Little Hands and Weddings and Chicken and Carrots

Little hands. That's all I thought about for a week before the wedding - those little hands in mine. Holding hands as we navigated parking lots, streets - or just because.

And bike rides in the woods - the two of us singing as loudly as we could - to keep the bears away.

The flood of memories and how we got from Point A to here. And now I have another son. And was able to watch how warmly she has been welcomed into her husband's family and to know how happy we are to have him as part of ours.

I was so proud of myself. I held it together for the ceremony (officiated by a friend who sang at my wedding almost 28 years ago - how wonderful is that?). I held it together for the toasts. I even held it together when Devon and Kirsten had their first dance - all smiles and sweetness.

But then Paul and Kirsten danced to "I Saw Her First" and the floodgates opened.

And more mascara needed to be applied.

I had cousins in from NYC and the night before the wedding they were able to visit with Kirsten and Matthew. I served Chicken Marbella because it could be prepared ahead of time, is healthy (the rich foods were coming) and it is perfect for a crowd. It's Sam's recipe from My Carolina Kitchen. I have used it for many occasions and it always pleases. No leftovers!

Find the recipe here. It's an old Silver Palate recipe from the 70's and I promise you that you will use it again and again. And because it was the night before the wedding, I forgot to add the wine and brown sugar before cooking. And nobody knew. Chicken and olives and prunes... who needs sugar?

And served up some more healthy treats: Roasted Carrots from Stacey Snacks.

Find the recipe here. And because it was the night before my daughter's wedding, I forgot the avocado - and didn't tell anyone. Fresh carrots, chives, parsley and creme fraiche - who needs the avocado?

For the next two days we were tourists in our own city - reconnecting with my cousins and showing them around. I doubt they ever toured in a pick-up truck before!

Sunday eve, cousins are at airport (miss them), sister is at home and Paul and I are downstairs with sleeping cats watching Cosmos. Normal life. Sweet life.

A blessed life.

Everyday...

I always think my anniversary is May 25th. The wedding was May 24th but that was the dice throw - not the destination. Everyday would begin May 25th. And the destination was life.

It was "everyday" with Paul that I craved. The errands, the cleaning, the planning, the joining, the yearning and the growing.

It isn't everyday that the azaleas are in bloom - but it's part of an everyday.

Everyday is writing or avoiding writing (rubbing cat tummies and deciding where I'd go in my time machine - I have a stellar talent for avoidance.)

It's something like this tilapia  (fish roll-up stuffed with shredded carrots) from Proud Italian Cook.

It's a simple fish roll-up. The fish is spread with pesto and then dimpled with shredded carrots. Add a little bread crumb topping, put in oven and the heat works it magic - and dinner is grand. Find Marie's recipe here.

The rhubarb is up and in Minnesota you learn to love rhubarb - because it's the first thing to make an appearance. It's even abundant along the highways. (Highways! Come on, that's everyday.)   

And because my daughter knows her mother, I am in possession of a lovely book Edible Twin Cities. Paul has already made the requisite strawberry rhubarb pie and there will be many more of those pies during the summer. But I was attracted to this - because it was a wee bit different - a rhubarb meringue pie. It's an old family recipe from the President of the St. Paul's Farmer's Market. The St. Paul Farmer's Market is a true local, farmers market. Everything must be local. Everything. You cannot get early Iowa corn - you must wait for Minnesota (and some of Wisconsin). Unlike the Minneapolis Farmer's Market where you can get bananas and citrus fruit - you cannot get that in the St, Paul market - it must grow within a certain radius of the cities or is ineligible.

The sweet meringue is a perfect foil the rhubarb. Dig down and the sweet tart taste is a wake-up call. And when it's enveloped in all that lovely meringue, it's welcome.

It's not remotely Italian of course. Let's just say it's in the spirit of the Italian tradition: fresh, local, garden-to-table. My grandfather Egidio who was an avid gardener would understand.

Everyday is Luce.

Lately everyday has been turkeys in the yard ... and ducks.

And lately - a fox! (Better watch out duckies!)

And now every day is this:

Part of the MN Fringe Festival. My everydays are better when focused on a show. The website info is here. And after last year's show about coping with grief, a zany, pasta show is in order! (And for chronic readers, an excerpt is here.)

There was another interview: "I Interview Playwrights."  (That would be me.)

And another showcase. Tease.

And - a lot of thinking. About the blog. I am at a loss without google reader and know there are other avenues to explore. But no time to go exploring. Everyday. It's crammed. It's sweet. The La Dolce Vita fairy has visited me. But it's packed.

And I am thinking about my focus with the blog - unlike with a play - do I even have a focus? I have no money/book deal/food writer aspirations. I don't want that. I love my work. And I do want that. For me, this has always been about community. But I think and ponder and obsess. "To blog or not to blog, that is the question?" But I'm not Hamlet and I'm not asking the audience. I'm everyday-Claudia and every-day Claudia needs to focus.  

And rub cat tummies.

Summer of 2012

The summer of 2012 began with a loss. And ended with a proposal by the river.

And a ring. An assurance of the circle that is life.

It began with an unexpected journey. And had beautiful detours for guidance.

(Under a Midsummer Moon at the Minnesota Fringe Festival.)

"How many are in the cast?" asked the frightened techies as seventeen young performers (ages 11-18) filed in for their three-hour tech. Do they know they only have ten-minutes to set up the stage?"

"Yes, they know." (It sort of was rehearsed to death.) And then we went on to have a smooth tech. (Rare.) The techies smiled. Staff and cast breathed a sigh of relief. The Fringe goes to blackout at exactly 60 minutes. The play ran 58 minutes. I cannot say I sat through the performances with nerves of steel.

As closing neared, I threw a cast party for the cast, crew and families.

When a show works, there is electricity between the cast.

Respect. Affection.

And play. So after consuming 10 pounds of pasta, 2 sausage-pepper-potato bakes, 18 cannoli, blueberry cheesecake bars ...

Bruschetta... (yes, I did a lot of healthy) ...

Zucchini-tomato tart.

And platters of Proud Italian Cook's Eggplant Bites.

"I don't even like eggplant," declared one teen as he popped a 6th one in his mouth. I made these four times this summer. Find Marie's recipe here. It's not too late to be enchanted by eggplant.

They played link-tag in the backyard. They played till dark. They played till I was worried that they wouldn't see the little squirrel holes that populate our yard. Visions of tripping and spraining ankles before the final performance did run through my mind. And the director's. But I loved seeing them play - I couldn't... wouldn't halt it.

Of course, the director yelled "Group hug" and the eve came to an end.

I'm somewhere in there. I'm trying to avoid "chicken soup" for the aging soul here... but you know - it was an honor to work with them and my director and designers. There was spiritual balance this summer because of them.

Vegetables were picked.

Heirloom tomatoes were consumed. We barely did anything with them but pick them, slice them and pop them in our mouths. You almost got a sugar rush from their natural sweetness. I think I may have salted them... once.

Caprese was required.

And once-in-awhile, I was inspired to cook them and throw them on pasta. It's not an overly pretty picture - but you know "all that glitters does not always taste good."  Mister Meatball's 7-minute tomato sauce can be found here.  With better photos.

And in August I splurged on halibut. Halibut (3/4 pound) with parsley-butter sauce. Cooked in a skillet - 1/2 stick of Earth Balance butter (I told you I was aging), 1/2 lemon, a little white wine - for probably no reason but it was there and I'm a sucker for leftover wine - and a handful of chopped fresh Italian parsley. Didn't bother with salt and pepper. Didn't even add garlic! Simmered slowly till all flavors joined together - maybe to play link tag. Simmered until the halibut flaked on the top and the greens promised a lingering summer.

It's September. It's warm. But I look forward to woolen scarves, soups, plaids, flowering Kale and fall color. Boots (not snow boots!), cozy sweatshirts, autumn bonfires. Looking forward. It's the most heartening part of the circle.

The Spirit

She never thought she was beautiful.

She was stunning.

And very beautiful.

"The end of an era. My grandma joined my grandpa in heaven yesterday and in honor of her we all raised glasses before dinner. I am very lucky to have had her in my life for the last 23 years and proud to be the grandchild of such a classy lady." - Kirsten's Facebook post.

My mother was made up of pearls and sapphires and roses and daisies and pinks and reds. Laced with the crushed red pepper of Grandma's Basilicata. She was a true Italian Steel Magnolia. Delicate and fierce, lion and lamb, she showed uncommon strength during adversity. And a sweetness and gentleness of spirit during graceful times. Her middle name is Grace.

Opera sustained and comforted her. She got lost in the music and it brought her back to her youth - a time when her father listened to opera daily. She was initially named "Aida" but the hospital had a hard time understanding my Grandfather's pronunciation and somehow there was involvement with my Aunt Rose and suddenly Aida became Edythe.

Bones. They flavored the sauce ("they're the best part!"). And she gave me her bones. 

And laughter. And generosity of spirit. And of course love.

We were blindsided. Her sisters lived well into her 90's and we took it for granted that she would also. We had a ways to go. 

"Is she going to be all right?" I asked my sister when I learned she was in the hospital.

"I think so," she replied.

Two days later a diagnosis and then the following week she was home with hospice.

The night she came home, the furry tornado that is Murray-Guido Shostakovich entered our lives. He likes to sit in sinks. My mother had talked of getting a cat for two years. It was the perfect time. A "rescue-kitten," he will have the most pampered life with my sister. She is a born care-giver who lovingly cared for my mother the last few years. 

Murray is a cyclone. The day after my mother left us, Murray (aka "Murrala") decided he could fly and lept off the 2nd floor platform. He couldn't fly. My sister now has a vet. And Murray is fine. And we're affixing plexiglass  across the stair railings.

I'm including all these family photos. Because that was my mother. La Famiglia is why she got up in the morning. La Famiglia is what kept her up at night trying to ease our way into the world.

In the week she was home, I learned so much about her. About her spirit. Reflections, dreams, day dreams, early morning conversations with my sister centered around the journey of the spirit - her spirit and ours. As my mother slowly passed into another world, she was still teaching me. I learned so much that week. I just wish there was an easier way to learn.

On July 5th, the hospice nurse told us to be prepared for her leave-taking that weekend. My birthday was on the 12th. I understood if she couldn't stay. I told her so. On the 12th, I ran home for miscellaneous work with my Fringe production.

I had a purr with Pip.

Marveled at the volunteer flowers on the patio.

And returned to my mother. My sister was 100% certain I could do this because she wouldn't leave me on my birthday. Even though the nurses were stunned that she was holding on five days later. My sister was right. She didn't leave.

Paul, Matthew and Kirsten gathered at my mother's for my "old" birthday (it's a decade thing - even my mother told me to stop telling people my age because it was aging her!) It was a simple dinner:

• arugula salad with candied walnuts, blueberries and goat cheese
• Spaghetti with garlic, oil, Parmesan and Italian parsley
• Tiramisu courtesy of my sister

The comfort food my of my childhood. I wanted the aromas to go to my mother.  There was laughter at the table. A lot of it. The hearing is the last sense to go. We gave my mother an earful! And she was at my birthday party. Her last parting gift to me. 

On July 13th - on her mother's birthday - my mother left. Diane and I were on either side of her and wished her godspeed and told her how happy we were that she could be with my father and her original family. And of course, how much we loved her.

Cook up some pasta tonight. Blend some olive oil and butter. Add a touch of garlic and saute briefly. Throw your pasta into the garlicky oil. Sprinkle with Italian parsley and a heavy dose of some good Parmesan. I guarantee - instant comfort. Instant love. Each time a Gresio left me, I celebrated them with pasta and wine. It nourishes the spirit.

I learned a lot about the generosity of the spirit. The generosity of others. Courtesy of my mother's friends, Diane and I could host a dinner party for forty at any given time. The fridge was that packed. With sweetness.

Amazingly, this was not a week of weeping and wailing. There was a lot of laughter tinged with a touch of dark humor. A lot of ruminations on the sense of the spirit. And I have to tell you - two weeks ago I found out my mother's age. I never knew. And guess what? It's not on her obituary and I'm not telling you! She was ageless.

Life

Harbors - they are magnets to me. Safe harbors...gentle harbors... good harbors. Sometimes life is a succession of harbors.

Plymouth harbor and beach roses in Massachusetts. 

Shrub roses in Bar Harbor.

Beach Roses in Maine.

Life is sweet - tiny wild Maine berries that stops your heart and restarts it at a gentler pace.

Life is delicious. Food from the sea. Appreciation.

Sometimes you need the light to bring you to safety. Sometimes you are the light.

And life is unpredictable. I am taking a blogging break - some time in harbors for thought. Know that I have smiles and appreciation for all of you, for all those near and for harbors and roses and delicious.