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Ricky Fico's Page
Profile Information
- Hometown:
- Chicago
- About Me and My Book:
- My memoir, "Moods Over A September Moon" is about redemption, about finding oneself trapped in the eye of the hurricane until one night, September11, 1992, when perhaps a miracle, awakens me, revitalizes me and gives me my life back....
Prologue:
This morning, unlike most mornings, I’m at a loss for words. I’m staring at the blank screen, hypnotized by the blinking cursor. It is wearying heavy upon my eyelids. I’m falling . . . falling . . . falling. Now, I’m asleep
Ah, a dream! Thank you, my dear God for such a vivid dream. And, the actors you had chosen to star in this dream — perfect. Simply, perfect!
Mother, dressed in white. Beautiful is she, her hair curling down the sides of her sculptured face. Father, with his Herculean physique, standing tall atop the pedestal. Marbled and chiseled, he plays the pivotal role.
Brother, my dear brother, giggling under the apple tree. He is tempted but he resists. I am grateful. I must watch him with a careful eye. Brother has a bigger appetite than most.
My older sister, the nursemaid to the world, wrapped in fine linen, cradling the infant, rocking the elderly. Smiling is she, I’m so proud.
My younger sister, drifting across the river, upon the raft of ancient log. A freer spirit is she, but knows not the current. At any moment it could shift. I am concerned. Big brothers must always be concerned about their little sisters.
Suddenly, I’m thrown backwards and there’s nothing I can do. I’m caught in the eye of the hurricane. I’m taken back to a different time, a different place.
So young is she, my little sister. So fragile is she, her seven year old little body unshielded from the burgeoning storm. I feel so bad for Wendy, her world too, spinning recklessly through the cosmos. I wish I could do something, anything to bring back some balance, some certainty. But I can’t, my body weakened from hunger, my heart berated and scorned. I feel powerless now.
Mother, she is blind. Her world is in darkness now. A dark alley she travels, drawn to the neon of yet another beer sign in the distance. Drawn is she to the clash of beer mugs and the occasional drop of coin in the jukebox. Her world no longer includes her children, the two older ones and then me and further down the line, Wendy. We are orphans now, left to fend for ourselves. My twelve years is topped by Lenny’s fifteen; Trish’s sixteen. Lenny and Trish, old and wise, know which road to take. Their road, though, is filled with potholes. I fear for them. Drugs, all kinds of drugs they now depend on to help them along.
Wendy and me, we hold onto each other, hoping that the storm would move far away from us. The thunder, it is so loud, so very loud and Wendy’s trembling, she’s so frightened. Her Cindy Doll is no longer comfort to her, it lays crumpled on the dusty floor.
Suddenly, I’m awakened. I look around and realize how grateful I am. The cursor upon the screen is still blinking, the keyboard below awaiting my fingers. Aha, that’s it! “Caught in the eye of the hurricane I thought that I was targeted to die. Instead, I was saved by it, and targeted to live.” Perfect. Simply, perfect!
Mother, she’s been through a lot in her life, that’s for sure. And not only that, but she’s finally taken advantage of what she’s been through to give back; perhaps to make up for her neglect and abandonment when I was still a boy. Today, she does what she can to help others, especially my nephew, the first one in our family who’s going to graduate college. Mother’s so proud of him. And so am I. I was supposed to be the first to graduate college but I stumbled upon a few detours, which sometimes happens in life I suppose.
Today, Mother doesn’t have much, a small apartment in the suburbs where she likes to watch the geese outside by the pond. Since Mother’s up in her age she doesn’t have too much to do nowadays, but maybe wait for one of her children to stop by and visit. But that’s not too often though. I wish I could but I live two thousand miles away now. And little Wendy, she’s usually too busy. And Trish, she does visit as often as she could but she’s busy working in the hospital and taking care of the sick and the elderly. Lenny, I hear he's busy too - with a new life and stuff.
Me, I live in Las Vegas now, perhaps to do what my father was supposed to do, so many years ago. Yeah, as a boy, we were going to move to Las Vegas because Las Vegas provided opportunity for a man like my father. But my father had other ideas I guess. Booze, women and who knows what else caused his plans to fall through though.
A few of my plans fell through too. Like killing myself. Yeah, I know, I shouldn’t talk like that but sometimes it’s more important to reveal the truth than try to hide from it.
I was planning to kill myself in Kauai, Hawaii on my birthday. I’d been to Kauai once before and I felt it was my “Heaven on Earth.” So, it would be a perfect place to kill myself. I had booked a flight to leave Chicago and arrive Kauai, September 12, 1992—the day before my final birthday. But something happened. I believe it was God Himself who stopped me from going through with my plans. On September 11, 1992, the day before my flight a massive hurricane hit Kauai head on. Of course, now all the airports would definitely be closed, no commercial flights going in nor going out.
It took me a while to realize what had really happened. Beyond the haze of scotch and the shock I realized that I was probably better off alive.
Although Hurricane Iniki left much destruction in her wake she did stop me from doing what I was intending to do—prepare for my own wake. And after clearing my eyes I became grateful, so grateful that on the night of September 11, 1992 I did something that my father was never able to do. I got sober. And being sober provides you with such a profound appreciation for life. So much that I did go back to Kauai, six months after the hurricane. But I went sober. I knew that what was harbored along her majestic shores was not my end but my beginning.
And today? I’m sitting here looking out the window and wondering, wondering about this: “To better see where you’re going it’s better to see where you’ve been.” I believe it was my father who once told me this; I’m not too sure. Maybe it’s something that I thought up on my own, I’m not sure, but whatever the case, it seems to make perfect sense.
Ricky J. Fico
- Website:
- http://monuments4life.ning.com/
Visit Monumental Lives 4 Monumental Change
Ripples
The night before last, I saw a glimpse of the past
and beheld in my gaze the days of my youth
The night before last I gathered the dust
that had been swept beneath my bed
And held it in my hands
The night before last I grasped the filings
of days long ago forgotten
Tactile sediment laced with memories
of youthful endeavor
To have again in my hands the past
was like finding buried treasure
The night before last, I saw a child’s eyes
as bright as the light of the stars above
The night before last I saw myself looking
In the mirror of life
Through the haze of years gone by
I saw a child standing by the river
The night before last, I walked along the river’s edge
until I came upon a stone
I picked it up and held it in my hand
It was the same stone that I once held as a youth
I tossed it into the river and watched with delight
the ripples it caused.
Ricky J. Fico
Yes, appreciate what you have!
Ricky Fico's Photos
Ricky Fico's Blog
And They Call You A Writer?
I am, of course, a writer. As anybody else who happens to convey their thoughts to the written word. Okay, there are excellent conveyors, not-so-great ones; fat ones, skinny ones; hirsute conveyors and the hairless ones.
There are tiny tykes who write and gray-haired grandmothers. To be a writer, what does one need? A PhD, a special certificate, a special kind of driver's license? What then?
Perhaps a fine-leaded pencil and a napkin will do
… ContinuePosted on December 28, 2007 at 6:48pm —
Beyond the Periphery
I'm just standing outside the periphery of another mountain range, thinking about what lies on the other side. I'm an explorer, a man bent on curiosity and wonderment. I'm driven by my insatiable thirst for knowledge but knowingly, I can
never learn
enough. Behind every door is yet another; it is an eternal quest and my
life has been provided with limitations.
I hop in my car, turn on the accessories.
… ContinuePosted on December 24, 2007 at 6:28am —
Romper Room (A Memoir)
The sun sank its reddened face under the billowy blanket of its western bed and now it was night. Outside my window, guided by street lamp, I saw desolate shadows dancing across the floorboards of our
wind-swept porch. With its barren steps creaking, I sat and thought
about candle-lit cakes and ribbon-laced packages and family-filled
rooms. I thought about what could have been. And what once was. But
that was a long time ago; a time when reality played to a different set
of rules. Now, my rea
Posted on December 19, 2007 at 1:05pm —
First Christmas After The Fall -- A Memoir
It's Christmas Eve, and it's unlike those of years past. There's not much under the tree except the sweater we bought for Mother at the Salvation
Army Thrift Store. Trish and I had wrapped it with the cartoon section
of the Sunday newspaper. Also under the tree is a doll for Wendy. It's
a generic Barbie. We're hoping Wendy will break away from her Cindy
Doll.
Tonight, as tradition, we're going to Aunt Celia
… ContinuePosted on December 9, 2007 at 3:23pm —
The Bookcase (A Memoir)
“Mom, I’m really hungry,” Wendy says, the growls from her mid-section providing testament to the hunger that pervades her eight-year old little body.
Mother, who’d spent the last five or ten minutes fumbling through cupboards, pushing aside plates, glasses and cups in a futile attempt at finding
something, anything to feed a child, looks tearfully at Wendy and says,
“I’m sorry but all I find is a bottle of mustard.”
Posted on December 8, 2007 at 5:29am —
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Scribblers’ Retreat Writers’ Conference 2009
Literacy is our purpose.
Fulfilling dreams is our goal.
www.scribblersretreatwritersconference.com
@ Sea Palms Resort, St. Simons Island, Georgia
February 12-15, 2009 – Elizabeth Blahnik, Ernest Gilbert, Pam Mueller, Kathy Kerr, Maggie Toussaint, Dr. Jim Outlaw, Lee Carter, Millie Wilcox, Monica Simmons, Roger Pinckney
May 14-17, 2009 –Dickie Anderson (F), Ed Ginn, Ervin Williams, Holly McClure, Cappy Rearick, Harlan Hambright, Constance Daley, Bud Hearn, William Rawlings
August 13-16, 2009 – “SciFi, Fantasy, Mystery, Inspirational”
November 12-15, 2009 – “Novels, Short Stories, etc”
Scribblers’ Retreat is a non-profit organization established with the goal of reaching writers of all ages; to inspire and promote their hidden gifts and talents.
By involving the local community, authors, publishers, editors, journalists and all forms of the literary world, we are opening their minds and bringing hope where there was doubt.
Scribblers’ Retreat is not the typical classroom setting. It was designed to bring world-class authors, literature professors, editors, journalists, illustrators, photo journalists, proofreaders, publishers, publicists, screenplay writers, and website/graphic designers, etc. one-on-one with young and old alike. It is the opportunity of a lifetime for someone who has had a manuscript in a desk drawer for 40 years or who has an outstanding poem that simply must be read.
Scribblers’ Retreat Writers’ Conference
Where “can’t” is not in our vocabulary.
For more information:
Jeanie Pantelakis
Co-director
Scribblers' Retreat Writers' Conference
1-800-996-2904
912-230-2207
cpantelakis@gmail.com
Also, check out my latest cover for the JGDS (Junior Geography Detective Squad) children's mystery state book series:
Isn't my job cool?
Aidana WillowRaven
www.WillowRavenIllustration.com
IM: willowraven.illustration
Get your copy of THE NAISA MAFIA: Chronicle OF The Godfather deliver to your home/bookstore by calling 1-800-431-1579.. Visit http://www.NAISAMAFIA.COM to read the scripts... Watch clip - NAISA, SECRETS KEPT'S PITCH, RELENTLESS PURSUIT, THE EXCHANGE @ google video. Join me at http://www.myspace.com/naisamafia , http://chauvantruong.blogspot.com/ , http://bookmarket.ning.com/profile/ChauVanTruong ..
Fans can also read at http://www.novelmaker.com/ …. SECRETS KEPT script .. http://novelmaker.com/readCommentRate.php?m=295&s=0a13623de77a7051ccaadbfbc6e8e7cc , A KILLING STAR script.. http://novelmaker.com/readCommentRate.php?m=297&s=0a13623de77a7051ccaadbfbc6e8e7cc , THE NAISA MAFIA - 8 chapters.. http://novelmaker.com/readCommentRate.php?m=292&s=0a13623de77a7051ccaadbfbc6e8e7cc ..
Listen to JUDYTH PIAZZA interviewed CHAU VAN TRUONG (author/filmmaker).. link at Interview on the American Perspective Radio Program or http://thesop.org/article.php?id=7224 . THE NAISA MAFIA: Chronicle OF The Godfather can also buy it at http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/0974793507/qid=1100292074/sr=1-1/ref=sr_1_1/102-4638388-1864109?v=glance&s=books on http://www.amazon.com , on the recommended list at http://www.bookwire.com , http://www.tuluc.com , and other venues. The Naisa Mafia: Chronicle of the Godfather can also be requested at your local bookstore.
Just dropping in to say "Hi" and see what you have been up to lately!
Best,
Susan
Visit the storefront where I sell my books:
http://www.lulu.com/susancookjahme
Africa’s Amazing ABC (children’s)
http://www.lulu.com/content/973718
African Dust on the Soles Of my Feet (poetry)
http://www.lulu.com/content/973617
Thanks for the Christmas wish. May you reach all of your goals and dreams.
Michael
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