Learning to Fly

Being a parent can be so trying, at times, that you wonder what on Earth you were thinking when it seemed like a good idea to have a baby. The physical and mental exhaustion know no bounds, and the routines of daily life can sometimes feel like sheer drudgery.
And that's when they throw you a bone.
Today, my 5-year-old son nonchalantly announced that it was time for his flying lessons, and he matter-of-factly climbed up on the kitchen table bench. Standing like a poised man on a high-dive, he took a second to gather his thoughts, then ran down the length of the bench and leapt off, flapping his arms.
He landed on the ground, stood up, and climbed back up on the bench and did it all again. And then a third time.
The fourth try, he started from further back, but as he'd run out of bench, he found himself standing on the floor. He began running, hopped up on the bench, ran down the length of the bench and jumped off, flapping his arms.
And then he stopped, and sat down next to me.
"Well, I'm done with my flying lessons," he said.
I was still laughing.
"I'm done with my flying lessons, and I failed," he shared, with not one note of bitterness in his tone.
"You didn't fail!" I said, smiling very appreciatively at him.
"But I didn't fly," he shrugged.
"No, but you completed your lessons," I said, "and that's very important."
And just as importantly: he made my day, and reminded me of how life-affirming a view children hold, and why it's wonderful to be around that.
It'll definitely get me through the next diaper leak on my clean sheets.

A moment of bliss...

...an evening when it's perfect to be in the middle of nowhere.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning drank merlot.

Every once in a while, I get an online newsletter from the A.G. Ferrari company about what foods are in season and available to purchase in the U.S. from Italy.
Today, as I perused the pages of the website, I came upon this intriguing statement introducing a red wine for sale:
"The favorite wine of Elizabeth Barrett Browning."
What??
Well!
It goes on to say:
An excellent structure and a lingering finish.
Travel to Asolo in the hills north of Venice, a favorite retreat of Robert Browning, where Dal Bello's Merlot has been the preferred local red since the 19th century.
Food matches: Roast meats, prime rib, poultry, Piave cheese.
Sounds good to me!
After seeing the movie Sideways, our friend Mara wondered: why the seeming disdain for merlot? The characters in the movie cringed at the mention of the red blend as if it were the lowly choice of neophytes and plebs.
Wine snobs!
Elizabeth may have been young, but she is considered one of the greatest of the English poetesses! Described as being of "singular nobility and charm, and though not beautiful...remarkably attractive." I adore the idea of her sitting on a grassy hillside, with her beloved husband by her side, the two of them drinking in an Italian sunset...and merlot. Not that any of this translates into any great semblance of wine knowledge, yet surely someone of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's stature would not tolerate swill.

So, as my theory goes for many a matter of random taste: if it's good enough for her, it's good enough for me!
And incidentally, one of the best merlots I've ever tasted was Hungarian -- just like Mara.
Ms. Barrett Browning's choice

The Other World

As we live in a very beautiful but quiet area, I cannot engage in one of my favorite pasttimes: the city walk. When I am in a city, there is nothing I like better than just walking all day long, stopping spontaneously for refreshments. I love a day of people-watching and exploring, and moving. Here, in a more natural setting, I am quite happy for the entertainment provided by books and movies. My nightstand stack has grown into a tower over the past year, and I have finally picked up momentum, maybe being better able to concentrate these days. And so, the highlights of the past couple of weeks include:

Isabel's Bed by Elinor Lipman The story of Harriet Mahoney, aspiring novelist who moves to Cape Cod to ghostwrite the memoir of Isabel, an attractive notorious woman. Funny w/great characters! Recommended.

The City of Falling Angels by John Berendt. Berendt arrived in Venice after the fire that destroyed the famous Fenice theatre. He weaves a soap-opera like look at some of the citizens of Venice, along with the long progress of restoring the Fenice. Recommended.

Heartburn by Nora Ephron. Brilliant and funny, but also very sad and touching. The story of 7-month-pregnant food writer Rachel's discovery of her husband's affair -- and the irony is, she "can't even date." You can see pieces of characters from "When Harry Met Sally" in here. Wonderful, and recommended.

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. A governess moves to an estate to care for two orphaned children. Their guardian uncle wants no communications whatsoever. When the governess sees the ghosts of the former caretaker, the story begins to unfold. Are the children possessed or is the governess mad? Recommended, but don't expect any concrete answers, as this story has been hotly debated for years, and Mr. James never told.

Proof (movie)
(Gwyneth Paltrow, Anthony Hopkins, Jake Gyllenhaal, Hope Davis)
The story of Catherine, a young woman coming to grips with the death of her mathematical genius father, following his lengthy struggle with mental illness. During the funeral and its aftermath, Catherine endures scrutiny for her apparent genius, which may or may not be accompanied by the inherited insanity. This movie is based on the Pulitzer Prize-winning play by David Auburn, and refreshing for its dialogue and lack of blockbuster formula & the song/dance scenes (think: My Best Friend's Wedding) we are so often subjected to by the studios. Recommended.

May the luck of the Irish be with you today. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Lavender in Springtime

A series of endings and beginnings. Such is life. Now it is springtime, and I ordered little plants of English lavender, for our backyard. I think it should do well here, with the all warmth and so much sunshine. It's been so long since I've stuck my hands in the soil and done any gardening.

I used to enjoy it so much, and -- although I knew nothing about anything -- proceeded to plant perennials in the back yard of our old house. I tried and tried and tried to rear one of my favorite flowers, the foxglove, and for years it eluded me. I succeeded only marginally and at the wrong time: a couple stalks appearing surprisingly after my first baby started walking and our puppy came to live with us. Knowing foxglove (digitalis purpurea) to be poisonous, I could only gasp at its loveliness and then groan at its timing.

When my Mom died, I felt as if part of me died along with her. I was, in fact, quite dead for a long while, neglecting everyone, including myself. A part of me had ended, and I turned my back on life.
I am not a religious person, but my Mom held a quiet, solid faith, and so she had a funeral fit for a queen by the Greek Orthodox church. And on her prayer cards, I chose the closest prayer I could to represent my belief that death is a part of the cycles of nature.
It was:
For every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war, and a time of peace.

From Ecclesiastes.
Yet when someone you love is taken too soon, too early, and too young, it is hard, nearly impossible, to find comfort or relief in the belief that this is how life goes, and so will we all. My Mom was all I had left of my past, and so stunned was I upon losing her, that I have only very slowly emerged to return to life, someone changed, yet still the same.
The seasons continue to churn, though, and today as I dug in the dirt to place the lavender, I remembered my days spent in summery pursuit of the foxgloves, and I remembered leaving that house, and that garden. The planting caused me to recall a piece of myself, as I used to be.
We begin anew here, and springtime is upon us. I don't much like the sun, but today it was pleasantly mild, and I sat outside for a brief, quiet time, closing my eyes and turning my face upwards.

A taste of Venice

We set off for Venice with a few warnings regarding the food: that it was overpriced and lousy, mostly. I did get some restaurant names from friends, and also, the day before we flew, I lucked out to receive a book in the mail that had a number of recommendations for good, traditional osteria, so I wrote down the suggestions, along with some of the Venetian dishes I wanted to try, like the spaghetti with squid cooked in its own ink. Venice is, I'm sure, more expensive than other parts of Italy, if only because of the tourism industry and the fact that it's an island. But I can say that it was easier to find a good meal there than in the town in which we live, so I've really got no complaints. We ate a good amount of pasta, and pizza, and we did not go to any expensive restaurants. Griffin likes to eat spaghetti with butter and cheese, so this was not the time for any fancy evenings out. We stayed the casual course.
Wyatt is pictured, above, with a bowl of vegetable soup, which was a perfect beginning to a homey meal on a cold, dark night.

And a lovely beginning to one sunny day could not be denied the boys: a Nutella crepe eaten outdoors, with hot chocolate to go with.


This was one version of mozzarella in carozza the boys ate at a little oesteria in the Dorsoduro district. They made and excellent salad with mixed greens, artichoke hearts, anchovies, tomatoes, dressed lightly with oil & vinegar.


One of a few samplings of gelato. We tried mint, mint chocolate chip, panna, Baci, & chocolate. Not all at once.


This was the mozzarella in carozza we found at a little place near the Rialto that had an impressive line-up of snacks and seafood dishes. It was a diner-like environment.

I ate the arancini w/shrimp and I think the other piece on my plate is a fried eggplant.


A great pizza Margherita at Sportivo in the Dorsoduro. The crust was thinner than the layer of cheese.


These are traditional Venetian frittelle, fried balls of dough rolled in sugar. The classic version contains sultanas and pine nuts. One was filled with a pastry cream, and the other was filled with a zabaglione cream.


This was an appetizer platter with a sampling of traditional Venitian treats. A fresh scallop, a fried shrimp, a fried small fish (small fry), a fried zucchini, a piece of bread with a bacala mixture, and a slice of a vegetable torte that contained a lot of sweet peas and carrots.


I wanted to try the bacala with white polenta, but it wasn't my favorite dish. Personally, I found it to be too strong a flavor. It's extremely fishy smelling, with an oily texture, and was overwhelming to me.


Spaghetti with clams is one of my favorite foods, and this was a straightforward & simple version. I enjoyed many plates of pasta with fresh shellfish and squid. If you like seafood, this is a good place to visit!


My first Bellini in Venice! Delicious! This was served to me at our hotel.
It tasted better than the one I tried later in the week at Harry's Bar. The one at Harry's was good, of course (I'd say it's hard to get a bad Bellini), but expensive. We paid 33 euros for three Bellinis, two of which were non-alcoholic. But it has to be done, once.


Wyatt dipping a taralle into his bowl of pasta e fagiole, which he really enjoyed. He's such a good eater and is adventurous, so it is always fun to travel with him.


Venice is risotto country. Here is a delicious & warming vegetable risotto Wyatt & I shared on a cold evening.


Griffin liked to sample the local vino rosso. Just kidding, that's a Coke at a little place we stopped at for lunch somewhere in San Marco.


Produce at a grocery store looked very fresh and colorful.


A lovely affogato -- cold vanilla ice cream with a shot of hot espresso.


Venetians seem to really enjoy snacking, and that suited us perfectly, because as we were out and about, walking around, we could always duck into some little place for a bite to eat, or a slice of pizza. I loved how, in the evenings as people were leaving work, they stopped off at the neighborhood wine bar for a tiny bite and to share a glass of wine with their friends and neighbors. The matrons in their fur coats and pearls, sitting down for a leisurely Campari or spritz with their friends, chatting and looking at photographs of the latest grandchild. These scenes offered me a glimpse of a life that I have never known.
It was a pleasure to be able to relax and eat and drink in these restaurants where we were greeted with smiles and warmly welcomed. The boys would get a gentle pat on the head or a hair ruffling, and once, when a fast-swinging door slammed back into Griffin's forehead, the evening crowd roared in shock and quickly rallied to comfort him with soothing words. One gentleman kindly offered Griffin a small wrapped piece of chocolate retrieved from his winter coat pocket. It says a lot about the Italian culture and sense of life, and I left the city with great admiration for the city and its people.

Venice continued...

Il Ponte dei Sospiri...
I, too, sighed, when I took my last glimpse of Venice.

Campo San Marco.


Griffin about to hurl on the red velvet sofa.

I travel across the sea to find...Fritos at the bar! Had I not been so preoccupied with sick children, I would have volunteered to introduce the Italians to Frito Pie, as this bar was right off the hotel kitchen.

The action figures go with us everywhere. Here they are attacking a pitcher of milk. Or maybe they're rescuing it; I'm not sure.


Griffin is always talking more than he's eating...

The Redemption of Tiramisu.
For years, I have had a hate-relationship with this dessert. All is forgotten, as I tasted the real deal. It's all about the custard.

Grand Canal

The Serene Republic

Riding on the Alilaguna Ferry to Venice, from Marco Polo Airport.


In the heart of San Marco.


Hot chocolate and cappuccino at Cafe Flore, on the Piazza San Marco.


Beautiful details everywhere!


One of my favorite dishes: spaghetti with clams.


Our first evening. Seeing the lights strung the entire length of the street had the effect of lifting my heart, like pre-Christmas.


Our wooden headboard. A carved angel's head, and inlaid mother-of-pearl.


The boys running through one of the campos. They heard a dog barking around the alley. It was probably a fierce shihtzu.


Heading across the Accademia Bridge, over the Grand Canal.


Trying on masks as Ca' Macana.


Spaghetti with squid cooked in its own ink. Salty. Eating it leaves your mouth black.


What a serene scene.

An evening of bitters

As usual, yesterday my best-laid plans were derailed. I planned a thoughtful, romantic dinner, attempting to recreate a dish I tried in Italy: tagliatelle with shrimp & arugula, with a light cream tomato sauce. I started the evening with Campari sodas and a bowl of potato chips, which, again, I copied from a cafe I visited. I've been told that Italians love bitters, and so do I. Campari is my favorite apéritif (technically in the "aperos" family of bitter drinks), and I love arugula.

All was going so well, until Griffin called out from the bathroom about a lost roll of toilet paper. I thought he meant he needed toilet paper, but it turns out, he needed the toilet paper roll fished out of the bowl, because he'd dropped it in there. You don't even want to know -- it was a visual that I will need to erase from my mind. So Troy and I argued over whose turn it was to do "that" kind of a job, and I lost.
We scowled at each other for a while and then managed to (kind of) like each other again by the time dinner was ready. The salad was good.

The pasta sauce was just okay, not a great replicant, and then everyone -- right, because we weren't alone, we had our romantic dinner with four boys running in and out of the area -- was exhausted.

So the planned affogato for dessert was nixed. Foregoing the espresso/caffeine, we had vanilla ice cream with chestnut honey and pine nuts instead, and then soon called it a night. So much for my execution of Mannix's concept of dating in. Next year I'll hire a sitter and run like hell.

Good riddance, St. Valentine!