A Gift

The debate over global warming and man’s influence on climate change masks a truth that all of us no matter what nationality, race, religion, or political persuasion must acknowledge -- we have done damage to our planet. We have polluted our skies, rivers, lakes and oceans, made the earth a landfill for our endless garbage, and in our careless disregard for the ecosystem of which we are a part, degraded the biodiversity of the environment in which live.

Throughout human history man has battled nature to survive and thrive on this earth. Modern man ultimately learned to harness the forces of nature and put them to work in the service of mankind. But all along, man’s ability to gain dominion over nature exceeded his understanding of his place in the natural world. Unless mankind learns to live in greater harmony with nature there will inevitably come a time when the world can no longer meet man’s physical needs, let alone those essential spiritual needs met by the natural beauty – the shear majesty -- of our remarkable planet..

So let us step back from the debate on climate change for a moment and consider what gift we can give our children and children’s children, and all who come after us – a world unspoiled. Let us seek common ground on promoting sustainable approaches to the use of renewable natural resources; supporting more efficient generation of energy; reducing pollution; and protecting wilderness areas and wild populations in order to build a future in which human needs are met in harmony with nature. Such a gift – of majestic mountains, shining seas, clear skies, and abundant wildlife – is imbued with what is surely our most precious gift – love.

Pasta alla Campidanese

Cecily was pulling off the outer leaves of baby artichokes and tossing them in the trash at her feet. She cut off the stalks of the artichokes, and then scooped out the chokes. When she was finished, she put the artichokes in a bowl of ice water. She was just starting to prepare the stuffing for the artichokes when Dominick came in the back door, allowing the door to slam behind him.

Cecily shook her head. “Will you ever learn to hold the damn door?” she said.

Dominick went to the fridge for a beer. “I made a big mistake,” he said as he popped the cap and sat at the table.

“Another mistake,” Cecily said, beating the eggs. “Where are the cutlets I made for dinner?”

Dominick took a long pull, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I went to see Uncle Ted.”

Cecily stopped beating the eggs. Looked at Dominick. Waited.

Dominick wouldn’t meet Cecily’s eyes. “I was desperate.”

“Mother of God, Dominick. Uncle Ted?”

“I didn’t tell him the guy’s name.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Just that I saved the guy’s life and he was suing me.” Dominick said, looking up at Cecily, his eyes seeking approbation.

“Dominick,” Cecily said.

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A homeless guy sneaks into Dominick's backyard and steals some sausages off the grill. Dominick spots him and gives chase. The homeless guy chokes. Dominick saves him with the Heimlich. No good deed goes unpunished. Read about it in the story, Pasta alla Campidanese. Buon appetito!

I am black

For the first time in the history of this nation, we have a man of African American descent as the nominee of a major American political party for the highest office in the land.∗ We have a black as the Democratic candidate for president. Or do we?

My paternal grandparents emigrated from small villages in southwestern Sicily in the province of Palermo around the turn of the 19th Century. My wife and I visited the region in 1992. I brought along the usual tourist guides, but also a book on the history of Sicily and the ethnicity and culture of its people.

We stayed in a little coastal town called Marinella on the southwestern coast of Sicily. Just down the road from our hotel were the ruins of Selinunte, a major city-state founded by the Greeks sometime between 651 and 628 BC. We walked to the site and made our way along a broad expanse leading to the gigantic ruins of the Acropolis of Selinunte. All along the way we were surrounded by huge columns lying scattered about like a child’s building blocks.

In its time, Selinunte had rivaled Athens in its splendor, but like Sicily itself, was subject to the predations of Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Byzantines, Arabs, Normans, French, Germans, and Spanish, among others. Often the occupier de jour imported black slaves from Africa. The result today of this ethnic turnstile is a hardy race of… Of what?

I have over the course of many, many years filled out innumerable forms listing my race as “white.” Given what I discovered on my travels to and readings about the “old country,” perhaps I could just as easily have written black or African-American. Who knows -- my grandparents may well have had the blood of black slaves running through their veins. I’d have to admit, I’m not very black. My olive complexion, American-Italian socialization, and lack of jumping ability would belie any claim to the contrary. More importantly, I have not lived the black experience in American society.

Still, it’s an interesting thought, isn’t it? Especially when one considers that DNA studies from the National Geographic Genographic Project, suggest that all humans descended from a single African ancestor who lived some 60,000 years ago.

So perhaps Barack Obama, with a black Kenyan father and a white Kansas-born mother, is not our first major African-American presidential candidate. Perhaps others have “passed” and preceded him. More to the point, should it matter? It doesn’t to me. I am black.

*There have been black candidates for president: Shirley Chisholm, Senator Carol Moseley Braun, Lenora Fulani, Jesse Jackson, Alan Keyes, and Al Sharpton.

Remembering Dad on Father's Day

Steve Badalamente, 1906 - 2006

On the road

I'm on the road again, baby
Driving, driving, driving
I’m setting on cruise out-of-control
On the road again, baby
Racing the devil for what's left of my soul
I’m running on empty
With nothing left to pay that heavy toll

I'm on the road again, baby
Driving, driving, driving
Heading towards that far horizon
On the road again, baby
Passing by that last exit sign
I’m running on empty
Coasting towards the end of the line

Radio’s playing static
Know the station it’s on?
It’s playing our song
Playing our song
Hey baby, hear me say it
I’m long gone
Long gone

I'm on the road again, baby
Driving, driving, driving
Watching the line eating up time
On the road again, baby
Hearing you crying
Setting on cruise out-of-control
With nothing left to pay that heavy toll

Oratorio

I remember a time ago
Across a sea
a land
Huge sea turtles
Crawling slowly up the sand
My soft shell
Pierced by sharp memories

I hear a mournful melody
I know
From a Pfennig to a blue note
The ebb and flow
Building to a grand finale
A thunderous beginning
Of an end


Ten thousand kidney beans
Strung in a line
Broadway
Sunset and Vine


The flicker
And the dim
When Cardinal Cushing went to Lhaspur
To council an erring saint
Lim
“Forego your paganism!”
And so I remember
(The pagan blood in me rebels)
I linger on the rim