![I just wanna be a[n old fat horny Italian] witch](https://img10.xaiju.com/storage/1/lk/iv/d38796-019e8dfc-0bf4-7163-8236-79f189ab66ce.jpg)
I just wanna be a[n old fat horny Italian] witch
Added 2024-04-01 04:38:31 +0000 UTCD'nate was a witch.
She showed up to our homes from the mythical, far-off land of St. Louis. Her suitcases were leaden with apparatus. Pasta making machinations. Like someone gathered body parts and weaponry from the bloodied battleground of clockwork constructs and bagged them up to be buried with their inventors [yea I fuck with alliteration].
D'nate gave you a couple days notice - sometimes a week before she showed up at the door. She got up at 4am. She wasn't used to sleeping since she had to tend to her husband's iron lung as it rattled and raged through the night doing everything in it's power to sustain the life of a man who smoked his lungs dry like a sandy balloon you find near the garbage can at the beach. But Joe had been dead for a while now.
Her neighbors woke up to fresh pasta on their doorsteps. Cakes. Cookies. When they walked out to get the paper there was a basket full of cannoli. She still had a milk man and she made sure he never went hungry.
Her house was a fucking mess. She didn't believe in photo albums because why close your favorite memories up and stuff them in a drawer. Pictures littered every shelf. Every surface that wasn't in the kitchen. There was so much shit. Cheap tchotchkes from every junk shop in St. Louis. Signs of her life when she wandered with the caravans were on the walls. One visit I picked up a photo of a little girl who was about 3 years old. D'nate saw which picture I had grabbed and snapped "She's cute but she's a little bitch!" and then offered me a full sized candy bar right before dinner.
I was in Canada on the Boundary Waters with my boy scout troupe [had to unlearn a lot of awful shit I picked up at that organization] when we were having a fire - as scouts are wont to do. I was telling stories about D'nate at an uncontrollable rate. Stories of her singing Louie Prima as the old folks talent show. Stories about how we'd run under the table when she arrived for fear of our cheeks being ripped the fuck off from her pinching us. Stories about how she loved the song "Lasagna" [the Weird Al take of "La Bamba"] and wanted a recording of me lip syncing to it because she cackled like Baba Yaga when she saw it. I told myself I would make that recording for her the first day I got back.
Turns out she died on the night I was suddenly compelled to tell all those stories. I missed the funeral. I missed everything.
I would not derive nearly as much joy from my life as I currently do had I not met D'nate. I don't believe in [much]. But I do believe in witches.
[Don't wait to record]
Comments
Thanks for this life lesson & the reminder, doc. I finished Women in Clothes tonight, and it got me thinking of my mom. I was scrolling through old pictures of her and got some inspiration. I recorded a song for her tonight, something I've never done for anyone. It was nothing special, just a lullaby she used to sing to me, done a cappella from my phone. Terrible quality, but none of that matters. She'll light up the moment she sees it tomorrow morning. đ Thank you for that gift. Truly.
Lina
2024-04-23 09:27:23 +0000 UTC"Are these the buns that launched a thousand planes?" Great story - she sounds wonderful and I'm a bit sad I never flirted with her at a bar
Ray Purchase
2024-04-02 04:26:24 +0000 UTCDânate sounds like one helluva woman. I wish I had a cool anecdote to add, but my Grandma (only raised with one, my other had passed long before I was born) was such an amazing woman. I get my tenacity and stubbornness from her. She didnât put up with anyoneâs shit.
Analise
2024-04-02 01:38:45 +0000 UTCSounds like your D'nate and my Nani Ilia could have been friends... Or mortal enemies... Maybe romantic rivals. Coming from the conservative mountains of Torino to the wilds of New Orleans, she lived with her heart (and according to her second husband her back door đ) wide open. Family legend says her silhouette was painted on fighter planes because she had a đworth going to war for. She could sling pasta and insults with deadly precision. She used her special brand of old world magic to bless the beautiful with unimaginable Mardi Gras gowns, curse the wicked with bouts of the va-vites during important events, and heal the sick (read: hungover). The D'nates and llias of the past made the world a richer, zestier place and here's hoping their memory helps keep that magic alive.
Ravenelle
2024-04-01 19:07:57 +0000 UTCThank you for sharing this story, Doc. Reminds me of the great grandparents/great aunts and great uncles who I ran from when they came in for a very hard cheek pinch or a too-tight hug. All long gone now, I wish I had hugged some of them a little more. đ
bkrubies
2024-04-01 17:31:07 +0000 UTCAmazing story as always, I love hearing about our older generations. They bring so much wisdom and attitude. It inspires me to push through the hard times because it can only get better right? My gram was a force to be reckoned with and I miss her everyday. I miss the music she created and her loving hugs but so, so thankful I got to experience her for as long as I was able to.
Jeanna
2024-04-01 17:16:53 +0000 UTCđ©· đ©·đ©· {LOVE this so much}
IndyMndy
2024-04-01 16:17:46 +0000 UTCđ„ș. Many hugs. I often feel so bereft because I lost my mom at 28, but stories like yours make me realize how lucky I had it. You indeed have had a great deal of loss, but you reflect a strong spiritâŠone thatâs probably an echo of your grandmaâs. đ
Bama Angi
2024-04-01 16:13:19 +0000 UTCâVeneration is an essential aspect of the craft.â BEAUTIFULLY said.
Moira
2024-04-01 16:02:39 +0000 UTCHave I mentioned that I love it there? Because I do. Not only because of your intoxicating voice and stories but how you are able to make us all feel safe to be vulnerable to share our own. Which I hope is ok, too, bc youâre all going to get one from me in a second đ. Iâm in awe that I get to be in the presence of so many enchanting (and every positive adjective) souls. I was exposed to loss at an early age with my mom being the first to pass on. My grandparents planned on raising me but my grandpa passed almost two years later to join my mom. So it was just me and grandma. My very Polish strong willed sturdy grandma. It had to be so rough for her dealing with immense grief while raising a girl about to hit puberty. And it was. Once those hormones took over I was a bratty mess. My ass broke so many of her wooden spoons. She would always exclaim, âthatâs the ballgame!â when she was done with an argument. She was very protective of me and I realize now it was all out of love. It took a lot of convincing and persuasion from my friends and even their parents to let me be a kid and go out in the world and have some harmless fun. She made it 93 years. And here I was thinking I was going to rob her of years bc of all the stress I gave her. đ I was at work when my aunt called to say grandma isnât doing so good. I finished up a few tasks then headed over to the senior rehab she was in. I got to her room and she was lying down on the with her eyes closed. I knew this wasnât the kind of sleeping you wake up from. I was too late. I held her cooling hand for a long time before I had to make those hard calls to family. So in the end it was just me and my grandma. Like itâs always been.
Cosmic Remnants
2024-04-01 15:30:01 +0000 UTCI want to be Dânate when I grow up. She sounds like a legend. P.s. the witches believe in you, too! [this one does, anyway]
Moira
2024-04-01 15:11:03 +0000 UTCOh, Iâm feeling this. It was (is) always calming to sit at their feet and steward in the garden. Veneration is an essential aspect of the craft. Living between worlds comes with its eccentricities⊠View your aversion with curiosity. it always fascinates me when [no matter what] the unmet shadowy parts of a being attempt to tame the rawness of the feminine. Like a shudder of repulsion or [shame] when the very nature of the feminine is what brought you here. Itâs why you kneel in reverence [and respond to devotion] it knocks on the door of your innermost self. Iâm present during the day, I give all my attention to what is in the light. Come night. When the darkness creeps in. I tend to whatâs hidden. dormant. Untamed. This is where I find myself. At the height of sensation. Where the levity of light descends into the depths of darkness as they mingle and merge becoming whole. Portals fascinate me. (Usually around 3am) *awkwardly looks around at tchotchkes*
Ria
2024-04-01 14:47:20 +0000 UTCI don't know how to put my thoughts into words. Some people are concentrated magic. Like the universe made a mistake. Was over-generous. So when they are reclaimed - their body and their magic - by the earth, it gets dispersed, I think. Into the little things that feel magical. When the sunbeam comes in at just the right angle to make your sleeping cat look holy. Or when a little kid who barely knows you, decides that you are their person and only wants to play with you. Or when get a cannoli and it tastes exactly like your childhood. I am so grateful magic gets recycled.
Carrie
2024-04-01 14:41:10 +0000 UTCI love Tomie dePaola! I had a college professor who was very enthusiastic about him and I am so grateful that she introduced me to his work. I used to read his books to my kids all the time.
IndyMndy
2024-04-01 14:13:52 +0000 UTCItâs safe to say that witches believe in you, too. Have you ever read the Strega Nona books by Tomie dePaola? Theyâre childrenâs books (that I used to subversively read to my nephew & niece) and all about an Italian witch with a magic pasta pot.
V
2024-04-01 13:01:37 +0000 UTC
