by Jeffrey Redding
There’s no day I love to be home more than Sundays. My mom’s homemade tomato gravy is the best there is. I wake up about 10:30 every Sunday to the zesty aroma of the gravy cooking on low as the steam eludes the kitchen, travels slowly up the stairs and into my bedroom. Mixed with the smell of gravy is the musical talent of Frank Sinatra being played throughout the house. I throw on shorts to go downstairs, where you will see my mom adding the meatballs, sausage, ribs, and steak to the gravy for more flavor and food to eat. This has been a Sunday ritual since my great-grandfather and his family moved to America from Italy and he was a kid like me with his mom always making the gravy.
Dinner usually isn’t ready until about 2:30 p.m., so the amazing smell torments my brother, father, and me until it is time to eat. I always get dressed to go out before the food is ready because my mom always asks me to go to Luberto’s bakery and pick up a fresh loaf of Italian bread, which may be the greatest bread in the world when it’s fresh and dipped into the pot of gravy. When I get home with the bread, we all sit at the dinner table set by my mom who always makes it look like one of DaVinci’s paintings. On the table are four plates, four forks, four knives, four glasses, four napkins, the loaf of bread, a bowl of black olives, a jug of water for me, my mom’s Pellegrino water, a bottle of Snapple for my brother, the jug of milk for my dad, a platter full of gravy and meat, and the grated cheese. The food is so good that every bite is like a bite of heaven.
My dog also loves Sundays because she knows my mom will feed her the leftover meatballs; little does she know I’m sneaking her bites under the table. I can never go without seconds when my mom cooks the gravy, whether it’s more pasta or gravy. When everyone is finished, we clean up the kitchen together to make it easier on my mom after she has spent all morning preparing us such a great meal. My mom and dad clean the table and wash the dishes as my brother and I take out the garbage, sweep, and clean the countertops. Once we are finished cleaning, we all go our separate ways until we become a family again on Sunday and eat the greatest delicacy ever made: my mom’s gravy.
By Nancy Garrison
“Over the Years” by Ashley Buckley (lyrics and beach scene)
“Tide’s Turn” first appeared in Curry Arts Journal 1994.
Few within that charmed company would have understood why I hated Jenny, but I loathed her with the considerable venom of a brooding thirteen-year-old, for Jenny had seduced my father.
Not sexually of course; nothing so overt as that, although there were undercurrents of feeling which I could not then comprehend. But, in an important sense, and in a milieu which we both understood, Jenny had bested me in the manner of women, eyes steady, mano a mano, in an atmosphere of competitiveness which we had absorbed from earliest childhood. Continue reading
by Matthew Walsh (1987-2007)
This essay first appeared in The Curry Arts Journal, 2006 Edition.
Life comes down to one thing. Of course, I am speaking of experience. Don’t we all share our life stories about our experiences? For me, the experience of being diagnosed with cancer shaped me as a person and played an enormous part in how I live my life.
Last year, in December, results came back positive, which meant I had malignant melanoma (skin cancer). Initially, I wasn’t upset because I assumed something as little as skin cancer could be treated. Well, I soon found out that the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. Suddenly, things were not okay anymore. I think my reaction was typical of most people’s reactions. I’ve spent my life with the crazy mentality that nothing bad would ever happen to me. “No, I can’t have cancer; I’m not the type of person that gets cancer!” It’s ironic and, in a morbid way, kind of funny. We’re all aware of experiences that can occur within our lives, yet we always seem shocked when they actually happen. Continue reading
by Omar Cueto
“Modern Tree” by Sasha Gilbert (wire sculpture)
I joined the Army back in 2003 when I was still a junior in high school and living it up. My friend Alex and I always talked about cars and how we would customize them and the different body kits that we would add to the cars. It was very difficult getting into Boston University (BU), the college we wanted to go to, because we could not afford it. So we decided to join the Army and have them pay for it. After we graduated from high school, we both went off to basic training and returned back home to school just how we had planned it. Not only did the military pay for our education at BU, we were in the school that we wanted to attend. It was perfect. But everything changed in 2006 when my unit was informed that part of our regiment was taking too big a loss; the Army was going to pull us to go into Iraq and relieve the soldiers that were already there. Continue reading
By Corey J. Theodore
“Pieces of the World” by Jason Katz (ceramic)
When most people think of dangling from a rope about seventy feet above the ground, they think of the panic and fear that would cripple them virtually useless. I’m not like most people, and at seventy feet dangling from a rope, panic is the last thing that comes into my mind. I think of the peace, how quiet it is when I’m up so high, taking a deep breath and coughing up all the chalk that is floating around Continue reading