My 15th grandchild is here. Another little girl who makes it 12 granddaughters and 3 grandsons. My oldest granddaughter is 14. My other grandchildren are in clusters, ranging from ages of 11, 10, 6, 5, 4, 3 to a newborn.
To say the least, parties, birthdays and holidays are noisy ones, filled with food, kids and noise. Christmas Eve here is unbelievable. We fill up the Living Room with presents for each grown up and tons of presents for the children.
The food is unbelievable, with every thing from nuts, appetizers, a number of entrees and candy, and cookies – cookies – cookies. The dining room and kitchen tables groan with the plates, utensils, and food as does the counter. Kids roam around eating, running and playing in the dining room, playroom, the upstairs bedrooms and the basement.
The noise level is off the charts but everyone is happy to be here for a few hours. I love watching it all and hearing the loud joyous sounds of happiness, knowing it is only for a little while and then everyone will go home. Until that time, I enjoy the evening. The price of happiness isn’t expensive and the photos and memories prove it.
The fifteenth grandchild will be one more, which will add more to our lives. One more to add themselves and their own noise to the crowd, and one more to love.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Women of Courage
In all of my readings, there are two women authors who stand out. Not just because of the books that they have written but more for their personal lives and their stories, their tragedies, triumphs, and survival. The women are Ayaan Hirsi Ali and Immaculee Ilibagiza.
Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a Somalia writer and politician, is the founder of women’s rights organization, the AHA Foundation. Hirsi is a prominent critic of Islam and their treatment of women. Her screenplay, Submission, with the Dutch filmmaker, Theo van Gogh, led to his death and for her, death threats and relocation from the Netherlands.
Hiris has written two outstanding books that detail her life and plight - Infidel and Nomad. I highly recommend both books, especially for women readers to realize how free we are in the United States of America. They both are good books to learn about the restrictions and classless society that Muslim women find themselves living under.
Infidel is Hirsi’s memoir. I found it to be one of the most fascinating books that I have ever read. The subject matter at times was difficult to comprehend. As I read the book, I found myself going through a lot of different emotions. The books shows how Hirsi survived civil war, female mutilation, brutal beatings, living under the rise of the Muslim Brotherhood and living in four unstabled countries. Hirsi is a survivor and voice for women who have had their voices stifled and their lives ended.
In 1994, Immaculee Ilibagiza, a Rowandan, was a 24-year-old college student when she was caught in the Rowandan genocide which lasted for 3 months. More than one million ethnic Tutsis were murdered. In her book, Left To Tell, she tells how she survived with seven other women for 91 days in a tiny bathroom.
Ilibagiza’s mother, father and two brothers were killed during this time. Only she and another brother survived. Yet, Ilibagiza has been able to face the man who killed some members of her family while he was in jail. She forgave him. This most amazing woman had been able to forgive the man who killed her family and has been able to move on with her life. That is a lesson for all mankind.
Both women, as are the books they have written, are incredible writers and story tellers. I would not have wanted to have gone through what they had. But I would like to be strong, and courageous and a model for other women like Ayaan Hirisi Ali and Immaculee Ilibagiza.
Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a Somalia writer and politician, is the founder of women’s rights organization, the AHA Foundation. Hirsi is a prominent critic of Islam and their treatment of women. Her screenplay, Submission, with the Dutch filmmaker, Theo van Gogh, led to his death and for her, death threats and relocation from the Netherlands.
Hiris has written two outstanding books that detail her life and plight - Infidel and Nomad. I highly recommend both books, especially for women readers to realize how free we are in the United States of America. They both are good books to learn about the restrictions and classless society that Muslim women find themselves living under.
Infidel is Hirsi’s memoir. I found it to be one of the most fascinating books that I have ever read. The subject matter at times was difficult to comprehend. As I read the book, I found myself going through a lot of different emotions. The books shows how Hirsi survived civil war, female mutilation, brutal beatings, living under the rise of the Muslim Brotherhood and living in four unstabled countries. Hirsi is a survivor and voice for women who have had their voices stifled and their lives ended.
In 1994, Immaculee Ilibagiza, a Rowandan, was a 24-year-old college student when she was caught in the Rowandan genocide which lasted for 3 months. More than one million ethnic Tutsis were murdered. In her book, Left To Tell, she tells how she survived with seven other women for 91 days in a tiny bathroom.
Ilibagiza’s mother, father and two brothers were killed during this time. Only she and another brother survived. Yet, Ilibagiza has been able to face the man who killed some members of her family while he was in jail. She forgave him. This most amazing woman had been able to forgive the man who killed her family and has been able to move on with her life. That is a lesson for all mankind.
Both women, as are the books they have written, are incredible writers and story tellers. I would not have wanted to have gone through what they had. But I would like to be strong, and courageous and a model for other women like Ayaan Hirisi Ali and Immaculee Ilibagiza.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Moving On...My Own
Writing has always been my salvo. It has been my salvation and my therapy. But in the last two weeks, it has eluded me. For the past four years my youngest son has been living with me, along with his two children, who spend half the week here. Now I have watched my son move to a new home with his new wife and his children. I felt happiness seeing my son find a wonderful woman and marrying her. His happiness was my joy. But in all of this, after four years of having my son and two young grandchildren living in my house, it was hard to see them leave.
I watched my grandchildren grow up in the last four years. My grandson changed from a three-year-old to a funny little guy with a sense of humor, who is now going into 2nd grade. My granddaughter has grown up and is now 11 years old. I watched her grow from a little girl to a lovely swan…who is taller then me.
All three brought light and noise into my empty life and my quiet house, long after my own nine children have grown and moved away to start their own lives and their own families. Children bring life to houses and homes, and to empty rooms. They bring a renewed meaning to life that has become dull and lonely with time. My yard has a wooden swing-set in it, an abandoned scooter on the basketball court with a small plastic playhouse, a fort partially built and a hammock waiting for them to swing in it. My kitchen window ledge has two small plants that my grandson started from the seeds of fruit and they are growing and surviving.
My hallways and rooms echo with the emptiness of my two grandchildren. Every room has a memory where some of their toys are, or a stray shoe and a t-shirt lying about. For me, the first day after they left was empty and hard and at times the oxygen seemed to have been sucked out of the room and my lungs, until I could barely breathe and control myself.
I know I will survive and be okay (I hope) but I also know I miss my son and grandchildren. I miss the noise and games and having them around the kitchen table during dinner, to share their conversations and a meal with me. I’ll miss their laughter and my granddaughter’s, “Goodnight, Grandma” and kiss. I’ll miss listening to my grandson taking a long shower in my bathroom, drying himself off and asking me to get his pajamas that he forgot.
Where did those four years go, I wonder? But I know that life changes and maybe like those plants on my window ledge…I, too, will keep growing and will survive this part of my life.
I watched my grandchildren grow up in the last four years. My grandson changed from a three-year-old to a funny little guy with a sense of humor, who is now going into 2nd grade. My granddaughter has grown up and is now 11 years old. I watched her grow from a little girl to a lovely swan…who is taller then me.
All three brought light and noise into my empty life and my quiet house, long after my own nine children have grown and moved away to start their own lives and their own families. Children bring life to houses and homes, and to empty rooms. They bring a renewed meaning to life that has become dull and lonely with time. My yard has a wooden swing-set in it, an abandoned scooter on the basketball court with a small plastic playhouse, a fort partially built and a hammock waiting for them to swing in it. My kitchen window ledge has two small plants that my grandson started from the seeds of fruit and they are growing and surviving.
My hallways and rooms echo with the emptiness of my two grandchildren. Every room has a memory where some of their toys are, or a stray shoe and a t-shirt lying about. For me, the first day after they left was empty and hard and at times the oxygen seemed to have been sucked out of the room and my lungs, until I could barely breathe and control myself.
I know I will survive and be okay (I hope) but I also know I miss my son and grandchildren. I miss the noise and games and having them around the kitchen table during dinner, to share their conversations and a meal with me. I’ll miss their laughter and my granddaughter’s, “Goodnight, Grandma” and kiss. I’ll miss listening to my grandson taking a long shower in my bathroom, drying himself off and asking me to get his pajamas that he forgot.
Where did those four years go, I wonder? But I know that life changes and maybe like those plants on my window ledge…I, too, will keep growing and will survive this part of my life.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
A Door Closed
There is an old expression that goes something like – “God never closes a door, unless He opens another.” I hope that it is true.
With that saying, I have been searching for a writing group for the past six years. I had been in a small writing group when I had attended Chatham College,while I was working toward my Master’s Degree in Nonfiction Writing. Including myself, there were three other women in the group. We would meet, eat dinner, and pass our writing work around to be read and critiqued. Then we would meet a few weeks later and do the same. After graduation, we went our separate ways. I missed these women. I especially missed our writing group and have been searching in vain for another group.
About two years ago, I ran into a woman who had been in one of my Chatham classes. She talked about her writing group and how there was an opening, took my name and phone number, and said she would be in touch. A year or two passed, I never heard from her.
A few weeks ago, I ran into the woman at the bookstore. We talked, and again she mentioned the writing group. For the second time, she took my name and said two women would be dropping out and would I like to join. Out our courtesy, she would talk to the other women, and get back to me. A week or two went by, I received an email – I was in. My quest and hunger for a writing group was over. We would meet in August on a weekly basis.
Finally, after the fourth of July, I received another email: “Sorry but two of the original members are rejoining. Hope you can find a writing group. If anyone leaves the group, you are the first on the list to be called. Have a nice summer.”
I looked at the email and shook my head in frustration. For years I have been looking for a writing group to join. I was confused and wondered if other groups were so rigid or profiled their members? I decided that even if I was number one on their potential list, I didn’t want to join their group. After two disappointments, I didn’t want to be set up for a third one. I doubt this “elitists” group is what I am looking for. I’m disappointed to say the least and realize if I had a writing group, I wouldn’t turn away any eager and productive writer. The worst part is that I am not an amateur writer. In the past, I have been published a number of times in newspapers and magazines. I have also been paid for my work.
Another door was shut but I will find a writing group somewhere, who will welcome all serious writers to their group. Another lesson learned.
Yes – I’m still searching for another group. So, if anyone reading this blog and lives in the North Hills area is interested in forming a writing group – leave a comment.
With that saying, I have been searching for a writing group for the past six years. I had been in a small writing group when I had attended Chatham College,while I was working toward my Master’s Degree in Nonfiction Writing. Including myself, there were three other women in the group. We would meet, eat dinner, and pass our writing work around to be read and critiqued. Then we would meet a few weeks later and do the same. After graduation, we went our separate ways. I missed these women. I especially missed our writing group and have been searching in vain for another group.
About two years ago, I ran into a woman who had been in one of my Chatham classes. She talked about her writing group and how there was an opening, took my name and phone number, and said she would be in touch. A year or two passed, I never heard from her.
A few weeks ago, I ran into the woman at the bookstore. We talked, and again she mentioned the writing group. For the second time, she took my name and said two women would be dropping out and would I like to join. Out our courtesy, she would talk to the other women, and get back to me. A week or two went by, I received an email – I was in. My quest and hunger for a writing group was over. We would meet in August on a weekly basis.
Finally, after the fourth of July, I received another email: “Sorry but two of the original members are rejoining. Hope you can find a writing group. If anyone leaves the group, you are the first on the list to be called. Have a nice summer.”
I looked at the email and shook my head in frustration. For years I have been looking for a writing group to join. I was confused and wondered if other groups were so rigid or profiled their members? I decided that even if I was number one on their potential list, I didn’t want to join their group. After two disappointments, I didn’t want to be set up for a third one. I doubt this “elitists” group is what I am looking for. I’m disappointed to say the least and realize if I had a writing group, I wouldn’t turn away any eager and productive writer. The worst part is that I am not an amateur writer. In the past, I have been published a number of times in newspapers and magazines. I have also been paid for my work.
Another door was shut but I will find a writing group somewhere, who will welcome all serious writers to their group. Another lesson learned.
Yes – I’m still searching for another group. So, if anyone reading this blog and lives in the North Hills area is interested in forming a writing group – leave a comment.
Friday, August 12, 2011
EZ Pass
I so love my EZ Pass! I love the power of holding up the pass in my hand pressed against my windshield, while driving without stopping. I love seeing the other cars lined up, with the toll card and money waiting in my rear view mirror.
For years I drove back and forth from Pennsylvania to Ohio on the Turnpike. Diligently, I would get my toll ticket, look at the charge and get my money out. All I had to do was drive, then stop at my exit and hand over my ticket and the correct amount.
It never seemed to matter what toll booth I would choose. The inevitable would happen with the person in the car in front, handing the toll taker the card and then fumbling through their purse or wallet or coin tray for the amount. I waited grumbling, tapping my steering wheel, saying out our, “Come on – go!” It almost seems to come as a surprise to the drivers ahead that they actually need toll money to get off the turnpike. I always think – why couldn’t they at least have the money set out regardless if it am the correct amount? It’s not as if this should be a surprise where they got on the turnpike, took a toll card and someone threw up a booth at the end, and asked for money.
A few months ago I went to the Giant Eagle store and purchased the EZ Pass Pack. I went home, got online and activated it by using the pin number on the package. I set up my account and how the money would be drawn as I needed it. A person can have the fees taken automatically from one’s checking account or personal credit card.
I couldn’t wait to use my EZ Pass. Of course – every step of the way, I called my son, Michael, with my information:
Call #1 – “Hi, I bought my EZ Pass.”
Call #2 – “Hi, I activated my EZ Pass online.”
Call #3 – “Hi going to use my EZ Pass.”
Call #4 – “Hi, I did it. I did it. I used my EZ Pass.”
Call me what you want. Call me weird. Call me a nerd. It sounds crazy but I LOVE MY EZ PASS! I don’t have to wait behind one of those fumbling drivers who seem to take forever looking for their toll money. Yeah, I am the one easing up on the gas, showing my EZ Pass with a big grin on my face, and watching the line up of cars in my rear view mirror.
For years I drove back and forth from Pennsylvania to Ohio on the Turnpike. Diligently, I would get my toll ticket, look at the charge and get my money out. All I had to do was drive, then stop at my exit and hand over my ticket and the correct amount.
It never seemed to matter what toll booth I would choose. The inevitable would happen with the person in the car in front, handing the toll taker the card and then fumbling through their purse or wallet or coin tray for the amount. I waited grumbling, tapping my steering wheel, saying out our, “Come on – go!” It almost seems to come as a surprise to the drivers ahead that they actually need toll money to get off the turnpike. I always think – why couldn’t they at least have the money set out regardless if it am the correct amount? It’s not as if this should be a surprise where they got on the turnpike, took a toll card and someone threw up a booth at the end, and asked for money.
A few months ago I went to the Giant Eagle store and purchased the EZ Pass Pack. I went home, got online and activated it by using the pin number on the package. I set up my account and how the money would be drawn as I needed it. A person can have the fees taken automatically from one’s checking account or personal credit card.
I couldn’t wait to use my EZ Pass. Of course – every step of the way, I called my son, Michael, with my information:
Call #1 – “Hi, I bought my EZ Pass.”
Call #2 – “Hi, I activated my EZ Pass online.”
Call #3 – “Hi going to use my EZ Pass.”
Call #4 – “Hi, I did it. I did it. I used my EZ Pass.”
Call me what you want. Call me weird. Call me a nerd. It sounds crazy but I LOVE MY EZ PASS! I don’t have to wait behind one of those fumbling drivers who seem to take forever looking for their toll money. Yeah, I am the one easing up on the gas, showing my EZ Pass with a big grin on my face, and watching the line up of cars in my rear view mirror.
Monday, August 8, 2011
One Long Year
It has been a year since the death of my brother. A lot of things have happened during this year. One of my daughters got married, 11 months later, my son got married, another daughter got engaged and my 15th grandchild will arrive any day.
I did go back to Chicago three times after my brother’s death. The first time was to go to his funeral. The second time, I visited my niece with my daughter. The third time, a few of my family members and I participated in the Jack “Doc” Aiello Run for Someone 5K Walk and Run. A Run that was held for a number of years and was renamed for my brother.
During those early months, each day was filled with lots of memories. There was a big void where I could no longer call and talk to my brother, or send him a card, or an email. In the beginning, it was simply too hard to even look at my brother’s picture.
Now it is a bit easier but there still is that disbelief that he is dead. There is that missing piece. I realize there will always be that missing piece for me. But I also think it is a little bit easier living here in Pittsburgh then living in Chicago where my brother lived. There are just too many memories there.
From all of this, I realize that one of the most important things in life is family. Money, fame, and notoriety are not that important. My small family - mother, father and brother are all gone. Now I have my own family – sons, daughters, their spouses and my grandchildren. Our lives all intersect and I enjoy them. I plan to continue to enjoy them, every day of my life.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Alinea
After reading the book - Life on the Line by Grant Achatz and Nick Kokonas, I wanted to see their cookbook. I was at the bookstore, and saw it on one of the shelves. The book was really big and wrapped in cellophane and it was plenty expensive. After going home, I promptly looked up the book on Amazon.com. I looked through some of the pages and then I saw that I could buy it for half the price. I used my gift card. When I received the book…I was not disappointed.
This isn’t just a cookbook but it is a book that I believe belongs on one of the shelves at the New York Metropolitan Art Museum. It is that grand of a book. Each photo is a work of art. T The creativity was in the chef’s presentation as he used the plates and the food, as an artist uses his subject matter on a canvas. The photographer, Lara Kastner has a terrific eye for her subject matter, and the quality of the photos makes the book.
I love the presentation of the foods, and the sensual looking way the dishes were artfully displayed. Actually, I wanted to sit down with a fork and knife and eat the food right off the pages or the book. Who knows – maybe I would be able to taste all those wonderful flavors. Looking at each photo, I felt that I could smell and taste each flavor of the foods that I saw on the pages as I read each recipe.
I even decided that there were a few things that I would love to eat at Alinea, like: Licorice Cake with Orange Confit, anise Hyssop and Spun Sugar; Hot Potato – Cold Potato, Black Truffle and Parmesan; Squab with Thai Peppercorn, Strawberry, Oxalis pods; Bison with Braised Pistachios, Potato and Sweet Spices, and Crab with Cashew, Parsnips, Young Coconut. No chocolate lover will be able to pass up the Chocolate with Braised Figs, Bergamot Tea, Cassia Ice Cream, Dehydrated Chocolate Mousse, and Warm Chocolate.
Of course I plan on reading the book and recipes from cover to cover. I also plan on looking at each enjoying the photographs, over and over. To be honest, I will not be putting this cookbook with my other ones. It is going on my coffee table, where I hope others will look at it and enjoy it as much as I do.
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