Italian Festival, Aug 24-25

St Ambrose Parish Italian Festival
1929 South 2300 East, Salt Lake City, UT‬ ‪
‪(801) 485-9324 
August 24, 25, 2012

Family Oriented Event 

Friday evening August 24, 2012 time 5:00pm to 9:00pm

Saturday, August 25, 2012 Time 10:30am to 9:00 pm 


Opening Ceremony Saturday 12:00 noon 
Live Entertainment
Italian Food & Craft Booths 
Italian Wine & Italian Beer
Italian - American Karaoke
Italian Car & Motor ScooterShow 
Italian Movies 
Bocce Tournament

I Have to See a Man about a Flute

I went to an interesting yard sale recently.  There were lots of Native American items that I found fascinating.  Although the teepee in the front yard might have been a give-away, it took me a few minutes to realize that the homeowner himself was Native American . 

Fortunately, my mother taught us not to stare, so I was able to carry on a reasonably dignified conversation without (I hope) looking like a kid at a cowboy and Indian movie.  Besides, he wasn’t wearing a feathered headdress or anything beaded. 

So, we talked a bit about the items he was selling, then he picked up a hand carved wooden flute and began to play.  Let me tell you, I nearly swooned.  

As his fingers moved easily over the 6 holes down the front of the instrument, I could almost hear the winds of time whispering through the canyons where his ancestors once lived.  I could imagine hundreds of years of gatherings at campfires; and sense the sorrows and pain of a people completely in touch with the earth. 

The notes of longing and hope and sorrow coming from that 18” piece of hollow pine swept me away to a place where the wind blew freely and the people understood its whims.   No instruction books or sheet music, just the wistful tones of an ancient instrument in the hands of someone who understood and delighted in its primitive design.

And best of all, it was for sale.

For a mere $20 (cash only) I could be in tune with the universe and feel the sands of time between my own toes.

I completely forgot about the snowshoes and sage awaiting my purchase.  All I wanted was the music, the magic of the flute.  How hard could it be to make those lovely, poignant tones?  All I had to do, he assured me, was keep the fourth hole covered with one finger while my other seven fingers alternated on the remaining openings.   

Done deal.

I couldn’t wait to get home, to find a quiet little spot away from the noise and commotion of my bustling household.  I couldn’t wait to create my own lovely, wistful tones.

Carefully, I positioned my fingers as I had been shown; and, putting the flute to my lips (while trying not to think about the germ colonies hosted there and refusing to let myself to be sidetracked by a Google search of “how to sanitize a wooden Native American flute).

I gave a tentative puff.  

Hmmm.  Perhaps a longer, gentler puff?  A shorter burst of puff?  A prolonged, even puff?

I removed the flute from my face and studied it intently.  Yes, I’m certain it was the same instrument.  Perhaps another try with a different finger configuration?

OK, show of hands, here.  How many of you have ever heard a cat fight?  Because you’ll be the ones who understand what my attempts as a Native American flutist sounded like.

How could it be?  It looked so simple.  I had the instrument, why couldn’t I make the music?

Sadly, I realized that it’s not the instrument; it’s the instrumentalist.  And perhaps  hundreds of hours of practice, but seriously…could practice make THAT much difference? 

Here’s the thing.  A simple piece of pine, in the hands of the master, can be the source of such beauty it brings a tear to the eye.  In the hands of an unpracticed flunky, it will still bring tears; but of a different nature.

Which made me think that I am a lot like that hollow piece of wood.  When I accept the touch of God, I can do wonderful and amazing things.  Without His touch, I am nothing but an empty tube full of holes.  

I put my silly instrument away.  I think I need to go find that guy and negotiate some flute lessons.

Can You Hear Me Now?

It all started with my need to torture myself by looking at puppy ads on the internet. I already have two large dogs, plus my life is crazy busy.  So it seemed extremely ridiculous to consider adding a puppy to the mix.  And yet, every night, there I sat in front of my computer, looking at photos, thinking about character traits of various breeds, wondering how they would fit into our household.

I’ve always been a dog lover; I can name  22 dogs I’ve had the privilege to own.  Well, a few of them seemed more of a punishment than a privilege; but each one brought something special into my life.  Most recently I’ve adopted adult rescue dogs, but lately I’ve yearned for a puppy.

I responded to several ads, made a couple of phone calls, even made a few appointments to go see a puppy in person.  But each time I was blasted with a feeling that this was not the right time, not the right puppy. I felt like the cartoon character with a little devil on one shoulder, an angel on the other; one tempting me with overdose levels of puppy cuteness, the other whispering in my ear, "Don't do it!"

“OK, God,” I said, “I’m really trying to listen for Your will, so I’m going to take this as a ‘no.’ "  (Besides,  I’ve learned the hard way that trying to ignore or rationalize that feeling usually leads to some sort of disaster, especially when dealing with dogs and other long term commitments.  Please refer back to the “punishment” comment in paragraph 2.)

"But,” I continued, “I don’t suppose You’ll mind if I keep looking at adorable puppy pictures, as long as I wait for Your go-ahead before I go ahead.”                  

My family thought I was nuts. 

Sometimes I agreed.  I asked my husband, “So, am I crazy for wanting a puppy?”

“Well,” he replied philosophically, “I guess it’s better than wanting a baby.”

That was good enough for me.

So I headed back to the computer.  And then I saw her.  A puppy that looked just like my first dog, an amazing little mix of Jack Russell and mystery guest we named “Chi-Chi,” an Italian term of affection referring to her rolls of puppy fat.  She was my constant companion for many years, and she set the standard for all the other dogs in my life.

Could it hurt to check out this tiny look-alike?  This time there were no feelings of hesitation. 

When I arrived at the address, everyone was outside playing.  As I stepped through the patio doors, a teeny little puppy looked up, stopped what she was doing, and scrambled over to me, 2 ½ pounds of wags and wiggles, begging to be picked up.  I scooped her up with one hand.  In return, she licked my face and snuggled into my neck. 

I was instantly in love. “What’s her name?”  I asked the young woman.  “Oh,” she replied, “I call her Chi-Chi.” 

Here’s the thing.  It’s always better to pray BEFORE making a decision rather than after making it.  But I forgot.  Besides, I know when pray for God’s will in a situation, He will open some doors and close others along the way.  I figure this door was about as open as they get, and I dove through it. 

So, I talked to God on the way home.  “I hope this is OK with You,” I said.

I didn’t hear Him answer me, but I’m pretty sure He was smiling.