Holidailies 2024!

Happy Holidailies! Holy smoke, Holidailies is 25 years old this year. This is my favorite writing project, and I’m glad to see it’s still going. Last year’s was a blast, so let’s see if I can add to some of the magic.

You may or may not notice that this website looks a little bit different from last year. I couldn’t bear to see Inigo’s name get smaller and smaller in my tag cloud, so I got a new template. Or, a new-to-me template as this one is Twenty-Fifteen. This one makes more sense to me because the place to leave a comment is at the end of the entry so folks don’t have to scroll up to the top to leave one. See also, I can still fool around with background images and color schemes without having to deal with block editing and all of that other stuff that drives me batty about WordPress.

Anyway, it seems the random prompt generator thingie at Holidailies isn’t functioning, so I thought I’d kick off with a Sunday Stealing as it’s about one of my favorite topics: books.

Has reading a book ever changed your life? Which one and why, if yes?
Yes. Bambi by Felix Salten. I read it when I was nine years old and it shaped the way I view animals.

Do you prefer to read fiction or non-fiction?
Fiction. I read a lot of medical journals for work and that’s enough non-fiction for me. When I read for pleasure, I prefer to escape into a different time and place.

If you could be a character in any novel you’ve read, who would you be?
I wouldn’t. Novels are based on one of three types of conflict (human vs human, human vs environment, or human vs self) and good writing involves depictions of a fair bit of suffering, and I wouldn’t want to endure either.

Has reading a book ever made you cry? Which one and why?
Yes. The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill. Let’s just say a hawk is involved.

How many books do you read a year?
Not nearly enough. I’m very pressed for time, so if I read three or four, I call it a win.

Name a book you had to read, but hated. Why did you hate it?
I’ll catch hate for this, but the Bible. Twelve years of Catholic school can do that to you. Plus, the writing is just so bad with all the ye, thee, thy, and thine stuff. Unto you I say BLECH.

If someone wrote a book about your life what would it be called?
You’ve Gotta Be Kidding Me: Tales of a Long Island Girl Inside the Beltway. The dust jacket would say something like, “Washington, D.C. is full of blowhards, mansplainers, and pretentious snobs who think their doo-doo doesn’t stink. Enter Zennie. She’s snarky. She’s real. She doesn’t have time for their hot air.”

Have you ever written (or started to write) a book?
I’ve partially written three. Never did finish them. That’s one thing I absolutely hate about being a reporter. When I get home from work, I don’t want to write anymore unless it’s something like a blog or journal entry. Fiction requires a lot of thought and I just don’t have it in me. It wasn’t like that with every writing job I had, but my current workload takes a lot out of me.

If you could pick a book you’ve read to make into a movie, what would it be?
I wouldn’t. The movie is never as good as the book.

What was your favorite book as a child?
See Bambi, above.

What are you reading right now?
I’m reading two books, actually. The first is Dawn Empress by Faith L. Justice, about Pulcheria, sister to the Eastern Roman Emperor Theodosius II. I absolutely dislike the protagonist, though—she’s religious and that’s a turn-off for me in reality, fiction, and historical fiction about real people—so  when I had to take a trip for work, I downloaded Breakdown, an Alex Delaware mystery by Jonathan Kellerman, and am enjoying it much more.

Hmmm… Going back to that question about being a character in a novel, I suppose I wouldn’t mind being Alex Delaware’s girlfriend Robin Castagna. She makes guitars for a living and I can think of a few rock stars I’d love to have as clients, though if memory serves me correctly, she was a target in one of the novels.

In other news… The National Christmas Tree will be lit on Thursday, so as soon as I get down to the Mall and the Walk of Peace, I will start posting photos of the state trees like I did last year. I’m not sure if I’m going to post my own ornaments this year. I have to take a look at them when I put up my tree, which probably won’t be until either December 7 or 14.

However, I got the Finch app this weekend and one of my daily goals is to do something that makes me happy, so here’s a snowflake I colored with glitter gel pens. Sorry for the bad photo. I already started the next one and forgot to take a picture of this one before I folded the book back. Oops. Looks like the white glitter ink doesn’t photograph, either. Really, those spaces are colored in! Live and learn! The book is 50 Snowflakes to Color by Kameliya Angelkova. Gel pens are Tanmit 80/160 in the cloth case, currently selling for about 20 bucks on Amazon, 80 colors with one refill each. (No affiliation, but sometimes folks ask.)

A snowflake colored with glitter pens.

Those Before Me

Clearly I’m a masochist: I decided to do a November writing project. I was up until 5:00 a.m. last night messing with templates and avatars on all of my various journals and websites, and I spent the most time on this one, so I’d like to actually use it. (I just couldn’t bear that Inigo’s category was getting smaller and smaller in the category cloud with my previous theme, so this theme takes care of that. It’s an old one, Twenty Fifteen, but I don’t need or want a lot of bells and whistles, just a place for words.)

A lot of people on another site where I keep a journal are doing NoJoMo, but as I already do a lot of journaling, I wanted something else to nudge me along and found an old prompt list on History That Never Was, so that’s what I’m using. Hey, I’m a journalist. There needs to be an assignment. I started writing this yesterday, before I got sidetracked in all the design stuff, so I’m backdating it to November 1 and calling it a win.

Today’s word is “ancestors.” Funny that, as my sister and I were just texting about that the other day. I had asked her if she had ever gotten any DNA testing like 23andMe or Ancestry because some of my friends are always joking that despite being of known Italian descent, there must be some Viking blood in me. She hasn’t gotten any testing, so I might go ahead and do so, just for the giggles of it. She did mention that some distant cousins of ours reached out to her from Messina, Italy, so she’s going to go there when she visits Italy. I’m glad of that because we don’t know too much about my father’s side, other than one side of his family came from the mainland (Messina, I guess!) and the other came from Sicily. His grandfather came to the United States fought in the Spanish-American War, but I don’t know anything else about that generation on my father’s side.

As for my mother’s side, most of them are from Italy, some are from Eastern Europe, and they all came over and came over in the early 20th century. Apparently I’m descended from the Sforzas on my mother’s side, through her father, as one of her paternal grandfather’s had that last name. If you can trace your lineage to a male Sforza, that pretty much guarantees you’re a descendant of the famous Renaissance family, as “Sforza” is a made-up last name. The original last name was Attendolo, and when Muzio Attendolo, an Italian condottieri, founded the family dynasty, he turned his nickname, Sforza, into a last name. Here’s a bit from Britannica about it:

The son of Giovanni Attendolo, a prosperous farmer of the Romagna (in north-central Italy), Muzio left home in 1384 to join a mercenary band, eventually becoming squadron leader and then company commander in the service of different condottieri (mercenary captains), including the famous Alberico da Barbiano, who gave him the nickname Sforza (“Force”). In 1398 Muzio entered the employ of the Visconti, the rulers of Milan, but he soon left to fight first for Florence and then Ferrara.

Sforza’s son Francesco went on to rule Milan for 16 years, and the rest is very much history.

I learned all of this after I left a copy of The Duchess of Milan by Michael Ennis on my parents’ coffee table after a holiday visit in the 90s. It’s the story of the women behind the scenes during the power struggle over the Duchy of Milan in the late 15th and early 16th centuries, Beatrice d’Este and her cousin Isabella of Aragon. Isabella was married to Gian Galeazzo Sforza, the sixth Duke of Milan. Beatrice was married to Ludovico “Il Moro” Sforza, who had acted as regent when Gian was a child and too young to assume the responsibilities of Duke. As regent, Ludovico basically took over the whole operation, which led to a power struggle when Gian came of age. The book is about the competition between the two women, including who could birth the most sons, and the whole book is very lush and juicy. Plus, there are excerpts from real letters by the women as well as by none other than Leonardo da Vinci.

My mother, a voracious reader who favored whodunits, picked up the book I had left and a few days later she called to tell me that her father’s mother’s father’s last name was Sforza. So basically my great-great grandfather was a descendent of the Sforzas, though I’m not sure which branch of the family.

The best part is that my father was an artist. Da Vinci worked for the Sforzas, so once all of this came to light, it became a running joke between my parents. My mother would say she married beneath her and my father would say “and we artists are still working to keep you happy.” Then when I dug into the Sforza family history a little, I chimed in with “Look, a Sforza’s widow basically told Henry VIII’s people that Henry shouldn’t bother proposing. We women know our worth.” This would be Christina of Denmark, whose first husband was one of Ludovico’s and Beatrice’s sons and a Duke of Milan. According to legend, she said “If I had two heads, one should be at the King of England’s disposal.”

My mother’s mother’s family came from that part of the world that was always changing hands in the 19th and early 20th centuries. I have great uncles who were White Russians and escaped during the Russian Revolution and came to the U.S. with nothing but the shirts on their backs. Neither of my mother’s parents spoke English when they came over, and I wish I knew the story of how they met because at the time my grandfather only spoke Italian and my grandmother only spoke Polish, German, Russian, and Yiddish, though we’re not Jewish.

I suppose I should look into the various DNA tests. Critics go on about their accuracy and security risks (especially with the tests that show you your genetic risks for various diseases), but I don’t care. I think it would be fun to learn where the DNA leads. The results often surprise people, and I love a good surprise.

Keeping Calm, Carrying On

The above is an epitaph on a Roman mausoleum, from a young woman about her older yet kind husband. I saw it on one of the Great Courses about the Roman Empire and had to save it.

I’ve become less frightened of death this last year and a half, even before the heart attack. When Inigo the Nanday Nanner King died, life changed completely and irrevocably. Twenty-one years is a long time to have a soul bird. Grief still hits me out of nowhere at times, but now I take comfort in sensing that whether by trick of dying synapses or a true departure of my life force and energy to another plane or merging with the cosmos, the last thing I will see as the final breath leaves my body will be my little feathered buddy coming down to get me, maybe with his brudduh Jimmy the Green Cheek behind him. A friend of mine once posted a picture of her soul cat with the caption, “I miss you, but every day brings me closer to you.” That’s kind of how I feel about it.

Back when my mother worked at one of the public utilities, someone drove up in a hearse to drop off his payment. She said the people in her office reacted to it differently depending on their age. The young laughed and said it was wild or funny that the guy drove up in it, and they ran out to see it. The folks nearing retirement looked out the window and critiqued the hearse itself, stating whether they wanted one like it or one a different color or model. The middle-aged people didn’t even want to look at it. I think I skipped the middle-aged “nope” kind of denial and went right to “the little practicalities” stage now that I know for sure that I got the Bad Gene.

In the meantime, I live. That’s what all who went before me would want.

Today’s candy is Now and Later. Makes sense for this entry. And they’re accidentally vegan. The banana ones were my favorite.