Francine Paino a.k.a. F. Della Notte

I sat with my cup of café e latte and looked around. The paper with the picture on the kitchen table intrigued me. No, I thought. Gotta clean this place first. I chugged my cup of coffee, grabbed my cleaning supplies, and began. While I twisted and turned, scrubbing granite countertops to a gleam, something whizzed past my eye – a cup of espresso splashed its contents into the air, and then all of it dissolved into nothingness.

My heart sank. Persistence had arrived. No passive muse, this one. She was furious. She’d been prodding me for days to try my hand at baking a gluten-free King Cake. Lent was approaching, and with that came Fat Tuesday. One of the charming Southern traditions is the King Cake, but I’d completely blocked out Persistence. 

Again, I refused to budge. “I will finish cleaning this kitchen. I can’t work in a messy environment.” I set the King Cake recipe on the counter, hoping that would mollify her, and moved on to preparing the guest room for my grandson’s weekend stay. Then, I cleaned the bathrooms while Persistence harassed me. 

She followed me from room to room, perching on any surface that caught her fancy, reminding me how much she had held back during the trying times of dealing with my mother’s passing, arranging her burial in New York, and taking care of my husband during his major back surgery. But now, things were settling down, and she refused to be silent any longer.

Times up. Hubby is recovering, and you are disgraceful. Wretched imposter, how can you put the elimination of dust bunnies before writing?

“Oh, shut up!” I whispered, not wanting to wake my husband with my side of a conversation with . . . .?

Persistence wasn’t having any of it. Have some backbone. Stop whispering. If he wakes up, you can always say you were talking to Miss Millie.

I laughed despite my annoyance. “Touché,” I answered. After all, Miss Millie is the smartest feline creature we’d ever adopted. Sometimes, her expressions are so human-like that it’s uncanny. But I digress.

“Have another espresso, and chill out,” I grumbled. 

I’m tired of waiting; Persistence shot back. And so the conversation, or the argument, went on for another hour. In the lotus position, Persistence sat on the bathroom counter, sipped her coffee, stared at me through the mirror, and then pointed to something on the sink.

You missed that.

I looked down. Sure enough, I’d missed a spot. “I thought you wanted to stop cleaning and get into the kitchen to bake that cake,” I muttered.

The sooner you finish your obsession with domestic tasks, the sooner you can be creative. Now hurry up.

Jump ahead an hour. House chores done, I gathered all the ingredients for the King Cake. Following the directions carefully but substituting gluten-free flour for all-purpose wheat flour, I mixed, stirred, folded, and kneaded everything into a dough, covered it, and allowed it to rise – as best as gluten-free can. While I waited, I scribbled the first part of this essay, which made Persistence happy.

About time. I heard her snarky tone.  

An hour later, I rolled the dough into a 16 x 20 sheet. Trust me, if you haven’t done it, rolling gluten-free dough is a challenge. I then spread the cinnamon, sugar, almonds, and raisins over the surface and rolled it into a long loaf. (the recipe says to make it into a ring – gluten-free dough isn’t as malleable, so I didn’t try that). Into the oven, it went.

While it baked, I stuck out my tongue at Persistence and cleaned up my baking mess. “And don’t you dare throw another cup,” I warned while Miss Millie sat at my feet, staring up at me. If she could use words, I’m sure she’d have asked, Who are you talking to? 

Forty-five minutes later, I pulled my creation out of the oven. The top was a beautiful golden brown. Once it cooled, I sprinkled the Mardi Gras sugars colored gold (yellow), purple, and green over the top and cut a slice to taste. As my late mother-in-law used to say, “If the ingredients are good, it’s bound to taste good.” And it did, but the texture was too dense.

You see, said Persistence, sitting crossed leg on the countertop with another cup of espresso in her hand. Instead of cleaning, you should have spent more time assessing the necessary changes to accommodate gluten-free flour.

“Listen, Madame Know-it-all, some recipes do not adapt well to gluten-free flour. This is one of them. Eventually, I’ll try again, but this year, I’ll make Anginetti Cookies (Lemon Drops), sprinkle them with the colored sugars, and call them Francesca’s Mardi Gras cookies.”

Persistence smiled for the first time. Nice to see you using your right brain again. I’m sure they’ll be delicious. See ya soon, she said and disappeared.

“And next time, drink decaf espresso. You’re too high-strung for Caffeine.”  

The tinkle of her laughter echoed through the house, with her words,  Laissez les bon temps rouler.

***

Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday open book one in the Housekeeper Mystery Series, I’m Going to Kill that Cat. Lent arrives at St. Francis de Sales Church, and so does a new housekeeper and murder. Before we delve into the crime, we meet two people of deep faith who do not hide from the realities and the dark side of life.

Father Melvyn Kronkey is a devoted priest with a sharp intellect but a bit stuffy and standoffish. That changes with the arrival of Mrs. B., a widow of unwavering faith, a fiery temperament, and a talent for cooking, organization, and problem-solving. 

She is outgoing and cares about people to the point of being nosy. Her expansive personality even makes cats respond and trust her—a lesson that Father Melvyn learns in dramatic fashion. 

While these two opposites learn to work together, a missing cat drags them into an old feud, which unravels a potential scandal.  Can murder be far behind?

FRANCINE PAINO

A.K.A. F. DELLA NOTTE

So this is Christmas – And what have you done? 

So begins the first verse of John Lennon’s 1971 hit song. His good wishes toward wo/mankind had a political message wrapped in the lines. But politics aside, it was and still is a good message. But the question, What have you done? requires some thought. What have you done to keep the Christmas spirit alive throughout the year? What have you done for your fellow man? For your family? For your neighbor? Hard self-examination is required. Before tackling what we have done throughout the year to keep the spirit of Christmas, let’s dive into how we keep the spirit of Christmas fresh each December.

In the not-so-distant past, the commercial hype, converting the spirit of giving to the spirit of buying, began after Thanksgiving. Now, it fills the airwaves with meaningless noise throughout the year and begins a concentrated assault by mid-October. By December 25, the message is stale and lost if one is not careful about blocking out the frenzied for-profit communications, images, and messages that have little or nothing to do with Christmas. You might ask, how do you do that? There are many ways. It just takes a little effort and prioritizing. Here are a few. 

First, before Thanksgiving, never watch movies or TV programs with Christmas themes, and do not indulge in “Christmas” centered shopping, decorating, sending cards, or partying. Does that put more pressure on stuffing everything into the four short weeks of Advent (the time of awaiting the special arrival?) Yes. And that helps prioritize what’s really important. 

Then, here are uplifting classic books, movies, and performing arts that address the questions of what you have done or can do.

In books, there are hundreds of Christmas stories. My favorite is  Entitled Christmas Classics. Twelve stories of Christmas, including The Gift of the Magi by O’Henry and The Little Match Girl by Hans Christian Andersen. 

And who can get through December without watching A Christmas Carol? The Charles Dickens classic story of an unhappy, mean-spirited old gentleman who is taught the real meaning of Christmas and caring for his fellow man was well-received in 1844. It inspired an early theatrical production by C.Z. Barnett at the Surrey Theatre on February 5 of the same year, a few weeks after the first publication of the novella. There are at least 16 movie adaptations, and the list of movies and shows is too long to include, but a short trip to Wikipedia will provide it. My favorites are the 1938 and 1984 versions – (1984 stars George C. Scott.)

Then there are the live performing arts. In Austin, the Austin Symphony Orchestra and Chorus Austin perform Handel’s Messiah every year. The score and excellent musicianship lift the soul. The annual Nutcracker ballet, as much part of the Christmas season as lights and fir trees, is performed by almost every dance company and ballet school in every U.S. city. Ballet Austin’s production runs yearly for most of December. It is accompanied by the Austin Symphony Orchestra. 

At this point, you may think, well, not everyone can afford these things, and you’d be right. Books can be reserved at public libraries for those who cannot afford them. 

Theater tickets and live concerts can be pricey, it’s true. But many of the movies on TV are free, as are concerts and ballets on public TV stations.

For those who would love to see the Nutcracker ballet but cannot get to a theater, one of the best-recorded performances before a live audience is the 2012 Maryinski Ballet and Orchestra under the artistic direction of Valery Gergiev. It can be rented for far less than the cost of a theater seat, and to create the theater atmosphere, put on something nice but comfortable. Don’t watch in pajamas or an old housedress. Turn off all the lights and let the screen be the only focus. Have a cup of tea or coffee with a sweet treat – or a glass of wine and get into the mood. 

Most of these stories, concerts, and ballets are appropriate and recommended for the young, but if something lighter is desired, there are hundreds of adaptations of the classic in TV shows and movies, for children. On the lighter side, Entertainment Weekly published The 30 Best Christmas Movies for Children, by Danny Horn, November 16, 2023, which included Home Alone, Elf, and Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. 

For a more modern take on an old story, Disney’s 2018 reimagining of the Nutcracker, with Pyotr Tchaikovsky’s music, is brilliant. The effects are magical, the storyline is unique, touching, and beautiful, and the outcomes for the Nutcracker characters are unexpected. It’s a story for all ages, and as soon as I’m done with this blog, I shall pour a cup of hot coffee and enjoy it again. 

There are abundant enriching and inspiring events, shows, and messages to refresh our hearts during Christmas. And it may help keep the spirit alive and generous throughout the year. 

      Again, in the words of John Lennon: And so this is Christmas. Hope you have fun. The old and the young ones- The near and the dear – For the rich and the poor ones, black, white, and yellow, A very merry Christmas And a happy New Year – And let’s hope it’s a good one – Without any fear.

It’s time…for ghosts, goblins, witches, warlocks, and, of course, the dead. It’s Halloween. But what was it about in ancient times, and where did it begin?

The customs of Halloween can be traced back to the Druid priests of the Celtics. It was the second most significant holiday of their year. The first was Beltane – the growing season celebrated from April 30– May 1. The second, October 31, was Samhain when the crops were reaped. It was believed that by harvesting all the crops by October 31, there would be no damage to them by ‘evil or mischievous spirits’ who’d return on the first evening of the dark half of the year. 

Druid rituals, deeply ingrained in the Celtic belief system, consisted of lighting huge bonfires, animal sacrifice, and burnt offerings of foods. The priests disguised themselves with animal masks to confuse the spirits.

When Christian missionaries set out to convert England, Pope Gregory, the head of the Church from 590 to 604 A.D., advised them not to force the conversion to end their culture but to incorporate as much of it as possible. It wasn’t a far stretch to succeed since saints in Christianity were credited with miraculous events that were supernatural in nature. Thus, the name Samhain, on October 31, morphed into All Hallows Eve – the night before the saints were revered. 

All Hallows Eve, over time, became Halloween, and the old beliefs did not completely disappear. The concept of spirits returning survived, and Christianized customs grew out of the old ways, with each country developing its own practices.    

In France, Halloween holds little attraction or fanfare. It is considered a very American tradition, and the French are never anxious to adopt American ways. Halloween in France is overshadowed by All Saints Day, on November 1, a national public holiday. The French attend specific religious services and visit cemeteries to lay flowers on deceased relatives’ graves.

The same may be said for the Netherlands. They, too, consider Halloween an American and commercial endeavor rather than a cultural institution. On November 11, the Dutch observe Sint-Marten, a children’s feast that resembles the American celebration of Halloween and is more widely practiced.

In Asia, Halloween has become popular. Hong Kong, the American festival has caught on, and in Japan, where it was first celebrated at the 2000 Tokyo Disneyland, it has taken on a life of its own. 

In Haiti, Fet Gede, or the Festival of the Dead, has an entirely different cultural backdrop. On November 1, All Saints, and on November 2, All Souls, those who practice Voodoo, the Vodouisants, pay their respects to Baron Samedi, the father of deceased spirits. Vodouisants dance in the streets, commune with the dead, and walk through graveyards, leaving food for their ancestors from their own tables. It more resembles Mardi Gras than Halloween.

In Italy, La Festa di Ognissanti (the feast of All Saints) or Hallowmas – short for All Hallows Mass, on November 1, is celebrated by spending time with family. On all Souls, Italians leave chrysanthemums on loved ones’ graves and bake cookies called fave dei morti. They are made with almond, butter, and flour and represent the beans of the dead, a tradition that has survived from ancient Roman times, when beans were used in funerary rites. 

Perhaps my favorite Halloween ritual is from Mexico: Dia de Los Muertos – the Day of the Dead. Mexicans wear bright makeup and dazzling costumes to parade, sing, and dance. A unique aspect of Dia de Los Muertos is the building of altars in tribute to deceased ancestors. Upon these altars are sugar skull-shaped confections and bottles of tequila, along with flowers and pictures of the dead. These offerings are believed to attract the spirits and reunite them with their living families. Other traditions include gathering at the cemeteries dressed in eye-catching costumes with colorful floral decorations, including symbolic marigolds. There, they enjoy traditional foods like pan de muerto (bread of the dead) and Calaveras (sugar skulls). From Mexico, we come to the United States, where all of our American Halloween traditions evolved from other countries.

Carved Jack-o-Lanterns began with a legend about a man named Stingy Jack who trapped the Devil and only let him go on condition that Jack would never go to Hell. When Jack died, Heaven didn’t want him, so he wandered the earth as a ghost for eternity, with a burning lump of coal in a carved-out turnip (now a pumpkin) to light his way. Eventually, people began carving frightening faces on their pumpkins to scare away evil spirits.

The custom of wearing creepy costumes began with Samhain. The Celts believed that in costume, they would be mistaken for ghosts and left alone by actual spirits. And then, there is Trick-or-Treat. 

One theory is that during the Middle Ages, on All Souls Day, children and some adults collected food and money from neighbors in return for their prayers for the dead. Eventually, that was replaced with non-religious practices, including songs, jokes, and other tricks if the treat wasn’t forthcoming. The ritual of door-to-door seeking handouts has long been part of Halloween, but we are long past the days of giving fruits, nuts, coins, and toys. We now are every dentist’s dream, devouring $3 billion-plus dollars of candy.

Bobbing for Apples is not as American as Apple Pie. It stems back to a courtship ritual of the Roman festival honoring Pomona, the goddess of agriculture and abundance. Young men and women could “predict their future relationships based on the game. When the Romans conquered the British Isles in 43 A.D,” the Pomona festival melded with Samhain. 

No discussion would be complete without Pranking. Playing pranks varied by region, but the pre-Halloween tradition known as “Devil’s Night” included good-natured mischief. When Irish and Scottish immigrants came to the U.S., they brought the practice of celebrating Mischief Night as part of Halloween.

Igniting huge bonfires also began with the Druids, and over time, believed to light the way for souls seeking the afterlife. Bonfires are no longer common, at least not in big cities. In today’s world, souls need good eyesight because the most they get is candlelight.

  So, my witches, warlocks, ghosts, goblins, and mischief makers, you now have some customs, traditions, and history. Enjoy it with the candy and treats. 

Happy Halloween! Francine Paino  a.k.a. F. Della Notte

By

Francine Paino, aka F. Della Notte

Mundane worlds can become amazing when writers are plunged into them. Looking through old family photographs, I came upon a picture of a handsome young man whose start in this country could have been better. He worked as a pin-boy in a New York City Bowery bowling alley a hundred years ago. My story, The Runaway Pin Boy, was inspired by this long-deceased uncle’s difficult adjustment to a new country and culture.

 Francesco Libretti was born in Sassano, Italy, in 1910, emigrated to the U.S. in 1921, and by age 14, he began his short-lived career as a runaway who found work as a pin-boy in a Bowery bowling alley, but here, the similarity stops. 

But where did it begin, what was it like back then? How were the mechanics of setting up pins handled?  

Bowling. A sport that feels as American as Apple Pie is not an American invention. It’s traced back to ancient Egypt, 5200 years ago, in articles found in the tomb of an Egyptian child. Described in its primitive form, nine pieces of stones were set up, and a rounded stone “ball” was rolled to first make its way through an archway made of three pieces of marble. The sport spread from its Egyptian roots into Western Europe, and was brought to the U.S. by the first English and Dutch settlers. It gained popularity through the mid-1800s, played by men only, as it was not the clean family sport we enjoy today. Thus, it faltered when the do-gooders associated it with gambling. Any yet, by 1850, there were four-hundred plus bowling alleys in New York, earning the city the title “Bowling Capital of North America.”

The sport revived in the late 19th century and remained popular during the Great Depression, at least for those with a disposable income. Bowling was a game for  roughnecks and the wealthiest who could afford to build their own private lanes. For the common man the game took place in honky-tonk bars where lanes were built to increase income, with or without alcohol,  and by 1939, there were 4,600 bowling alleys across the U.S. 

Until 1952, when the automatic pin-setters were introduced, picking up and resetting the pins fell to pin boys, often called pin monkeys. They stood at the end of the lanes, perched on narrow ledges or standing up in trenches, waiting for the heavy balls to fly down and slam the heavy wood pins. The pin boys then scrambled to each lane, reset the pins, and gave the heavy ball a hard enough push to get back to the bowler but not hard enough to roll off the track and upset the player in any way. And if he did, there were consequences.

Pin boys were kids, mostly teens, and despite their young years, they were tough characters,  paid meager wages and often taken from the Skid Rows of cities, including New York City’s Bowery. It was hard labor and resulted in frequent injuries, including  broken ribs, severely bruised chins, arms, hands, and smashed fingers, especially when the bowler threw the ball extra hard and fast, just to see if they could make the pins fly.

In the 1830s, the Knickerbocker Hotel in New York City opened three lanes, using clay instead of wood, but no matter the surface, the pin monkeys were at the end of every alley, hoping they wouldn’t be too injured to work again the next day or night. 

Although Child Labor Laws were codified in New York in 1913, these youngsters slipped through the net by lying about their age or being hired by unscrupulous owners. The lives of the pin boys in those early years of the sport were not enviable, but many were willing to endure physical and psychological pain in order to eat.

In The Runaway Pin Boy, the year is 1925, In the Lower East Side ghetto of New York City, known today as Little Italy.  Frankie Martone’s mother dies of consumption, and his alcoholic and destitute father abandons him. After witnessing what happens to other immigrant children without families, Frankie flees the authorities, deciding to fend for himself in the anonymity of Skid Row. He learns to beg, borrow, or steal. One night, while he rummages through a trash pail outside the Pin King bar,  a formidable man stinking with sweat and cigar smoke grabs him by the collar. 

“Whatcha doin’ there, boyo?” asks the barrel-chested man with a grizzly turned-up mustache.  Frankie didn’t answer, afraid his thick Italian accent would get him kicked down the street.

“You’re a straggly lookin’ thing, but I need another boy inside. Let’s see what you can do. “He flings Frankie through the door to the bar. “Hey Joe,” he yelled in his Irish brogue. “Broughtcha another.”

Turning to Frankie, he thrusts him forward and points to the trench behind the bowling lanes. Frankie sees a ledge of boys sitting and three more in the trenches. The thunder of balls rolling down the alleys, pins flying and falling, and drunks yelling was deafening, but Frankie understood what needed to be done, and jumped right in.   That was the first night of Frankie’s life as an overworked, underpaid, often injured pin boy determined to get out of this nowhere life on the fringes of Skid Row.