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Laurane

Canadian Loonie
still doing genealogy teaching I see.......priorities, well maybe!! We're still here waiting with bated breath.
 

Lake Lili

Veteran Member
Thanks everyone!

I have 5 genealogy classes a week I am teaching right now, plus I am manning the Family History Centre one evening a week. The FHC director has stepped back and so I am now running the show and its a quick learning curve. If any of you have run Family History Centres in the past, I'd appreciate hearing from you.

So on with the story...


*****

The dulevo, Fillipo Cabibi and his brother Carlo (both originally from Sicily), were out sweeping the piazza with traditional twig brooms*… when I went out to check my garden in the morning… I stopped and asked where they had found them because they would be perfect for the back courtyard.

“We make,” was the firm reply.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“We wrap the twigs around the broom handle like a skirt,” Carlo said as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “Then we use old wire coat hangers to band them.”

“Thank you for taking care of our piazza,” I said with gratitude.

‘Ah… well… this is our home too,” said Fillipo.

It made me think of the poet Joseph Amato’s poem “Venice Asleep”** in which he wrote:

In the early morning,
With fog and dark still in control,
and choruses of pigeons huddling and cooing
In every lane and way
Sweepers,
Morning’s first soloists,
Appear.
With stiff twig brooms.
They snare against hard, certain, stones.
Sweeping away night’s songs,
Which still sulkingly linger…

I turned into the piazza. It was hard to believe that it was the last week in August, the Tuesday before Labour Day and we had got so much accomplished, but time was running short. I let Zeb run around while I got an espresso from Mrs. Orlandini, who had her machine up and running.

At some point overnight, some very clever people had been very hard at work. It looked like a restaurant had been stripped out. Card tables and kitchen tables had given way to a proper bar. There was a long counter behind it and there was running water. There were electrical lines coming down the side wall from the roof. Now if there is one thing I have learned in my time living here, it is that there are times you don’t make too many inquiries. People around here all have hundreds of relatives and are inter-related to a surprising degree. If they can wave a wand and make a café appear then accept the blessing.

Seeing that the new electrical lines had caught my attention, Mrs Orlandini said:

“Mr. Adamo, you know the one who plays the organetto, is an elettricista. He and his cugino, Niccolo, they put solar panels on the roof for the bar. They also hear that Mr. Eric, he have to carry water up, so they get the building hooked up to solar panels so the pump will work if the city power no work.”

She handed me a biscotti for Zeb to gnaw on.

Mrs Moretti smiled. “They also put panels on the butcher shop so they can keep the meat cold in the big walk-in frigorifero.”

“That must be a big relief to him and how lucky for the rest of us,” I said.

I looked around as people gradually were emerging from the building and Mrs. Orlandini was doing a brisk trade. The Italian men tossed back their espressos standing at the bar or one of the central tables. The Anglo men and women sat at the tables with their newspapers. I heard some banging back behind me and looked back up to the balcony behind me.

Mr. Vincenzo was hammering spikes into the brick work of the building to secure a large metal sign that advertised his shoe repair business. The sound reverberated. The large enamel boot was testament to his trade. He had had a store in the downtown core for years but it looked like he had closed up shop and taken over one of the bachelors as his store front. Zeb and I went up the fire escape stairs to take a look. His store had a wall of wooden lasts each with a name carved into the sole. The store already smelled of tanned hides, which were piled in the corner next to the kegs of nails, and shoe polish. On the shelves were all manner of boots, dress shoes, ladies fancy heels and the oxfords worn by the children at Holy Rosary School. In the doorway was the cobbler's bench. Mr. Vincenzo wore a large brown smock apron and had a soft smile for Zeb.

Next to him the open doors of the other three bachelors indicated that other businesses were also being set-up.

Mr. Polenghi was installing book shelves. He had had a bookstore down on College Street selling old favourites and new releases mostly in Italian. He also sold beautiful stationary – diaries and writing paper, the type on thick creamy paper stamped with your initials that he put on using a monogram press that sat in the corner. Quietly on the side he also did a brisk business in writing and reading letters. Many of the older generation were not literate in English, while the younger generation was not literate in Italian… no one wanted to admit it, so he spent a lot of time reading and writing correspondence, filling in forms and ensuring that people did not miss out on something important or get taken through linguistic ignorance.

Mrs. Agata Marcucci and her daughter Serafina were putting linens on shelves in the third stores. Bolts of cloth stood in one corner. Thread and skeens of embroidery silks filled baskets, while drawers had been filled with knitting needles, crochet hooks and paper folders full of sewing needles. The back wall was filled with beautifully coloured balls of yarn. At one side was a very old floor loom and behind it a spinning wheel. Hung from the 14-ft ceiling was a queen-sized quilting frame, ready to be lowered for group work.

Mrs. Marcucci had trained in weaving at the Giuditta Brozzetti hand weaving workshop*** in Città di Castello in Umbria. She made the most gorgeous dish towels – the type that Italians buy and use every day and Anglos buy as wedding presents that are then tucked away as they are “too good” to be used. While weaving was her mother’s love, Serafina loved the process of spinning and dying and most of the balls of wool were from her careful work. Serafina’s eight year old daughter, Francesca, was learning from her grandmother and worked diligently on a table loom

It was interesting to see how carefully Mrs. Marcucci had not crossed over into Mr. & Mrs. Sarto’s dress making and tailoring business. This store was strictly to sell household linens not clothing. The fourth store was as yet unoccupied but with the way tenants were coming in Eric would soon have a full house.

As we looked down from the balcony, I could see that our brickies, Paolo Balducci and his brother Giacomo, had begun to layout the brickwork for the wood fired ovens. One the bar side it would work for pizzas and pastries. On the other side, for the tenants, it would bake bread. Of course, the Balduccis got plenty of advice from everyone around. There were lots of laughs and good natured insults going around, interspersed with coffee and pastries. I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost 7am. The day was underway, time to get a game plan in action.

* http://www.baroquesicily.com/2010/07/sweeping-weeping-in-sicily/
** http://www.josephaamato.com/poetry.html
*** http://www.bellaumbria.net/en/art-and-culture/giuditta-brozzetti-hand-weaving-museum-atelier/
 
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Lake Lili

Veteran Member
Sally & Gerry Sampson had run the Train Station Cafe over on Foxbar Road in Cooperstown for five years but they had struggled because they had not really made much of an effort to serve their neighbourhood and did not speaking Italian. They had never got involved in community events, never sponsored a team or contributed to a fundraiser. They wanted to be magazine cool… stylish… chrome, and mirrors, and grey leather… all sparkle, twinkle and nouvelle cuisine. I had stopped in occasionally over the summer for a light lunch because it was cool (temperature wise at least) on their verandah under the trees and quiet (except when the trains went through), but even I had noted that most of their clients had come from outside the neighbourhood… the starched stiff FOOFs* and WASPs* who had thought themselves brave and adventurous to come north of Hwy 301. The Sampsons were nice yuppies who had never really understood why things hadn’t worked out… on paper it had looked so good. They had emailed me this morning and told me that they were putting their restaurant on the market. Since I was taking Zeb to the daycare that morning, I had said I would stop by.

They told me their long saga of spiraling economic woe – over extended on their restaurant, on their penthouse condo, their cottage, their two cars, their club memberships... they were hemorrhaging cash and sinking so fast they didn’t even know where to turn. Everything was on the market in an attempt to stave off the bank that had loaned them way too much to begin with. Yet even with all of that, the attitude that had got them there was still firmly on display.

“Did you talk with Father Andrea at Holy Rosary?” I asked. “He usually knows is wanting to buy what.”

Gerry had sniffed and asked: “Charlie, I would never talk to one of those. Don’t you know what Catholic priests really are?”

Hoping that it was a rhetorical question, I ignored his ignorance but he persisted, so finally I said:

“Yes Gerry I do know what priests are. They are men with a vocation for serving God. Some are good, some are bad, some are wolves in sheeps clothing and some are absolute martyrs. The ones at Holy Rosary tend to fall into the good to martyr category. The Sisters who teach at the school and who run the daycare are very nice, even if they do think it is Pre-Vatican II and wear full habits.”

I then side stepped the whole thing by asking which real estate agency they had gone with.

“Oh we went with Ashlar Urban Realty” gushed Sally. “We are so lucky to be one of their clients.”

“Hmmm… I’ve never seen their signs outside of the downtown core,” I said. “Do they have a rep living up here who knows the area?”

“Oh Charlie,” laughed Sally. “They can handle it. They have all the best listings in all the best magazines.”

“I thought that the Re/Max Hallmark office over on Weldrick handled most of the commercial real estate around here?” I asked. “I know that their office has staff that speaks more than fifteen languages, which is kind of necessary around here.”

“Well we did speak with them but they said that we’d only get about $650,000 for it and we paid $550,000 five years ago. We expect to see a profit on our investment. They told us that the market had shifted and that… well they said a whole lot of things, including that we could not be listed as a highly profitable venture, and we were very offended,” sniffed Sally. “Ashlar Urban said that if we had been downtown they could have got us at least $850, 000 and possibly even $900,000 if we could get a bidding war going.”

I could only shake my head. Ashlar is a pretty reputable firm so they probably quoted them something around the Re/Max quote but presented it in a slick and glossy way. However Sally & Gerry’s brains had probably stopped listening at the $850,000 to $900,000 price. Talk about blind… but then again there was so much blindness to what was going on around them.

“Anyways… we are closing up now. September is always a big drop off month for us as people focus more on their children than the meals out they deserve. And now that the City has closed off access to the highway and is making this a gated community…” started Gerry.

“What a horrible idea those both were. You know I never understand how these decisions are made. You’d think that they would at least consult the public and business owners. I mean really, like our clients would ever drive into some gated community like this…” continued Sally.

“Did you know I even hear animals this morning!” stated Gerry.

“What type?” I asked, my brain still stuck on how a restaurant, across the street from a school, could lose money in September.

“Well I know there are horses – I even saw one!” said Sally going for shock value.

“Oh… right… those horses,” I replied. “They are part of the City’s mounted unit. Someone burned out their barn at Sunnybrook yesterday. Two of the horses were killed and two officers and three grooms injured.”

“Well… I mean… that is horrible… but those animals should be free you know, not being ridden around into dangerous situations… and why bring them here?” asked Sally freely quoting from the latest issue of City Urban Life.

You know that prayer you have when you wish that people could really hear themselves… I kept saying it to keep from really saying what I wanted to.

“Well Sally, the City owns a 10-acre property just north of us and the Police Department has cleaned it up and will now be stabling the horses there,” I told them.

“Gerry will that be a benefit to our sales plan or a detriment?” asked Sally. “Perhaps we could have pictures of us giving a cup of coffee to a mounted policeman in front of the restaurant?”

My mind boggled at the thought process.

“I suspect that the detachment is going to be pretty low key until they catch the arsonist,” I said.

“Oh right… now the other reason we asked you to come over is that we know that things have been tight for you and we wondered if there was anything in our pantries or freezer that you could use. We’d rather give it all to you than just throw it out.” Sally said with sickeningly sweet, false charity condescension as she led me though into their pantry.

I could have cried. The pantry was full of #10 cans of just about anything you could imagine and some that were odd even to me – peaches, pears, mandarin oranges, tomatoes, olives, roasted peppers in oil, grape leaves, more olives, there were gallons and gallons of oils – olive, hazelnut, walnut, thyme, basil, sunflower…, more olives, sacks of coffee beans, boxes of loose tea, wildly expensive hot chocolate, jars of homemade marshmallows, ropes of garlic, onions, and sausage. There were even big containers of spices like alkoura, white pepper, black pepper, dried chili peppers, paprika, savory, dill seeds, sage, garlic, sea salt (several varieties), oregano, bay leaves, dried onion, cayenne, Italian mint, nutmeg, cinnamon, allspice, chives, cloves… There were jugs of soya sauce (some fancy name), and Lea & Perrins, and the plethora of bbq sauces… There were five sacks of flour, three of sugar, the bounty went on and on… There must have been a couple thousand dollars’ worth of goods just in the pantry. I turned and looked at them.

“Are you sure you don’t want this?” I asked not bother to hide that I was incredulous. The supermarkets were on meltdown and these people were giving away food?!?

“Oh honey, we aren’t chefs,” said Sally in that patronizing tone. “But we thought you might… need… it and be able to use some of it. You must think of your darling little Zack…”

“Zeb,” I corrected automatically. “I can use all of this. You’re sure?”

Sally and Gerry both said yes.

So I called John and had him bring his truck and asked him to have Jack bring my Jeep down. Meanwhile, we went into the walk in fridge. It was full. So was the freezer. Again I said I would take it, but where to put it all… then Mrs. Moretti’s conversation about the solar panels. So I made a second call to Mr. Moretti. He agreed to come and collect the cold goods and to store it for us and to charge us a nominal feel to cut the restaurant size servings smaller if necessary.

“Sally?” I asked. “What are you doing with all the cutlery, plates and glasses.”

“Oh you poor thing!” exclaimed Sally. “We were just going to give them to the Salvation Army but take what you want… do you have some friends who could use them?”

“Well,” I said. “We have some elderly ladies…”

I didn’t get any further before Sally & Gerry were all over themselves to donate to little old ladies. So a call to Mrs. Orlandini. She and Mrs. Moretti came to collect them for their café (which we didn’t mention). Like matched dolls in black with heads covered, twittering away in Italian, they took the offered cutlery, dishes, mugs, glasses, and added knives and cutting boards. We even got the big butcher block! I asked for and got the toilet paper, cleaning supplies and some art work for my new clinic. John, Jack, and the Misters Moretti and Orlandini all did the work of stevedores hauling all the treasure back to the Coop. By the time we left, we had pretty much stripped the place. All that was left were the appliances and table and chairs which were included in the sale price – they were ugly as sin and not very comfortable but photographed brilliantly.

We wished each other well and I left with John. We were exhausted and it was only 11:00am...

*****

* FOOFs – Fine Old Ontario Families, WASPs – White Anglo-Saxon Protestants. FOOFs are always WASPs but very few WASPs are FOOFs. Ontario has become so multi-cultural that most derogatory ethnic designations have largely vanished (like Jerry, or Charlie, or JAP – which meant Jewish American Princess not an ethic Japanese, or Wop) but these two have survived.
 

maineforlife

Contributing Member
We ran into that attitude this summer at a family party. Our oldest took a hunting class so she could go hunting with daddy this fall. My cousin insisted that we were stupid and neglectful parents and told oldest gun kill people and cousin didn't want oldest to die because of us. Let me tell you what a storm that raised up!
 

Siskiyoumom

Veteran Member
I am so loving this story!

I cruise the local Craig's list.

There is a feed outfit that hast absolutely huge feed bags (2,000 pounds) sacks that are water resistant.

Free for the taking!

And then some industrial outfit that has a huge roll of one inch wide black woven strapping.

Gosh I wish I had an industrial sewing machine and the cutting dies for bags of all sorts and patterns for jackets/jumpers!

There is so much to be had from folks who don't know the true value of their "excess".

LOL
 

moldy

Veteran Member
There is a feed outfit that hast absolutely huge feed bags (2,000 pounds) sacks that are water resistant.

Sis - I see these at auctions all the time. What would you use them for? I think they would be hard to sew on - although I"ll admit I never thought about them as aprons..... hmmm..... I've seen some cute tote bags made from feed bags (think Sun something?); maybe that would work as aprons.
 

kyrsyan

Has No Life - Lives on TB
I can think of a lot of things to use those large sacks and strapping for. And I have a machine that can handle heavy duty stuff. Unfortunately I have no idea where to look locally for those things.
 
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moldy

Veteran Member
Our local feed places (look for stores with the Purina logo - preferably in small towns or out in the country) handle the large totes. These are filled with a ton (literally) of feed and hoisted into the back of pickups or bigger trucks. There are straps (about 8 inches wide) at the top, and a drawstring at the bottom. This way, you can lift and manuver the bag over a feeder (think a 6-8 foot tall piece of pipe), open the bag to let the feed flow in, then put the top on (as opposed to shoveling it all in a scoop at a time). I've only ever seen them in white.

Sorry, Lili, to side track your story. Please may we have some more?
 

Lake Lili

Veteran Member
I love side tracks... especially informative ones... please feel free to side track any time... will step in if the side track turns into a hijack.

Speaking of side tracks. One of my themes in this story is about reclaiming abandoned and seriously damaged houses and turning the properties over to the community for different usages, There was an article on today's Daily Mail (a paper full of great schlock) which showed pictures of what is happening in Detroit right now - http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/art...ing-plots-mansions-sprawling-countryside.html

Several of Detroit's Urban Farming Ventures include:
Hantz Farms - see the video under introduction - http://www.hantzfarmsdetroit.com/introduction.html
Earthworks Urban Farm - http://www.cskdetroit.org/EWG/
Urban Farming.org (multi-city initiative to support food banks) - http://www.urbanfarming.org/

But as always its 4 steps fourward and three back - http://www.alternet.org/environment...g-derail-detroit-areas-urban-farming-movement

Read... chat... and I hope to be back to you this evening with some more about Charlie & Zeb and friends.
 

sssarawolf

Has No Life - Lives on TB
What galls me is all the old abandoned farms, there are even some with large fields that are used but the house, barns and buildings are left to rot and ruin. :) Why in the world if they don't want to live there why don't they sell off the buildings with a couple of ac. of land or whatever and see the homestead used? We know of some that live in town and go out to farm the land and live in town.
 

kaijafon

Veteran Member
I am so loving this story!

I cruise the local Craig's list.

There is a feed outfit that hast absolutely huge feed bags (2,000 pounds) sacks that are water resistant.

Free for the taking!

And then some industrial outfit that has a huge roll of one inch wide black woven strapping.

Gosh I wish I had an industrial sewing machine and the cutting dies for bags of all sorts and patterns for jackets/jumpers!

There is so much to be had from folks who don't know the true value of their "excess".

LOL

well that sounds like a wonderful craig's list. I stopped looking when all I got were men with pictures of their penises looking for uncommitted sex.
 

Lake Lili

Veteran Member
I was going to leave Zeb at the daycare all day but the power went down again and I figured that the Sisters would be glad to have one less child to deal with, so it was almost noon by the time we got home and it was hot. I hadn’t felt it so much while walking along the tree lined part of the road, but once you reached the bridge and had to walk alongside the noise abatement walls it got really hot in the late August sun. Time to think of how we could get some greenery into this area… perhaps some grape vines along the walls… perhaps the City would be willing to donate some more trees…

Across the road, the demolition crew was already started on the old factory. I also realized that they had taken down the wall that faced onto Cooper Street. The dump trucks were carting away debris as quickly as they could be filled. I was able for the first time to really see the site and I got some good ideas. I pushed the stroller down our new street and went to find Eric.

I found him quickly sitting with John and his nephews and cousin, Andrew. Cara and Luccia were slinging plates onto tables and collecting tips which got stuffed into pickle jars behind the counter. Cara stopped and told us that Mrs. Orlandini had a system for tips. The girls kept 80%, 10% went to the boys washing dishes and 10% was tithed to Holy Rosary.

“Do I have to tithe Dad?” asked Cara.

“Do you want to work here?” asked John.

“Yes,” she replied.
“Then you tithe,” said John. “Cara love, to all intents and purposes we are now living in an Italian community and the rules are different here. Everyone sitting here will tithe. That is how Father Andrea pays for all the extras in the community, including the school that you will all be attending. And make note that Sunday, we will be going to Church along with everyone else.”

“Mom never made us go to Church!” pouted Cara.

“No she didn’t and she decided that she no longer wanted a say in your life. You and your brothers are mine and I will do everything I can to make sure that you are safe and have a future, and right now that means ensure that we have a place here,” said John with a fierceness that Cara had never seen before but which made her feel far more secure than she had ever expected.

Cara went back to work with a lighter step and more sass than I had ever seen her display before. Amazing how kids react when they know how much they are wanted.

“Eric,” I said. “Did you note that the factory across the way had a series of single bay garages up against the east wall of the factory enclosure? Do you think we could get the City to leave them? They could be used for everything from animal shelters, to storage, to housing…”

“That’s a good idea,” said Eric. “I’m meeting with the City’s Project Manager in fifteen minutes. I’ll talk to him about it. They seem to be on a real push. They have four teams on each of the sites. The buildings will be fully down by 4pm and the site cleared by midnight. Our sites here are fully cleared. Basements removed and clean fill put in. They even brought in some huge rake and raked them for hidden debris to a depth of 2 feet. Then the City Parks people came in and spread a whole lot of what I can only think of as fertilizer and then spread seed on the main lot, winter wheat or something, and a clover alfalfa mix on the other lots. The trees discussed with the City Arbourist will be planted this afternoon in the spaces specified and the trees to go in across the street will be delivered and planted as they leave. They are treating midnight like the witching hour and they will all turn into pumpkins if they stay past.”

“Well,” said John. “Between the gang warning, the bit that Gibson let slip and the City’s frantic place, I’d say we have about 12-hours until whatever axe is going down has fallen. What do we need to still get?”

“Well I could do with more clothes for Zeb and I, so I’m off to the Value Village, Good Will and the Sally Ann.* I am also going to see if they have a twin mattress for Zeb. It might not get used for a while but it is definitely better to have. Moreover the Sally Ann treats them all, so no bugs!” I said. “If I can I might also pop over to the D’Orazio’s Oak Hill Garden Centre and see about some more plants… I like the stock at D’Angelo’s but I don’t want to get that close to the Hwy 301. Mr. Moretti is coming with me as he wants to talk to Mr. D’Orazio about grape vines. I gather that the soil here is good for grapes… what do I know… I’m Anglo…”

The men all laughed with me.

“Apparently there a Farmer’s Collective has been created comprising of a president and twelve men who are partitioning the agricultural land within the walls of Cooperstown,” said John.

“What!?!” I exclaimed, suddenly feeling like my baby was being snatched. A completely illogical feeling but since I was the one who had been pushing this cart uphill, I felt like I had a stake and a say in it. Instead I was feeling like I had just discovered that there was a horse in front of this wagon and although I had been pushing, I wasn’t in the driver’s seat. But the truth was that there had been others who had been pushing equally hard and I wasn’t the queen of a small kingdom, only one of many paysans… contadini…

“Well… who do you think… Mr. Moretti is il president and his secondo is Mr. Orlandini. He wants you to be the secretary…” said Eric.

“Who else from Poplar Plains is on the Collective?” I asked side stepping the secretary questions. I knew I’d do it, I just wanted to be annoyed about being relegated to a secretarial role.

“Well Greg Hyslop and Henri’s friend Jacques – he grew up on an apple farm before he took to the rails, and Sam Higgins – his kids have arrived and are settling in, and Steve Santini – he and Nettie called to say that they have made it through the roadblock with the animals from the Riverdale Farm with only minor problems. They should be here within the hour,” said John.

“Good choices so far,” I said. “Who else?”

“Well… let’s see… Father Andrea – to represent the Church. Sgt. Gibson to represent the police and their need for fodder – and they have some ideas there… and representing Cooperstown is Angleo Ruscitti – he lives at #3 The Mews and owns the Dolce Bakery, Tony Salafia – he lives at #26 The Mews and is President of the Italian Men’s Club, whose membership is about to be opened to all residents of the enlarged community. Also Tony’s daughter, Maria is married to Angelo Ruscitti. Her sister is married to a nephew of Mr. Orlandini’s. Normally they are in living in Italy but they have been home on vacation with their five children… they are going to need housing…”

“This place is as inter related as Payton Place!” John exclaimed.

“Ah but we are all family” said a laughing voice behind them. “We haven’t met yet,” said the dump truck driver, a man in his early twenties. “The Moretti’s are my grandparents. I am Gennaro Moretti. My wife Janet and I live over the butcher shop. We have one boy, Marco, whose about the same age as yours. Look forward to chatting later. Just came to collect my lunch from Nonna.” He smiled and moved on quickly. I watched him hug and kiss his nonna and get handed a paper sack and a large thermos. Then he walked back up the road with a jaunty wave.

Just then the last of the factory across the street came down with a crash. A cheer went up on the patio. Then we all got back to eating. Zeb couldn’t eat his pizza fast enough.

“So where were we…” started Eric “Oh yeah… the Ruscitti-Salafia-Orlandini connection… moving on there is Beppe Nunziata. He lives at #11 The Mews and owns the Vita Bella Restaurant. His neighbour at #10 The Mews is Martello Pangallo, who owns the cheese shop… Have you been in there. They make the most beautiful cheeses. And lastly there is Dino Vincenzo, who owns Vincenzo’s Restaurant. He and his family live above the shop. He also has a raft of nephews who have come over from Italy to work for him. So that is the twelve plus Mr. Moretti. All of them have farming experience and some own farms, although that was mostly in Europe. More than half of them also have experience using horses to plow fields. I believe that the current estimate is about 610 people living within the walls of Cooperstown and the Collective’s goal is to feed them all.”

“There are some challenges with the police unit as they are going to be moving in mobile homes today to provide each officer and groom and their family with a place to live within the walls. They currently have 36 officers with 40 horses after the loss. So that is 40 officers once you include admin, 8 grooms, a ferrier… so let’s say 50 people plus families… we could easily be looking at another 200 people that need to be fed. Now they have 10 acres over there which is more than enough to house and have pasture for the horses but it’s not enough space for them to also be growing hay and feed long term. Also they will have a mandate that is city directed and may not work for us. So that will be one of the issues that the Farmer’s Collective, to all intents and purpose the administering body of Cooperstown, will have to deal with. So please tell me that you are going to be the secretary so that we know what is going on,” said John.

=====
*Sally Ann is an affectionate reference to the Salvation Army and the excellent thrift stores they run.
 

Siskiyoumom

Veteran Member
Thanks for the clarification of Sally Ann!

Here abouts we have a clothing chain called Sally Ann. : )

Thank you for the additional chapters.
 

Lake Lili

Veteran Member
Sorry all but Christmas and all the family and church activities are playing havoc with writing time... Hope to get back to it soon...

I hope that you all have a wonderful and blessed Christmas. Please remember that He is the Gift and if you have time to watch - http://www.mormon.org/christmas?cid=HPFR112814529
We will also be watching the midnight Mass from St. Peter's on Christmas Eve and the Queen's Message on Christmas Day. I hope that regardless of how you celebrate that you are able to do so with those you love.

And for those of you who aren't quite sure what the real message is, I'll leave it to Linus to explain - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JQeKdvXliIU
 

moldy

Veteran Member
Merry Christmas, Miss Lili! Thank you for the gift of your story, and the reminder of the True Gift.
 

kua

Veteran Member
Just got caught up after leaving off on post #46. This is a delightful story so far and quite unexpected with all the Italian life styles and customs filtering thru it. I am enjoying it tremendously.

Merry Christmas to you and all your readers. At our home, first we had to cancel Thanksgiving and all the company because of flu and now we are cancelling Christmas. Very bad flu for DH (dr said this is the kind of stuff that kills people!) and the 14 yo gd had a temp of 102.7 this AM. It has been up and down all day but going up again as evening approaches. The 18 yo gd is home from college and will solo in church tomorrow night so I hope all are well enough I can go listen to her.

These stories are better than Calgon for taking me away from what I want to do but cannot (no one wants to eat, cannot run vac because someone is sleeping, don't know what tomorrow will bring.) Thank you so much for your great writing.
 

Lake Lili

Veteran Member
Happy Christmas everyone...

*****

I debated taking Zeb with me, but as everyone with a toddler knows, nap times are sacred and he really needed his. Maria Collodi was available, so we popped his play pen into my office and Maria kept working on the files. We had five appointments for tomorrow… so vacation time was almost over. At my direction, each patient was given a half-hour block of time. It allowed for walk-ins and emergencies and consultations with Dr. Collodi if necessary.

I was headed out when I ran into Mike Carter, who asked if he could come with me as he needed clothing too. There was a part of me that wondered if I should wait until Steve Santini and his girlfriend Nettie D’Angelo arrived with the animals, but I needed to get this done and since Eric and John were on the lookout for them, I had to let it go and go while the going was good.

I’m always torn about Value Village maybe its just the crowded nature of their displays or the crowds of people there, but I always find it exhausting and I was going in tired. I took jeans for Zeb in every size from toddler to teenager, along with t-shirts, sweatshirts, snow suites and boots. What he didn’t use, we would trade. All of it for him cost me about $85. I then went looking for jeans, long skirts, t-shirts, long sleeved shirts, sweaters and shoes for myself. I got my current size and two sizes smaller. I also found a couple of good belts.

The lady at the cash wanted to know why we were buying so much. “There are other people who need things too,” she whined.

“Well,” I said to her. “We have nine children. Which of them should I be telling to go to school naked?”

“Nine!?!” she yelled, drawing far more attention than was warranted. “Nine?!? Man,” she swore at Mike, “You leave this woman alone! She’s more than done her duty to you. You just keep yourself zipped up.

Mike and I were trying not to laugh, and had just finished paying when the power went out. We showed our receipt to the guard at the door and got out of there, but the people behind us tried to get out without paying and within minutes the yelling and screaming and shoving was turning into a riot. All it took in the late August heat was no power and the powder kegs were primed to blow… We did the smart thing and ran for the car and got out of there.

Mike had been able to get a couple pairs of jeans, t-shirts, sweatshirts, a jacket and several pairs of steel toes boots. He was feeling pretty good about all he had got. I had wanted to do the Sally Ann but with the power down, they would close up. It would have to do.
 
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kaijafon

Veteran Member
Thanks for the moar! wow! sounds like a really good price for all that she got! :)

I really wish there was community like this around here.
 

Siskiyoumom

Veteran Member
Power was out here on Christmas eve day.

Went to a lumber yard to buy hubby his gift (goat skin work gloves) which are made in the USA and very reasonable in price.

The store was open and they wrote up a paper receipt.

They would of let me charge it and then run the card after the power went on but I paid cash.

Got the last two pairs in his size.

The owner of the store said that he has not been able to get a re-order filled on the gloves and he is finding it hard to get a lot of products due to limited wholesale supplies.

Love your story and may your new year be filled with abundant blessings.

BTW the gloves are called Silver Goat puncture resistant, cost $21. retail and are made by North Star Glove Company which has been in business since 1910.
 

Lake Lili

Veteran Member
As we drove home we saw more and more people trying to get into stores. People were beginning to spill onto the streets and I saw cars being used to block access onto smaller streets.

“This is just crazy!” exclaimed Mike, his head on swivel.

We had to cross Yonge Street to get home. I was worried about it but there was no way to avoid it. I went through a whole lot of small neighbourhoods, filled with small post-war houses, so that we would cross at a small intersection.

We reached the lights at Madawaska Avenue but there were 3 cars in front of us and cars were being searched. There was no way to get out of it. The couple in front of us were objecting vehemently. Obviously scared the husband was objecting, when a gun was placed to his head. The couple was led away into the Mazda dealership. A teen got into their car and pulled it out of the queue.

“Follow my lead,” I said to Mike, who showed every sign of testosterone poisoning.

My door was jerked open and I was allowed to undo my own seat belt before I was hauled out of the car. I could see the double wrist tattoos and knew that I might be able to defuse this.

“Hakeem at this stop?” I asked.

The hands that were frisking me a tad over familiarly stopped. “You know Hakeem?” said the teen.

“Yes,” I said.

“He’s across the road,” said the voice with a slightly concerned edge to it.

“Get him.” I ordered.

“Yes, Miss,” and the teen held up a walkie talkie.

“Yoh!” he said. “Hakeem available… I got some white bitch wanting to talk to him… Oh yeah, she’s fine…”

“My name is Charlie,” I said.

“Says her name is Charlie… yeah like the Angel…” there was an edge to the laughter, which made me think that perhaps the teen wasn’t entirely sober or stable.

The teen turned back to me and asked: “Hakeem wants to know if Taylor’s mother got home?”

“Please tell him that Taylor is still at my home and there is no word from his mother yet,” I said.

A bunch of swearing came back through the static.

“Let her through. We’ll have a talk on this side.” Hakeem directed through the walkie-talkie.

Mike and I were allowed back into our car and the car was allowed through. As we waited to cross there was a single gunshot and a woman screamed. A second gunshot followed and there was silence again. Mike and I looked at each other.

“We aren’t out of this yet,” I told Mike. “But we have a chance.”

“Who is this Hakeem?” asked Mike.

“He’s a section leader with The Swarm. They control the Finch Subway Station. He has developed good relations with the Triad that controls the Asian populations in the same district. He worked at Canadian Tire with young Taylor who is staying with me. I pulled them both out of The Swarm attack on Canadian Tire yesterday. I didn’t know who he was, neither did Taylor. He was the one who gave me the 36-hour warning. It was John who told me who Hakeem was and actually seemed quite respectful of him. John said that Hakeem manages his part of the gang on a tight business model,” I told him.

We were directed across the road and were met by a very polite young man who led us into the lobby of an apartment building. Our car was taken and parked and I saw a guard posted to it. The keys were then returned to me. From there, we were taken into a room off the lobby. It was had obviously been set-up at Hakeem’s headquarters. Men came and went and several older women, some of them likely mothers of gang members, were busy cooking and serving jerk chicken with beans and rice to the men. Mike and I were seated and plates put in our hands. Hakeem came in and shook our hands and introduced himself to Mike. He then went and sat behind his desk.

“I have sent several of the men out looking for Taylor’s mother,” he told us. “I’ve had men posted at his house since yesterday. I pulled the information from his employment records. So his family is safe and so is his house. His mother is a nice woman as I said yesterday she used to make extra lunches for me after seeing me eat hotdogs at work one day. She told me that was not a decent meal for one who worked as hard as we did. So, she sent a meal for me every day Taylor worked for almost a year. I owe her and we’ll try and find her.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I know that Taylor is worried.”

“You were smart to have taken the tracker out of your car, but we are now hacked into the CCTV system and so I know that you are part of the Familia community in Cooperstown. We have no argurment with the Familia. Generally our paths do not cross and in the past we have worked well together. It was smart of you to think of me at the crossing and well timed as we have an elderly Italian couple here in this building who need to be… well let’s use the word ‘evacuated’. Can you take them with you?” Hakeem asked.

The surreal situation was making my head spin a bit. “Sure,” I said, shoveling in the hot chicken and rice.

So that is how Mike and I ended up taking a 26’ truck packed with the Donatello’s worldly processions and driving them home. Who’d have thought…
 

kaijafon

Veteran Member
wow! first - thank you so much for the MOAR!!!! SO glad I checked back tonight!
second -I'd not of thunk it! ;)

sounds like they will be getting some protection from an unlikely source... but I sure hope they find Taylor's mom and she is OK! :)
 

kua

Veteran Member
I hope they do not run out of apartments. Seems like Charlie is almost a pied piper, but that is a good thing. This was a very good chapter. Love your writing Lake Lili. Thank you.
 

stjwelding

Veteran Member
Lake Lili thanks for the new chapters this is one great story, I'm checking for more of it every time I get to a computer.
Wayne
 
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