Tag Archives: heart

La famiglia è la patria del cuore

photo by dreamstime

Last night, I heard an often repeated Italian expression that, because of recent circumstances, means even more to me than it did four days ago. La famiglia è la patria del cuore or your family is the homeland of your heart. 

We, Americans, are familiar with the expression home is where the heart is. Basically, the same sentiment. No matter where we go or how many miles (or emotions) separate us or how long we are away or whether we nag, smile, bicker, or hug, la famiglia è la patria del cuore. Simple. 

I know how lucky I am to be a thread in this handcrafted fabric.  I am grateful beyond words that I have a dad and mom who have always loved me, protected me, wanted the best for me. That I have a brother who, no matter how little time we get to spend alone together, will always be my best friend. That, even when my children and I are apart, their hearts are safe within my heart. La famiglia è la patria del cuore. 

It’s how my ancestors lived, breathed, prayed, loved, ate, drank, slept. It’s the fundamental stitches my grandparents sewed that now entwine my heart with each of my family members’ hearts. La famiglia è la patria del cuore. It’s the sometimes imperfect loops that still include everything and everyone I am tied to. It’s my roots, my core, my center. La famiglia è la patria del cuore.

RED

 

drums pounds
thrums chest
palpitates passion
life’s downbeat
and syncopates
impulsive
       fibrillation        

© Pamela Rossow

 

Love Letter Fest

Friends, welcome to my Valentine’s Event. A “Dear ?” love letter which you have written (whether sweet, sarcastic, or saucy) and will post your links below in the comment section so we all can have grieve, giggle, or gasp!  I will admit. When this idea jumped into my brain, I wasn’t daunted.  HOWEVER, as I sit here about to type my own letter, I’m overwhelmed, a tad bit intimidated, and wondering what on earth I was thinking when I started this.  Those of you who know me well are aware of my stubborn perseverance.  Hence, onward.  Enjoy and happy Valentine’s Day.  Not the commercialized hype but the everyday love we hold in our hearts.


Dear _______,

Many of you have directly or indirectly shaped me into the woman I am today.  I wouldn’t be Pamela without you.  Some of you have taken my heart down spiraling staircases into dank, dark basements where I suffered pain, wrenching hurt, abandonment.

A couple of you have led me through enchanted forests where rainbows arched overhead, the grass was soft, the castle walls had crumbled, and we loved as first loves.

Still others have taught me the foundation of love, how love isn’t based on emotions, how it demands action, requires being able to mouth or write two words (I’m sorry), and mean them.  That anger doesn’t necessarily reflect lack of love, although, at times, it may indicate lack of “like” (or sheer frustration).

Another has shown me that no matter how much I get angry, or question, or cry, or vent, He will remain faithful and, even more amazing, love me despite me.

All of the individuals who do not hesitate to pick up the phone to let me know they care, reach out with a card or letter, laugh with me, scream with me, or who hold me when I cry across the miles in a tight, virtual embrace.

Then there are the up close and personals who cling to me, climb me as if I am a tree, and hold on with little arms tightly clasped around my neck.  There are older ones who reach out when I least expect them to, grab my hands, sit close to me on the sofa, or hug me unexpectedly in passing.

There are those of you who have touched me so deeply that even though we are separated by this seemingly vast expanse of the other world you continue to move me, fill me, motivate me, cheer me on, and you are alive to me in my dreams, my memory, my soul.

There might be a person out there on this planet who could, through honest eyes, stir up flames in me once more.  Who, through sincerity, persistence, humor, character, empathy, gentleness, and time, has the capability to evoke in me passions which have yet to be completely drawn out.  He may exist. . .

In the meantime, I love and am so loved.  For all you, hole fillers, and you, hole makers, I thank-you.  It’s been real, raw, and, at times, raucous.  Even though, some days I harbor a few, wee regrets, I wouldn’t change any of it.  I have learned and will continue to learn.  My heart’s love journey (I hope) has, like my parent’s wedding song, “only just begun.”

All my love,

Pamela 

Flirt

 

 

 

 

 

suggestive with-
out amore casual
advances and
superficial intent
no breach of social
norms mere dallying
with a major
organ

Pamela Rossow

Letter of Marque


You stand gripping your
letter of marque yellowed

waving Congress stamped
close to me too near me.  Your
mahogany eyes telling me you have the
right to take from me what is mine
what was mine. 

Only papers are
needed legitimate piracy you
utter legs planted arms crossed
gaze firm unwavering
close to me too near me.   The
plank shudders.   Diverted eyes I
raise. 

How am I to get back what
you stole from me?  The beating
pulsing piece of me that pumps
crimson through my channels and
life through my waterways?  A split
second your tawny eyes flicker.  Concern or
pity? I cannot tell.   

 Your stance remains
unreadable.  Emboldened I ask once
more.  The plank bounces.  How am I to
get back what you stole from me?  You stand
close to me too near me.  You
stare silently into my
sunglow eyes.  

 ~Pamela