Ciao Pizza and Pasta Chelsea MA

I went to Ciao Pizza and Pasta in Chelsea Ma – a new restauraunt right around the corner from my house today.  This is my second order from the new place, the first time my room mate brought home a Sopressatta – (Garlic Confit, Hott Peppers, Pecorno).  Tonight I had a Salsiccia (Homemade Fennel Sausage, Cherry Peppers, Pecorno, Oregano, Fresh Basil) with San Pellegrino Aranciata (Orange) to drink.  They haven’t started up the delivery yet- about a month and will be part of the Taste of Chelsea MA night out next year- a little too late for tonight’s event itself.  The owners – both experienced as cooks/restaurant industry are excellent hosts and the evening was fun to enjoy the many people who are stopping by from local to passing through trying out the new food.  Both pizza’s were excellent wood grilled fresh to order and the staff were professional, upbeat and fun.

Check it out online @:

http://ciaopizzaandpasta.com (Coming Soon)

https://www.facebook.com/Ciaopizzaandpasta (Online Now)

https://twitter.com/ciaochelseama (Online Now)


Oren Lyons – The Faithkeeper Interview with Bill Moyers

3 July 1991 Public Affairs Television

Oren Lyons is the Faithkeeper of the Turtle Clan, Onondaga Council of Chiefs of the Hau de no sau nee (ho dee noe sho nee), of the Onondaga Nation of the Hau de no sau nee (meaning People Building a Long House). Born in 1930, he was raised in the traditional life ways of the Hau de no sau nee on the Seneca and Onondaga reservations. In 1982 he helped establish the United Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations where he has participated in the Indigenous Peoples Conference in Geneva, an international forum supported by the United Nations’ Human Rights Commission. He is a principal figure in the Traditional Circle of Indian Elders, a council of traditional grassroots leadership of North American Indian nations.

As Faithkeeper, he is entrusted to maintain the customs, traditions, values and history of the Turtle Clan and uphold Gai Eneshah Go’ Nah, the Great Law of Peace of the Hau de no sau nee while representing the people’s message from the Hau de no sau nee to the World Community in every aspect as deemed necessary by the Onondaga people. In 1992 he was invited to address the General Assembly of the United Nations and open the International Year of the World’s Indigenous People at the United Nations Plaza in New York. During that year he organized a delegation of the Hau de no sau nee to the UN Conference on Environment and Development (UNCED) in Rio de Janeiro and was invited by UNCED Secretary General Maurice Strong, to address the national delegations.

Co-editor with John Mohawk of Exiled in the Land of the Free: Democracy, Indian Nations, and the U.S. Constitution (Clear Light: 1992), publisher of Daybreak, a national Native American magazine, Oren Lyons conscientiously and steadfastly honors and serves life’s needs and the needs of the seventh generation, clearly and incisively addressing such essential issues as Spirituality, Natural Law, and the Ethics of Authority. He is Professor of American Studies at the State University of New York (SUNY) at Buffalo where he directs the Native American Studies Program and teaches undergraduate courses in Surveys of Native American History and a Native American Studies Colloquium. He is a Principal faculty member for over forty Master degree committees and five Doctoral Degree Committees. Topic of research supervision includes Native American Education, Native Legal Situation with the Federal Government and the Canadian Federal Government, Economic Development on the Native Territories and Sovereign Issues in the International Perspective, Native American Health Issues, Native American Cultural and Artistic Expression.

Continue reading


Aiionwatha the Great Orator of the Iroquois


“Meeting of Hiawatha and Deganawidah” by Sanford Plummer

Sanford Plummer (Ga-yo-gwa-doke) (1905–1974) (Seneca) was a Native American narrative watercolor painter from New York state. He painted works portraying traditional life and culture of the Seneca and Iroquois people. His works are held by the Iroquois Indian Museum, as well as Buffalo Museum of ScienceRochester Museum and Science Center, and the Newark Museum.


Sanford Plummer was born on 1 November 1905 on the Allegany Reservation, located mostly in Cattaraugus, New York, in the Seneca Nation. His parents were Clarence Plummer and Nellie Kennedy.[1] He was born into the Seneca Wolf Clan[1] through his mother’s line, as the Iroquois have a matrilineal kinshipsystem. Plummer’s Seneca name was Ga-yo-gwa-doke.[2]

He went to New York City for a formal art education at the Beaux-Arts of New York and the New York Academy of Art.[3][4] After his studies, he returned to upstate, where he lived in Gowanda.[5]

Art career[edit]

Highly skilled at narrative art, Plummer painted traditional Iroquois lifeways, ceremonies, and representation of oral history, such as his piece Law, the Reading of the Wampum.[4] Most of Plummer’s paintings have spare backgrounds, keeping the focus on the figures. The elements in his work were all symbolic and significant to the interpretation. Some few works of his feature full and lush backgrounds, particularly a detailed portrait of Seneca chief Red Jacket. His work follows in the tradition of the 19th-century Iroquois Realist School.

During the 1930s, Plummer briefly participated in the New Deal program for arts under the Temporary Emergency Relief Administration (TERA), headed in New York by Seneca anthropologist Arthur C. Parker. The program paid artists on New York Indian reservations to create traditional arts.[6] By 1934, the TERA program arranged for Native art to be distributed to museum collections. Another participating artist was Seneca woodcarver Jesse Cornplanter.[7] The program created a temporary tribal museum at the Thomas Indian School and Orphan Asylum. After budgetary short falls, it was the first to be eliminated.[3] Parker is thought to have exerted a positive influence of Plummer’s art career.

When Pennsylvania Governor Arthur H. James was adopted into the Seneca Nation in a ceremony on 24 August 1940, he was presented with a hand-lettered and painted scroll made by Plummer. The artist had painted a Seneca man greeting and sharing a pipe with a European-American man, followed by calligraphy in the Seneca language.[8]


Sanford Plummer died in Gowanda, New York in June 1974.[1]

The Newark Museum has a substantial collection of Plummer’s works on paper.[2] These include watercolor paintings, pencil illustrations, and a design for a book cover. The collection was donated to that museum by IBM in 1962. The Rochester Museum and Science Center and Buffalo Museum of Science also have his paintings in their collections.[4]


  1. Jump up to: a b c The Haudenosaunee Project, RootsWeb. (accessed 10 April 2008)
  2. Jump up to: a b Arts of the Americas, Newark Museum. (retrieved 2 may 2015)
  3. Jump up to: a b Porter and Fenton, 203
  4. Jump up to: a b c Hanks, Christina and John P. Ferguson. Iroquois Arts, (retrieved 18 June 2009)
  5. Jump up ^ Hoover, 72
  6. Jump up ^ Porter and Fenton, 200
  7. Jump up ^ Porter and Fenton, 201
  8. Jump up ^ Hoover, 71-72


Further reading[edit]

‘Jikohnsaseh, Peace Queen, Mother of Nations’

@: Deganawidah…

“Because you are the first to accept the Great Law,” he said, “you shall be called, ‘Jikohnsaseh, Peace Queen, Mother of Nations.’ When the peace comes, you – the women of the tribes – will choose and remove the chiefs. Their titles will be both political and spiritual and will always belong to the women, called ‘Clan Mothers.’ Women know the hearts of men better than men. Women are the connection to the Earth. They create and have the responsibility for the future of the nation. Men will want to fight. Women will now say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to war. Men, whose nature it is to be warriors, may not always see clearly the path of Peace; but a woman who knows that she must bury her loved ones, the children she has suckled, she would see and know if the fight would be worth its cost in life and death. Women know the true price of war and must encourage the chiefs to seek a peaceful resolution.”

He told her the tribes were to be matri-lineal, with children belonging to the mother’s clan. When a man married, he moved into his wife’s longhouse with her family. If they separated, the children, home, tools and fields stayed with the mother. There is great wisdom in this. The woman raised the children. A need for a home and means to provide for the children was of utmost importance. Men could always fend for themselves but for a woman with little ones to tend for, time would be limited for replacing much-needed items. Also, the children would belong to the lineage of the woman so that every child would have a family to nurture them even if the father left or died in battle. All of these customs insured that the women of the tribes would always be treated with respect. As recent Iroquois leader Leon Shenandoah writes, “The Instructions say that men and women are equal, too. They’ve got to learn that one is not above the other. It takes both to create the children who are coming behind us.”

Read more: http://amertribes.proboards.com/thread/85/clan-mothers-nations#ixzz3m4ggRuat

I’m also ‘A man without a country”

Thank you Mr. Vonnegut.

A Man Without a CountryA Man Without a Country by Kurt Vonnegut

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

View all my reviews

I absolutely love reading Kurt Vonnegut- he’s always been a personal hero of mine. This last book he wrote just before he died was a much needed relief during the Bush 2 administration when we were indulging jingoism, world domination, cultural hegemony and raping and pillaging each other here and abroad in the wake of the 9/11 attacks. It was so comforting to me to realize my ethical views and judgements of my fellow ‘Americans’ weren’t outlandish, wrong and potentially evil. Mr. Vonnegut- my life wouldn’t have been bearable if I hadn’t stumbled on your writings for the first time when I was around ten or eleven years old- you were an amazing person!


Magnetic Horror

“Beneath this sky, so livid and strange,

Tormented like thy destiny,
What thoughts within thy spirit range
Themselves?—O libertine reply.”

—With vain desires, for ever torn
Towards the uncertain, and the vast,
And yet, like Ovid—I’ll not mourn—
Who from his Roman Heaven was cast.

O heavens, turbulent as the streams,
In you I mirror forth my pride!
Your clouds, which clad in mourning, glide,

Are the hearses of my dreams,
And in your illusion lies the hell,
Wherein my heart delights to dwell.



Available at Project Gutenberg:  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/36098/36098-h/36098-h.htm

~~This work by Philip J. Chartrand is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.“

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This work by Philip J. Chartrand is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.



Great forests, you alarm me like a mighty fane;

Like organ-tones you roar, and in our hearts of stone,
Where ancient sobs vibrate, O halls of endless pain!
The answering echoes of your “De Profundis” moan.

I hate thee, Ocean! hate thy tumults and thy throbs,
My spirit finds them in himself. This bitter glee
Of vanquished mortals, full of insults and of sobs,
I hear it in the mighteous laughter of the sea.

O starless night! thy loveliness my soul inhales,
Without those starry rays which speak a language known,
For I desire the dark, the naked and the lone.

But e’en those darknesses themselves to me are veils,
Where live—and, by the millions ‘neath my eyelids prance,
Long, long departed Beings with familiar glance.




Available at Project Gutenberg:  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/36098/36098-h/36098-h.htm

~~This work by Philip J. Chartrand is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.“

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This work by Philip J. Chartrand is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.


Meditation by Charles Baudelaire

 Be wise, O my Woe, seek thy grievance to drown,

Thou didst call for the night, and behold it is here,
An atmosphere sombre, envelopes the town,
To some bringing peace and to others a care.

Whilst the manifold souls of the vile multitude,
‘Neath the lash of enjoyment, that merciless sway,
Go plucking remorse from the menial brood,
From them far, O my grief, hold my hand, come this way.

Behold how they beckon, those years, long expired,
From Heaven, in faded apparel attired,
How Regret, smiling, foams on the waters like yeast;

Its arches of slumber the dying sun spreads,
And like a long winding-sheet dragged to the East,
Oh, hearken Beloved, how the Night softly treads!




Available at Project Gutenberg:  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/36098/36098-h/36098-h.htm

~~This work by Philip J. Chartrand is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.“

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This work by Philip J. Chartrand is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

Emily and Annabelle 2015


All ardent lovers and all sages prize,

—As ripening years incline upon their brows—
The mild and mighty cats—pride of the house—
That like unto them are indolent, stern and wise.

The friends of Learning and of Ecstasy,
They search for silence and the horrors of gloom;
The devil had used them for his steeds of Doom,
Could he alone have bent their pride to slavery.

When musing, they display those outlines chaste,
Of the great sphinxes—stretched o’er the sandy waste,
That seem to slumber deep in a dream without end:

From out their loins a fountainous furnace flies,
And grains of sparkling gold, as fine as sand,
Bestar the mystic pupils of their eyes.





~~This work by Philip J. Chartrand is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.“

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This work by Philip J. Chartrand is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

A Walk By the Charles

Finality broods upon the things that pass:
Persuaded by this air, the trump of doom
Might hang unsounded while the autumn gloom
Darkens the leaf and smokes the river’s glass.
For nothing so susceptible to death
But on this forenoon seems to hold its breath:
The silent single oarsmen on the stream
Are always young, are rowers in a dream.
The lovers underneath the chestnut tree,
Though love is over, stand bemused to see
The season falling where no fall could be.

You oarsmen, when you row beyond the bend,
Will see the river winding to its end.
Lovers that hold the chestnut burr in hand
Will speak at last of death, will understand,
Foot-deep amid the ruinage of the year,
What smell it is that stings the gathering air.

From our evasions we are brought at last,
From all our hopes of faithfulness, to cast
One look of recognition at the sky,
The unimportant leaves that flutter by.
Why else upon this bank are we so still?
What lends us anchor but the mutable?
O lovers! Let the bridge of your two hands
Be broken like the mirrored bridge that bends
And shivers on the surface of the stream.
Young oarsmen, who in timeless gesture seem
Continuous, united with the tide,
Leave off your bending to the oar, and glide
Past innocence, beyond these aging bricks,
To where the Charles flows in to join the Styx.

Adrienne Rich