BONFIRE STUDIO OF THE VANITIES: SOME THANKS GIVING WISHES FROM THE AUTHOR...

In keeping with Thanksgiving wishes for hope and Thanks.Please allow me to share a brief passage from my book Reversal.
Here, the family is gathering in unity after a tumultuous season of change.The old and the new are brought together under the umbrella of fond memories and meal. A new addition is added to the brood.bringing the magic of hope and change that children are symbolic.
Thank you all for being there., Have a Happy and Healthy Holiday.
ENJOY.

ROCCO

EXCERPT FROM "REVERSAL"

It is Thanksgiving morning, slightly grey and slow-moving; with an ever so slight sliver of sunlight piercing the clouds; just enough to soften the frost on the rectangular city green.

Floats are being assembled for the Thanksgiving Day Parade. Workers are putting the final touches on street decorations. Objects are being hoisted and boards being painted. The Ava car float is near presentation.

Drum and bugle corps are lining the streets. Drummers and horn players assemble in groups. Festivity is in the air; everyone young and old alike are feeling the magic of the change in season.

On the other side of town, outside the train station, by the newsstand, once again, Officer Nate Blakely has his hands full. A man playing his bagpipe refuses to be whisked away.

“Cmon, now. You can’t be blasting that thing here. This is a place of business. You know better”

The man with a Scottish accent answers, “Jeez, officer. A man has got to practice somewhere. I got the parade coming’ up, you know. Give us a break. The folks don’t mind.”

The officer once again admonishes, “For cryin’ out loud. Go to the golf course and see if they’ll have ya.”

Upstairs in Mother’s apartment, Sonia reaches over and pulls down the window to keep out some of the street noise.

Sonia and mother are prepping food and chopping veggies for the Thanksgiving dinner. Sonia rolls out dough for the pastelitos, little fruit turnovers, always the favorite of Sonia and Nicolette around the holidays. The old Cuban songs are playing on the CD player ranging from old drippy Boleros to Miguelito Valdes and Anselmo Sacasas. Mother waxes nostalgic over Sonia, toiling over her chores. Pulling up a chair, she watches her work.

“I knew this song well in my youth, Sonia.”

“Yes! I remember Papa singing this when I was a little girl,” replied Sonia.

Mother reached over to pinch some dough from the loaf.

“A sad truth about memories,” she started,” is that there are only a few things worth remembering. Come here, put that down. I want to show you how to dance to this. No one does this dance anymore. You can be the one to teach it to your niece.”