look for some Dunkin' coupons because I know they're here somewhere!

Friday, March 30, 2018

It's Friday...But Sunday's a Coming!

              As a child Good Friday scared me. Our Church would re-enact in our town the walk that Jesus took as He carried the cross. Our church would get together and as we continued walking (and stopping so that the youth group could act out the scenes) more and more people would join in.

As a child I wondered why they would called it Good Friday when something so horrible happened then.

As I grew in my faith I realized because God's promise had been fulfilled....because Jesus had done what he said he would do, we know what the outcome was. Every Good Friday I try to place myself in the "sandals " of his followers then. How scary it must have been. How sadness and utter helplessness must have overtaken those that witnessed His suffering.

But we know what happened

       We share in knowing what they did not yet know.

               We know....Sunday's Coming


Friday, March 23, 2018

Artsy Fartsy Friday~~Breakfast Art


Whats for Dinner? 

I hate hearing that question. If I ever won the lottery (fat chance since I never play) I would have a personal chef. Someone whose sole job is to cook dinner for me and my family, My suggestion of having breakfast for dinner did not go over well with the Hubster and Son.

 I LOVE breakfast.  I love eggs and bacon and pancakes and crepes. I love sausages and hash browns and I especially love those spicy cut potatoes they serve at my local diner.

I started thinking....(instead of thinking what to cook for dinner) I wonder if there are artists that turn breakfast foods into ART. 

Well looky here... I found some amazing works where the medium is eggs, pancakes and toast...

The first Artist is Michele Baldini and he only works with eggs. Amazing.How does he not burn anything?

                       Michele Baldini            posted byScoop


                 The next artist has a YouTube channel called  TigerTomato  and they create incredible pancake art. This video was my favorite. I thought it was just incredible how they started with a black mix on a dark pan. How in the world did they manage such accurate shading? It boggles my mind!

The last but certainly not least is an artist named Ida Frosk; posted by GeoBeats ArtsShe started posting her breakfast art on instagram and within a year she had over a hundred thousand followers!!!             

I think all three of these artists are amazing and so creative! I hope you enjoyed them. 

Now if I could only make pancakes look like a steak and potatoes.... I could make my husband happy too!

Have a beautiful weekend!

Blessings, Joanne

Sunday, March 18, 2018

My Father-in-law

          Its been a rough week...the worst. After a long few years of debilitating illnesses, countless stays in the hospital throughout the years and a horrific hospital stay for 6 weeks...my Father-in-law passed away quietly in his sleep. In the end God was merciful and lifted him home.

I am heartbroken. My heart breaks for all the suffering he went through, and my heart breaks for my mother-law who misses her husband of 55 years.

I came into this family nearly 30 years ago. I was very different from everyone in my husband's family. I was a city girl, not the girl next door. I was an artsy girl whose choice of color was always black. They were a loud Italian family who ate the most delicious home-cooked foods every meal.

My Father-in-law and I had an interesting relationship. He accepted me but never hesitated to let me know exactly how he felt about everything. I always knew that I was the odd one out and no matter how much I tried not to be...I had a permanent spot in that role. No matter how odd I seemed to him I knew that there was love for me in his heart...and I loved him.

When My husband and I had our first child ( the first grandchild on both sides of the families) It changed my Father-in-law. When we announced that we were expecting, my Father-in-law said that he didn't feel old enough to be a grandfather.  He ( I think ) was scared of his new role. When I had the baby My Father-in-law was the first one through the doors during grandparent's visiting hours. He practically ran to the nursery. He told me that he instantly fell in love.

After we brought the baby home He would call me while he was out on his errands and ask to see the baby. He'd come and spend about half an hour, (never wanting to overstay his welcome), Carry her and cuddle her and speak to her. He'd smile and laugh whenever she cooed at him. His heart melted with every toothless grin.

He would go out and spend countless hours finding just the right toy for her.

It was like that for every one of his four grandchildren.

He introduced them to chocolate and then complain that they were hyper. He would make them ramen soup and they called it Grandpa soup for the longest time. With every visit he would have Italian S cookies waiting for them. After the funeral, My daughter asked if we could go to the neighborhood bakery so she could buy some S cookies to take home. She wanted to remember the feeling.

I think my son was the closest one to his grandpa. Grandpa babysat him for a while when my hours changed at work. Whenever I picked up my son he was either wearing grandpa's glasses that he'd steal from his shirt pocket or pushing random buttons on the phone. I don't remember him ever crying with his grandfather. I think Grandpa carried my son around the whole time he would babysit....and he loved every minute of it.

My son went to see his Grandfather in the hospital and he was so strong as he held his grandpa's hand. One of he hardest moments in my life was telling our son that his grandpa had passed away.

My baby's heart is broken and I can't do anything to heal it.

I loved and still love my Father-in-law. I still feel that he is here and we'll all get together soon for dinner, then in a flash I am reminded that I will never see him again in this life time.

We know that this is not the end. We trust and believe in God's promise and we know that we will see him again.

So I will not say goodbye. I'll just say...see you later Grandpa...I love you.