Dinner means waiting.
It means setting the table
with placemats and napkins,
and neatly set silver,
pitchers of water
and plates for your salad;
and waiting and waiting,
as smells from the kitchen,
from sizzling pans and simmering pots,
waft through the house
like intoxicating fog.
Making it hard to concentrate
on anything but the the clock,
and the driveway,
where we turn our attentions
every few minutes,
hoping for headlights.
Dad finally showing
and ever so slowly…
shedding his suit.
to get the meal going.
Though children are moaning.
Haven’t eaten in minutes.
But dinner begins
when Dad’s ready to sit.
And no sooner.
Author: Anne Celano Frohna
I have been writing for as long as I could hold a pencil in hand and would not feel complete without it.
And I actually made a meager living at it (and as an editor) for 25 years.
I worked for newspapers and magazines, in graphic arts and advertising, and wrote several local history books.
But I have also taught English in Japan, been a Nanny in Italy, worked in and for museums, was an Airbnb Superhost for four years, as well as an Etsy shop owner where I sold vintage items I found over the years of thrift and yard sales.
After moving to Arizona with my family in 2010, I completed a series of different writing projects, including two books of creative non-fiction:
Just West of the Midwest: a comedy
(Based on journals I kept during my two years as an English teacher in rural Japan.)
Within Close Range: short stories of an American Childhood
(Short stories and poems about growing up as the middle of five children in suburban Chicago.)
I've also written children's stories and continue to write short fiction, but have recently found my voice in poetry.
This blog, however, is where my greatest passion comes alive.
I am also a mother of two wonderful girls, Eva (23) and Sophia (21) and wife to one wonderful husband, Kurt.
View all posts by Anne Celano Frohna