Posts about both sides of my family
Yesterday I visited one of my friend, Luci Callipari-Marcuzzo’s live art performances at the Museo Italiano Language and Cultural Centre in Carlton. For three days Luci has sat at a small table in the entrance to the Museo, dressed in a similar fashion to her ancestors, embroidering much like her
I’m nearing the end. After three years and ten months of writing and researching, I can almost say I’m finished with the memoir I began after the death of my father. I’m still rewriting and tweaking and cutting and pasting and editing, but it is nearly there. Every ending is
Every family celebrates special days in various ways and Mother’s Day is no different. Some families gather in cafés for breakfast or brunch. They might meet in restaurants or pubs for lunch or dinner. Other families get together in their mother’s home, or they might bring their mother into their
I have already written about books and how they have always been a major part of my life. My parents loved books. My maternal grandparents, the only grandparents I knew, loved books. My grandmother wrote a book on her life, which was published, and many short stories which were not.
Objects do not themselves hold memories however, they can certainly be triggers for remembering moments in time. Books are objects which not only hold memories of their stories, but also of where and when they were read. I found this particularly true when clearing out my father’s house after his
When you are presented with the residue of death, the material remnants of someone who was close to you either by blood or affection; the sorting through and cleaning up process isn’t as glamorous as it is often made out to be. Sure, it is always possible to find long