Musings of an Italian-American Catholic wife, mother, and writer

Musings of an Italian-American Catholic wife, mother, and writer

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

The Bathing Suit Post I Would Write (but won't)



I planned to write a post about my bathing suit shopping adventure. Really and truly.


I was going to post a photo of my Erin Condren planner where Tuesday, May 24 had been circled for some time. Where, written in purple and circled in red, were the words mall for bathing suit which I had put on the calendar because I knew I would need the entire day.




In my post I would have written about the hour (and ten minutes) I spent at Macy's. How I tried on every style (one piece, two piece, skirted, one shoulder, strapless) and was even willing to try any color (well, solids anyway). I would probably even have mentioned the irony of how, in the end, I bought a cute cover-up ... but no bathing suit.


Then I would have told you about the TWO hours I spent at Dillard's and how the sales associate and I were on a first name basis; how I totally ignored the "six garments at a time" sign at the entrance of the dressing room and instead carried in double that amount; how I probably lost five pounds just by trying on suit after suit; and how I had several piles going: no, definitely no, and what were they thinking?


Maybe I would have even shared my rants:


-Ruffles? Seriously? There is no place you can put a ruffle that wouldn't add unneeded bulk.
-If only they put this top, with those straps, and that bottom.
-"Minimizer" simply means that a body part is displaced to another area of your body.
-Do NOT look at the cover-ups. Do NOT.
-A gold (functioning!) zipper down the front of a bathing suit is just asking for trouble.


In the end I would have mentioned how I bought two suits -- a black one piece (no lectures) and a navy top (bottoms to be figured out later).


So, while I had planned to write a post about my bathing suit shopping adventure, I won't.


I'm still trying to recover.


Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Summer Reading for Boys: Poison, Scurvy, Murder, Oh My!

This summer Timothy has the lofty goal of reading a book a week.


Actually, I made that goal because, well, I'm the mom. End of discussion.


Now, some of you have kids that are readers and are probably thinking: That's it? One teeny, weeny book a week? Believe me, I understand. I used to be that kid who read a book every two days, so the fact that Timothy inherited some weird, errant gene in which he equates reading to torture is foreign to me. I mean, who doesn't like to read? (Secretly, I'm pretty sure Joe is responsible for that weird, errant gene, but since he is solely responsible for all the Math genes the boys have inherited, I don't complain too much.)


So, a book a week -- and National Geographic magazines, World Record books, Lego instruction manuals, and multi-page instruction books for a four-cylinder engine do not count.


Yesterday was Timothy's first official day of summer vacation, and I knew that Book 1 for week1 had to be a perfect book to get Timothy excited about reading; in other words, I couldn't start with Tolstoy, for example. (Besides, Tolstoy is scheduled for Week #2.)


JUST KIDDING about Tolstoy. Sheesh.


Now before you start thinking I'm a horrible mom, let me show you how cool I can be (with the help of my sister who gave me the suggestion). Here is Timothy's first book:


How they Croaked: The Awful Ends of the Awfully Famous

Over the course of history, men and women have lived and died. Whether someone had a lung explode, was stabbed to death, or croaked from a really bad sore throat, getting sick and dying tended to be a big, ugly mess -- especially before modern medical care. These pages contain all the gory details of the awful ends of nineteen awfully famous people.




Last night he read of the untimely deaths of King Tut (malaria), Julius Caesar (murder), and Cleopatra (suicide). And who knew one can learn so much history just by studying how someone died! With King Tut, Timothy learned about pharaohs, the science of mummification, and Howard Carter; the chapter on Julius Caesar taught him about the Ides of March, "et tu Brute", and the betrayal of 60 Roman Senators; and with Cleopatra he read how her death was like an ancient re-telling of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet.


And the book is funny. Before falling in love with Marc Anthony, Cleopatra and Julius Caesar had a son -- Little Caesar. Do you know how funny that is for a boy? Right now he's reading about Christopher Columbus and he just finished telling me how sailors pooped on ships and what they used for toilet paper.


Blood, murder, poop = Little Boy Heaven.


I am well aware that  Little Women it's not, but after finishing the first chapter of How they Croaked Timothy continued to the next one without any prompting from me which, let me tell you, is progress.


And last night I actually had to tell him to put the book down because it was time for bed.


Again, progress.


Next week: The Outsiders
"Stay gold, Ponyboy."


Sunday, May 22, 2016

Gelato Here, Gelato There, Gelato Everywhere

I was going through some of the bambino's old papers when I discovered this little paragraph he wrote a couple of years ago. It made me laugh. Out loud. You see, in listing all the reasons why he loves Italy, he left out the most important one ... GELATO.


Just before leaving on our last family trip to Rome and the Amalfi Coast, my parents promised to buy the boys a gelato whenever and wherever they wanted one ... no exceptions. If you wanted a gelato, Nonna and Nonno would buy it for you.


(In case you're wondering, Joe and I were NOT included. We had to buy our own.)


So, our boys basically gelato-ed their way through Italy.


Gondolas, race tracks, and pasta aside ...
it's the gelato!


"A better snack would be a gelato."
-Timothy, in Pompeii


"I really, really want a gelato."
-Timothy, in Pompeii


"Hey Nonno, about that gelato ..."
-Timothy, in Sorrento


Silence
(he's eating gelato)


"I'm ready for another gelato."
-Timothy, Villa Oplontis


"Nonna, can I have a gelato?"


gelato here, gelato there,
gelato everywhere!

Sunday, May 8, 2016

Not Your Mother's Day Tea

What am I doing on this beautiful, sunny Mother's Day? Since next Sunday I am hosting a one year reunion picnic of our Girls' Trip to Italy ...


I'm making limoncello, of course.


Capri and the Amalfi Coast ... lemons everywhere!


lemon zest + pure grain alcohol + sugar = limoncello


Thinly sliced lemon peels ... no pith!


Yeah ... so, those lemon peels aren't soaking in water ;-)


What to do with the poor, naked lemons?


Make lemon sorbet, of course!



Thursday, May 5, 2016

A Twilight's Whisper


Yesterday, I had the best Mother’s Day.

It started in the morning when Nicholas and I had an appointment at the Evans Post Office to renew our passports -- I needed to renew mine because my old one expired this past January and I have never, ever, in all my life, been without a passport; Nicholas needed one going into his senior year because, with a passport in hand, he is primed and ready for adventure. When I handed the clerk Nicholas' birth certificate, signed documents and turned in his old passport, I felt like I was giving my son to the world. He is ready; I am not.

Then, later that afternoon Nicholas accompanied me to Milledgeville to pick up Jonathan.  Just the two of us in the car for ninety minutes. We listened to some of his cd’s (mostly classical soundtracks from video games), we talked about a study abroad, and then Nicholas, who is this close to a degree in Computer Engineering, brought up the topic of technology – its place in society and the danger of allowing it to take over the essence of who we are as humans. It was a deep, philosophical discussion, with moral overtones, and I enjoyed it immensely.

In Milledgeville we went to work.

As we climbed up and down stairs (again and again) carrying the contents of Jonathan’s dorm room, and later when the three of us had dinner together before driving back home, I was so thrilled to see how many people greeted Jonathan by name and who stopped to speak with us. What a contrast to the emotions we experienced last summer: the shock when Jonathan didn’t get into his college of choice, the betrayal when he was denied again during an appeal, and the feeling of dread this past fall when we dropped him off at a different college knowing that he didn't know a single person.
But yesterday, in the chaos of a dorm emptying for the summer, I saw my son's ready smile and was reassured to see how Jonathan had found his way. This past year he met new friends, played intramural basketball, walked to Church (mostly) every Sunday, and made the Dean’s List (both semesters).

On the drive home, the setting sun turned farm fields golden yellow, wooden fences cast rippling shadows, and the hilly, two lane road led us closer and closer to twilight. I was driving, Nicholas was napping, and Jonathan – squished in the back between mountains of stuff – was listening to music on his headphones.  It was very quiet. But it was a good quiet, the kind which cradles memories, nurtures introspection, and nestles in gratitude.

The kind of quiet which whispers, “Happy Mother’s Day."


Sunday, May 1, 2016

Buon Appetito, compliments of the Pontifical Swiss Guard

The Commander of the Pontifical Swiss Guard, Christoph Graf, provided the recipe for our entrĂ©e in today's pranzo with i Nonni. His recipe, Veal Cutlets in Cream Sauce (The Vatican Cookbook, p 81), was a huge hit despite the fact I made a few changes -- I substituted the veal with thinly sliced chicken cutlets, and instead of the roasted vegetables I served it on a bed of wilted greens. The recipe is definitely a keeper.


Chicken Cutlets in a Wine & Cream Sauce
served on a bed of wilted greens

Italian Roasted Potatoes
with olive oil and herbs

Salad with Strawberries and Almonds
tossed with a light, Italian vinaigrette

Gelato
choice of:
Vanilla Chocolate Chip, peanut butter chocolate swirl, strawberry, peanut butter cup

Espresso

Lt. Col. Christoph Graf, vice commander of the Swiss Guard, reviews Swiss Guards in Dec. 2014.
Photo: CNS/Paul Haring




Saturday, April 30, 2016

The Story of a Work Nook

Two years ago we totally redesigned our master bedroom with hardwood flooring, freshly painted walls, new bedroom furniture, and this ...


This cute little French writing desk is for sale.
I plan on turning this work nook into a sitting area.

a cozy nook where I could work, write, and create.


The idea was that I could go upstairs, close the bedroom door, and seclude myself from any and all distractions; that sitting at that cute little French writing desk with my pretty notebooks and pencils all the writing muses would descend en masse and inspire me to write cleverly crafted paragraphs and spin gold with words.


Except, every time I had to stir the pot of minestrone bubbling on the stove or throw in a pile of laundry I had to go all the way downstairs. Most inconvenient.


Except, working upstairs was boring. Very, very boring.


Except, the desk was too small. When I write I have handwritten notes, transcribed notes, and research notes so I need surface area the size of a barn door.


Now, I don't have a barn door (although the idea of taking a barn door, placing it on a pair of trestles, and using it as a desk sends my heart all a-flutter). What I do have, however, is a dining room table ...


Bia's work nook:
the eye of the storm


which, as you can see, gives me room to spread out. Everything is within reach: laptop, day planner, recipe books with notes of recipes I want to try, legal pads, a pewter mug containing all manner of writing utensils, and a stack of passport applications (a story for another day).


And best of all, if I want to stir the minestrone I just need take three giant steps and I'm in the kitchen.