Were These Reviews Helpful? Heck Yeah!

English: Dahlia x hybrida

English: Dahlia x hybrida (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Two dear people wrote two awesome customer reviews for A Girl from You Know Where on Amazon.com these past few days.  I am so grateful for their thoughtfulness and consideration.  You can check them out directly on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Girl-Hill-Mothers-Journey-American/dp/1452569444/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1371084659&sr=1-1&keywords=a+girl+from+the+hill

or just take a read below – I do feel lucky.  Thanks kevinsmom and jovina!  Much love and gratitude to you both.

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Me and My Crow

Me and the Girl from the Hill at Davisville Library today

Me and the Girl from the Hill at Davisville Library today

What a cool day.  At our very first, and hopefully far from last, book reading and signing for A Girl From the Hill today, I was again reminded how much I love my friends and family.

Believe me, there is no feeling better than being surrounded by people who love and support you, and who truly enjoy watching and listening as you live a tiny piece of your dream.

I started A Girl From the Hill nearly three years ago.  My mother and I both put in a lot of work, me listening, writing, re-writing and thinking long and hard about some tough subjects; my mother telling me things to be shared publicly that haven’t even been shared with everyone in her family.  Pain, suffering, loss.  Things that change a person forever.  She revisited these places with me, along with going back to lots of good places.  We certainly had laughs going back to Marshall Street together.

I had nightmares about today all week.  One dream with 174 people packed into the tiny Davisville Free Library where I spoke.  One with people yelling out questions which I couldn’t answer.  Once with all of my family screaming at me.  Boy am I uptight.

The good news is that a beautiful little library opened its doors to me, my family and friends for an hour or so of reading, laughing and sharing.  And Dahlia enjoyed it so much, more than I imagined.  I felt such the pride watching her and listening to her, answering questions, laughing, feeling the adoration of the group and giving it right back.

And even though I spent the day fretting and fussing and driving my poor sister Maree nuts, getting to the point where the poor woman couldn’t even watch the traffic for me as I backed out of my mother’s driveway, once I got settled in everything changed.  In the moment, exactly where I was meant to be at exactly the right time.  Satisfaction and contentment from bringing our work full circle. 

I don’t know how I’ll do at our next gig, with perhaps more strangers and less familiar faces.  But today, my peeps gave me the strength, courage and determination to do this again.  Me and the Crow are ready for it. 

I Coulda Beena Contenda- but She Actually is One

 

Trinity University (Texas) women's basketball ...

Trinity University (Texas) women’s basketball team, 1915 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My daughter stayed home sick yesterday with a cough and scratchy throat. She is pretty tough as sixth grade girls go, so when she does complain that she’s not well I take it seriously. My husband, upon getting home from work, suggested that Julia get ready for basketball practice that evening. I began to protest, saying that she felt better but questioning his judgment.

They are going over plays for the tournament this weekend. Even if she doesn’t play, she should be there to listen, he said. When I crinkled my nose, his response, though not shocking, got me to really thinking.

“She’s an athlete,” he said. “She’s a competitor, and she wants to be there.”

My daughter is an athlete. It’s official. She is an amazing basketball player, really. Those who have seen my brags, or as my friend Leslie termed them, my ‘shares’ on Face Book already know how good I think she is. Her strength, endurance, and talent amaze me. A gifted athlete. She’s also a gifted singer, actress, leader and writer. Many things that, at one point or another in my life, I thought I’d choose to be. Recently she took one of those occupational IQ tests at school, and got matched with one of two careers – teacher or clinical psychologist. Just like me when I was in Junior High during the Stone Age.

The biggest difference between my daughter and me, aside from our height and hair color, is that instead of just daydreaming, she is doing it. She has so many doors opening to her, even at the young age of 12, that it’s mind-blowing. The times we live in provide young women with so many opportunities. More than they did 35 years ago when I was her age? Yes, surely. And way more than my mother had back in the 40’s.

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A Girl from the Hill – Where it All Began

Holy Ghost – where both my parents and my grandparents got married

Once upon a time there was a skinny little olive-skinned girl with the big dark eyes and long, straight, chestnut hair. Dahlia Lydia Fiore was born in Burrillville, Rhode Island on the Fourth of July in 1924, the eighth of eight children – four boys, four girls. Her father Giovanni came to Providence, Rhode Island, from San Giovanni Incarico, a small Italian village near Naples. Giovanni Fiore farmed. In Italy Giovanni grew vegetables and flowers; roses and dahlias were his specialty. After settling in Providence, getting work farming, he sent for his fiancée, Maria Giovanna Mollo. They married August 3rd, 1903 at Holy Ghost Church on Federal Hill. Continue reading

I’m a Blogger Now

Dahlia Lydia Fiore, Junior High Graduation

Dahlia Lydia Fiore, Junior High Graduation

This is a huge step for me.  A blog.  I am becoming a blogger.  It doesn’t sound pleasant, and I can’t stop thinking of Harry Potter’s Quidich team and the bludgers- those big black iron balls  that try to knock the players off their broomsticks.  My goal here is not to knock anyone off his or her broomstick, but I do hope I leave you with a positive impression and a reason to read, comment and interact with me and others who follow these posts.For the past year and a half I have been working to put together my mother’s memoirs.  I figured the task would be an easy one and would help me get my feet wet in the world of real writing. Not writing that I scribble out on a pad and then shove in a shoe box in the back of my closet, and not writing that I bang out in a fury and then save to a file folder that I’ll never refer to again.  Real, grown up writing.

I’d like to say the experience has been easy, positive and totally rewarding.  But I can’t.  Not totally. Continue reading