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A hearty welcome to Esther Altshul Helfgott from Writers Haven! She will be contributing to the family, writing, and poetry sections often. Look for her up and coming poetry column at Poet's Haven very soon.

On Poets and Writing: Joan Fiset's Now the Day is Over  by Esther Altshul Helfgott

This article is about an author who triumphed, despite growing up in an alcoholic family.

The fact that my grandmother died on my birthday has always made me feel closer to her. I know that sounds like a morbid observation, but it is so true. It is just one more way that my grandma made me feel special, as she did all of her life. She was there moments after I was born, and I was there when she died, which completed our journey together on this earth. Grandma is with me in spirit every time I open a jar of fresh canned tomatoes, each time I drive by her favorite church, when the pungent aroma of fresh basil and parsley awaken my senses, and even when I turn on the television.

When I hear the announcer say, "Come on down, you're the next contestant on the Price is Right," I immediately think of my grandmother. The Price is Right was her favorite show. In my mind's eye, I see my beautiful grandmother's devilish smirk, her twinkling brown eyes, and the color of her stark white hair. If I close my eyes, I can still see her waving her cane at me. I always smile and shake my head as I remember my grandmother's energetic physical presence, outgoing character, and determined attitude.

This little sprite of a woman, she was barely five feet tall, had an energy level of a workhorse. Theresa Nardo was a tiny whirlwind of power like a fierce tornado, which spun rapidly. The woman hardly ever sat down, but was always bustling about doing dishes, working in her garden, cooking, and visiting the many friends that she had made in her long life. Even while sitting, her arthritic hands crocheted or mended clothes.

From the age of eight years old, when she came to America from Italy, she helped her community. Since she was fluent in three languages, she wrote letters for both her Italian and Finnish pals. My grandmother helped many of her friends from the "old country" come to America. She aided them by giving them a place to stay, teaching them English, and even showing many how to cook--it was very common in Italy to have a maid.

My grandmother's admirable determination and deep spirituality was responsible for her incredible zest for life. Dr. Brown, her heart surgeon, once said, "The only thing that's keeping Theresa alive is that pacemaker and pure stubbornness; her heart is completely deteriorated." Her faith in God and love of her family strengthened her will. My Grandmother had strong beliefs, which helped her through many adversities. Being the oldest of ten children, Theresa Nardo learned determination at a young age. Her rough childhood and the Great Depression were her best teachers. Living through the harshest of times only strengthened her.

Telling stories was one of Grandma's favorite pastimes. Her colorful stories were always action-packed, and the various circumstances boggled the mind. Some stories were told with a hint of humor, while others showed her flair for drama. Her English was perfect and her voice was strong like her personality, which kept her listeners enthralled. Her spunky attitude was clear in each story she told. Her tales varied from the time it snowed to the rooftops, to the time my Grandfather was shot at by "The Black Hand"- a term used to describe the Mafia early this century.

Despite her spunky and opinionated demeanor, Theresa Nardo's love for her family and friends was always apparent. The staunch democrat was known to spout off about her distaste of government policies, and she outwardly chastised republican politicians. She never missed an election, voting on Election Day was a priority. If she disagreed with you, you would know it!

My grandmother never turned away from a debate. She always used her outspoken viewpoint, determination, and stubbornness to help others. Grandma was always quick to volunteer her help. Whether the cause was a church dinner, raising money for a sick member of the community, or taking the time to share her knowledge, my grandmother was a giving person who used her abilities to help her community.

This strong woman inspired her family, friends, and community. This explains why she is so fondly remembered. My grandmother was like a beautiful gemstone. The harsh elements of many years enhanced the jewel's sparkle. Her incredible spirit is still the topic of conversation at family gatherings seventeen years after her death.

In her eighty years of life, she gave all of herself. Her children, grandchildren, and friends were thankful for the time they had shared with her. If Theresa Nardo hadn't touched my life, I would be a very different person. I can relate to Jimmy Stewart's revelation in It's a Wonderful Life. He realized how differently things would have been if he had never existed. That is how I feel about the influence my grandmother had on my life. She helped mold me into the person that I am today.

When I lost Grandma, I felt as if I had lost a part of myself. The memory of Theresa Nardo lives on, not only in the minds of the many people who she loved, but also in their hearts and souls. I loved her colorful stories, which are now my family's most treasured heirlooms. She was truly a legend in her own time. Oh, how I long to hear one of my grandma's tales just one more time! This diverse woman's charisma touched everyone who knew her. My grandmother's untiring energy, determined character, and feisty attitude were a distinct part of her charm.

This essay was previously published as "A Rare Gem".
Copyright Katherine West 1998-2001

Designer Soup: My Grandmother was the First "Soup Nazi"

by Katherine West

****** "Soup Nazi is a reference to a popular Seinfeld show about a foreign soup magnet that made the most incredible soup, but was a tyrant. This "Soup Nazi" would tolerate no questions from his faithful soup addicts and he would kick any complaining customer out- never to be served again. ********

Today dawned foggy here in the Midwest. A light mist is falling and there is a chill in the air. It is a soup day. Growing up with my Italian Grandmother, there was always a kettle of something bubbling on her old gas stove. You never knew what was in it, and sometimes the contents of the kettle could be downright scary! Being from the old country, she was known for concocting strange herbal remedies, snacks, and even natural pesticides on that stove. Most of the time the old, worn kettle contained minestre, an Italian soup that is almost impossible to describe, for it was a mixture of Italian pasta sauce, whatever vegetable that was available, a small pasta like baby-sized shells, and any available leftover meat. The closest and most accurate comparison would be to a vegetable minestrone. Her stove was a stage of sorts. Of course, it may be chicken vegetable minestrone, beef vegetable, chicken pastina, dandelion egg drop, wedding soup, or a cast of many other characters on any giving day. We never knew which steaming treasure would have a starring role, but we were always sure we would leave that kitchen with the lingering memory of new, flavorful meal that would place a warm feeling deep down, not only in our stomachs, but in our souls. This warmth was one that our dear Nana (Grandma in our southern Italian dialect- Calabreze) kindled in our souls.

My grandmother was a woman that stood just underneath five feet of height. An assiduous sprite, this woman had an endless energy, as well as a mighty spirit. The matriarch to nine brothers and sisters (She was the oldest of ten and nurtured them from infancy, for she had a sickly mother.), eight children, twenty-three grandchildren, and dozens of great-grandchildren too numerous to count.

On these misty autumn days, warm, happy memories surface. Images of soup simmering in a huge kettle on the stove in our old house on Silver Street come to me. Nestled among the maples, this house sat high atop the largest hill in the small community of Waynesburg, Ohio. A community sprinkled with many Italian families such as ours- a town that is a welcome breath of fresh air. Our family home lives on in my heart- a place of so much love and history. You see my grandparents moved into that house with their overflowing brood of eight in the 20's, shortly after their marriage. A home that has withstood the ravages of the depression; a home that survived both world wars, sending young men off to battle that were its residents; this is a place that is home to the comforting ghosts of yesterday. My home for seven years too. My parents lived with my grandma for a time, taking care of her, until we bought a new place. When we moved, she came with us, but that home is the place that our entire family still envisions when the word "home" is uttered. This is a timeless and comforting place that still touches the heart and soothes the soul. This home continues to stand today, and it is still resided in by family members- a gentile home on a high hilltop that is continues to be loved by the many people that were nurtured within its walls. Many things conjure up the vision of that house. The scent of sauce cooking, a wintry day, a child's giggle, or the blustery winds of fall. These things take us back to that home on the hill and into Grandma's kitchen where we smell the manestre simmering, bringing us home again.

Designer Soup for a Nation: Beef Vegetable Minestre

Why the name? Well, this makes enough soup for a nation, and you can design it for your needs. This is an interactive article almost. You see, as I write this, I too am making this soup. This is something that you do on a day that you will be home all day. A great soup for writers, really. Making this soup will give you that needed break that you need. I would love to hear back from you about how you liked it. Email Kat here: ohiobar@sssnet.com.

Note: Only use ONE of the options or NONEof the options, but never more than one at a time.

After filling the large soup kettle with water, allow it to boil for about forty minutes. Skim the fat from the top. Keep it at medium -high heat. After removing all of the fat, add the whole tomatoes (squeeze and then cut into eighths or quarters), carrots, celery, and onions. (If you want to add Northern beans, this is the time to do that.)

Allow the soup to simmer for another thirty minutes at medium-high. Then add the potatoes and all the canned vegetables. Here is where you lower the heat to medium. After two hours or so, add the cabbage, lowering the heart to medium-low. Check the soup ocassionally. Be sure to lower the soup to simmer approximately one hour after the cabbage is added. This is where I stop. My favorite soup does not have the additional pasta, barley, or dried beans. Adding these is nice for a change, though. Continue simmering this all day long uncovered so it will thicken. Serve with homemade Italian bread. (Pick it up at the bakery! I would..) Store the uneaten portion in a large bowl for up to a week. You can also freeze this delicious soup too.

Adding Optional Ingredients

At the same time as you add the cabbage, you can also add either the pasta or the barley.

There are countless variations to this recipe. Here are a few examples:

Beef Vegetable Minus Peas or Cabbage (you can omit peas or cabbage if this is not to your family's liking. My husband doesn't like peas, so I do not add them.)

Beef Vegetable Minus Dried Northern beans (My girls and I detest dried beans. Yuck!!!)

Beef Vegetable with Barley (This is a filling soup.)

Beef Vegetable Pasta (This is like a beefy vegetable minestrone.)

Vegetarian Vegetable (For vegetarian fare, omit the beef and make a vegetable broth with the onions, carrots, Northern beans, tomatoes, and celery instead of using the bones and roast.)

This is really a mix and match kind of soup. You can design it to your families desires and needs. I hope you enjoy it. Bon Appetit! (I hope I spelled that right.)

Copyright Katherine West 2001

A Dream or a Visit from Beyond the Grave?

by Katherine West

I had a very strange experience a month or so ago. I am not sure if it was just a dream or if it was a connection of some kind with the beyond. Let me start off by saying that I rarely remember my dreams. Maybe two or three times a year I awake and recall a dream, so it is a very rare occurrence.

Yesterday I was reading a few of Barbara Peacock's "Dreams or Premonitions" articles, and I decided to write about my experience. I am doing this more for myself than for my readers. Perhaps by writing about it down, I will work through the intense emotions that it evoked within me. What touched me so much about the experience was that it centered on my mom who died almost two years ago. Up until this point, I had not dreamed of her or had any other unearthly encounter of any kind.

When I awoke the morning after this dream encounter, I immediately sat up in bed startled. My mind quickly perused my memories of the night's activities. I had been restless, tossing and turning all night almost as if I hadn't slept, yet I had distinct memories of talking to my mom. When I closed my eyes, I saw the dreamlike experience reply in my mind.

I was sitting on my couch in the living room right beside my mom. We were gabbing, just talking and sharing- nothing really profound. Then I consciously recalled that all night long I had been talking to mom, discussing various things on my mind and sharing my feelings with her. What kind of dream is gabbing with your dead mother all night? It had felt as if we were really talking. She talked back too! As I filtered through my memories of the night before that morning, sifting through the snippets of conversation that came to me, I fast-forwarded to the end of the experience.

My mom looked at me in the matter-of-fact way that she always managed so well, staring deeply into my eyes. I actually remember seeing her large, brown eyes with gold flecks staring back at me as she spoke the following words: "Kathi, what the hell am I doing here?" If you knew my mother, you would know that this is exactly how she would say this too.

Suddenly realization washed over me, and tears filled my eyes. I had been grieving for almost two years, trying to wish mom back so hard. I had been clinging to each and every memory so tightly. Perhaps she wants me to let go and move on, allowing her to also move on to another place. I don't really know what she meant or where she wanted to go, but what I do know is that this sudden insight was not ill founded. I knew what I was feeling was right on the mark.

She had managed to communicate this message to me from beyond the grave. Whether it was simply my mind telling me this from my own subconscious, or it was my mom's message I will probably never know. What I know is that I "feel" it. She was here that night. We had a wonderful visit. I think that she said good bye to me that night, or maybe I said good bye to her. In either case, the dreamlike visit had a peaceful and calming effect.

Copyright Katherine West 2001

Who's Watching America's Children?

Copyright Katherine West 2000-2001

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