An Ode to Melamine Dinnerware

I have a thing for dishes, and it pleases me to set a pretty table. Our pantry is stocked with several different sets which I like to mix and match. And while I may use paper products for a picnic at the lake, when we are at home we serve food on plates, whether we are eating at the kitchen table, in the dining room, or on the back deck.

Which brings me to melamine dinnerware. When our local Williams-Sonoma went out of business, I stocked up on their speckled cream melamine dishes. I cleared them out; in fact, because I wanted thirty, the sales associate called the store in Columbia, SC and had some of their stock shipped to me.

I have discovered that melamine is great for large parties that involve a buffet -- the plates are sturdy, will not break if dropped, and look pretty.

I especially love using melamine when eat outdoors. We have set tables under the trees for numerous occasions--St. Joseph parties, Italy trip reunions, Bunco nights, Thanksgiving picnics--all with tablescapes set with melamine dinnerware. Even when roasting hot dogs over the fire pit we eschew the paper products in lieu of melamine.

This past Saturday I added to my collection. Joe and I visited the Catholic Social Services Thrift Store for the first time and scored these green melamine plates.

Now to plan a party ...

Purchased from the Catholic Social Services Thrift Store.

The originals from Williams Sonoma.

Hosting a buffet dinner? Use melamine dinnerware.

Melamine dishes are perfect for an outdoor St. Joseph celebration...

or a Girls' Trip to Italy Reunion Picnic!

Crazy Wonderful

This morning I woke up and discovered it was National Sons Day.

So I started to look for a warm and fuzzy photo, the kind that pulls at heartstrings. But then I realized that while life with sons does have its warm and fuzzy moments, there is also goofiness, messy bathrooms, size 12 sneakers everywhere, bedhead, caveman speak, and Legos everywhere. And when little sons grow to be big sons, life becomes all sorts of wonderful, crazy, frustrating, topsy-turvy, and beautiful. Then I came across this photo. We were hosting a Mad Hatter Dinner in Hilton Head with our entire family, including relatives from Italy. This is life with sons. Joe is trying to look stern, gangster-like. Nicholas is smiling so all the world can see his braces, but what is he holding behind his back? Jonathan, who loves food and so immediately grabbed the hamburger hat, looks more like King Henry VIII. Timothy is looking off to the side, probably thinking, "What in the heck is going on?" And I am looking serenely at the camera, all while maintaining a death grip on two of my boys. See? Life with sons. But back to those warm and fuzzy moments. I had to post those, too. #nationalsonsday

Kneeling on Pillows of Gratitude

Do you keep a gratitude journal? Or, at the end of the day, pause to reflect on all the things for which you are grateful? 

A few years ago I decided to practice intentional gratitude by keeping a journal. Each evening I wrote down five things for which I was grateful. Sometimes the entries were deep and introspective (a conversation with a stranger that got me thinking), but mostly they were very, very simple (a phone call from one of the boys); sometimes it was a list (fall apples, smiles, good friends), and sometimes I used complete sentences (My article was published! Finished a good book!).

Then life got busy, and while the journaling stopped the gratitude did not, for I had learned an important lesson: once I got into the habit of pausing at the end of the day to think about those grateful moments, to really and truly acknowledge them, I started to recognize them in real time. Gratitude in the moment. 

And gratitude in the moment inspired a verbal acknowledgment of that gratitude. Thank you. Two words that pack a punch, both when given and when received.

I also learned how gratitude paved the way to prayer. Maya Angelou once said that gratitude is the pillow upon which you kneel to say your nightly prayer, and there have been many nights when one has lead to another.

Of course, there are those days - you know the kind - which may seem as if there is NOTHING good to say. Finding gratitude on those days takes a little work, and to be honest I had some entries that were more sarcastic than grateful (Monday, January 23: Grateful for NyQuil).

But that's okay because gratitude doesn't mean that things are perfect; rather, it's about recognizing the perfect in the imperfect. Being grateful for the sniffling, sneezing, aching, coughing, stuffy-head, fever, so you can rest medicine is no less important than being grateful for my family, or for the full moon, or an early morning walk with Joe.

It's such an easy thing, being grateful, but sometimes it gets buried in the busyness of life, or stays hidden behind inconsequential matters, or dries up with bitterness. But if you look for gratitude, unearth it, dust it off and polish it, then gratitude offers a shining outlook not just on the day, but on life. 

No duty is more urgent than that of returning thanks.

- St. Ambrose

News from CasaNova: exhibit A, a framed photo, a world view, a cookie prophecy, and comfortable heels (?!)

1- Exhibit A

I get a lot of grief about my penchant for wearing black. A LOT. And I get teased for the number of black tank tops I own. 

Yesterday I was in Aiken and did a little shopping downtown. Now, you will NOT believe this, but I did purchase yet another black tank top. BUT, it came from a boutique, so it's FANCY.

So do not say a single word about another black tank top. Not. One.

Because I also bought this jacket, and as you can see ... chartreuse!

2- Sunrise on the River

This past July, Joe and I were  biking along the canal and met a volunteer (Lenny) from Friends of the Rapids who was pulling trash from the river. We had a nice conversation, and then I asked if I could take a photo of him and tag him on Instagram. He agreed, so I took a few photos of him next to his boat. As he was paddling away, his boat was silhouetted against the morning sunrise, so I took another photo. I posted all the photos on Instagram and tagged him. He tagged my photos on the Friends of the Rapids Instagram page. 

Yesterday , Lenny sent me a private message via Instagram saying he loved the photo I took of him so much that he had it enlarged and framed. Then he sent me a photo of it hanging in his house. 

That gave me joy. 

3- The Great High Heel Hunt

Our dining room is the control center for our son's wedding next month. Invoices, to-do lists, seating charts, Italian bomboniere (wedding favors) ... and shoe boxes. 

I've been on a GREAT HIGH HEEL HUNT, and I posted the following question on a Facebook fashion site: Can anyone recommend a pair of comfortable heels? There were over 200 comments, most of them with the laughing emoji. Evidently heels and comfortable do not belong in the same sentence. But I prevailed. At one point I ordered EIGHT pairs of shoes and returned all eight. But I did find a few pair that are in the running, including these ...

4- A World View

With Afghanistan featured so heavily in the news, I decided to re-read The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. Beautifully written, and especially heartbreaking in the light of the country's current political situation.

"I wondered if that was how forgiveness budded; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night." -Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

"There are a lot of children in Afghanistan, but little childhood." -Khaled Hosseini

5- Cookies in a Tin

Every year before the holidays Costco introduces a tin of Italian Cookies, the tin decorated with different Italian cities. And I'm sensing a pattern: one year it was Rome, and we went to Rome; last year it was Verona, and we went to Verona.

This year the tin features Sicily and ... 

Good News in an Airport

As I am writing this, Joe is sitting at the Atlanta airport waiting for his flight to Augusta. He’s tired and eager to get home. Mike Rowe (from the show Dirty Jobs) is flying today, and I only know this because I follow him on Facebook and he posted a photo of himself at the airport along with a commentary about traveling while masked. This morning I read not one, but TWO, news reports of unruly passengers on planes. Yesterday there were three. Airports are crowded, flights are cancelled or rescheduled, and people are communicating through masks which promulgate frustrations and hide smiles.

But you know what? I refuse to believe that the only travel news is bad news. Because I know otherwise …

On one of Sister Gaudiosa’s visits with our family, she told us the story of her first time on an airplane when she left Tanzania to study here in the United States. Her flight involved a layover in Germany, and in the process of walking to her new gate she came across her first escalator. Ever.

She was terrified. Stairs that move? She stood to the side, studying it. She approached it, lost her nerve, and backed away again. She didn't know what to do.

Then she heard a voice ask, "Sister? Do you need help?"

It was a German student, male, in his mid-twenties. When he realized what the problem was, he picked up her bag and took her by the arm. "Not to worry, Sister. I will help you."

And he did. All the way down the escalator, all the way to her gate.

After spending a week with us, we drove Sister to the airport. She was flying to Missouri and had packed two very heavy suitcases. When we helped her check in, the agent said there would be an extra fee since both suitcases were overweight. It was a pretty hefty fine.

I looked at the agent and said, "Everything she owns in this world is packed in these two suitcases." And I knew what I was talking about because I had helped her pack them. Inside were her habits made from thick, blue material, her black shoes, a winter coat, and study materials.

The agent didn't say anything, so my husband took out his wallet to pay the fine.

Except there wasn't one. When the agent took the suitcases he said, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it. Have a safe flight, Sister." And he smiled.

Later that evening Sister called to say she had arrived safely. She then told us what happened to her at the gate: a middle-aged man saw her blue habit and struck up a conversation with her. He said that he had attended Catholic schools all his life and had fond memories of the nuns who taught him. Would she allow him to buy her lunch?

And so he did. It was a modest meal—a hotdog and a drink—but two strangers, a businessman and a nun from Tanzania, shared a meal together.

In an airport.

Where good things can—and do!—happen.

A Hankie for My Pocket