It was the dark of night on a road turned dark at sunset, each motel, restaurant, store, and gas station we passed was also dark, making Christmas Eve 1978 look not so good. My sons were with their father for the holiday; Bill’s daughters were with their mother.
Without children in the house why bother with Christmas so we decided to drive west from New Jersey so I could see the snow covered Rocky Mountains for the first time. All day on the road, passing cars piled high with brightly-wrapped presents, brought us here, west of the Mississippi River, where we were beginning to have second thoughts.
Down to less than a quarter tank of gas we spotted the brilliant light of a 7/11 convenience store like an oasis, or maybe a shining star approaching Columbia, Missouri. With hot coffee in hand, we read a sign leaning against the gas pumps at the station alongside that said, “honor-bound, pay your money in the box” we just knew a motel with a vacancy would come up next.
I had much to ponder when my kids were young and needing gifts for the teachers to take to school for the Christmas season. There were more kids in the house than money in those days and they were all in the same school in kindergarten, second, fourth, and sixth grades. Actually, money was scarce for all the days until they grew into young men.
But that year I came across the directions on how to make attractive Christmas candles. This was a project they would enjoy participating in, so they crushed ice into chips as I heated the wax and dipped the wick into square, quart-sized empty (and washed) milk containers and filled them with ice chips. Voila, when they cooled completely, I peeled off the carton paper, the water drained out and I had four, lacy Christmas candles to wrap for teacher gifts!
There is something special about people who love and care about food, where it comes from, how it’s cooked, how it is related to heritage, and the pride of it. This book, a collection of essays, blogs, recipes, and the wisdom of nonna that is handed down through the ages, is a great read about Italian food, culture, and memories. It’s a keeper to read again later. And again. And to refer to the recipes. Di Maio’s stories about Italian cookies during the Christmas holidays brought back memories of visiting my Italian girlfriend’s aunts and the wonderful cookies we (I) ate at each house. My mom wasn’t a cookie baker, but I became one when I was 10 because of the influence of these wonderful Italian aunts with their trays laden with all kinds of cookies that took weeks to make. Remember to read the chapter on Bread and Quarantines! I thought I had cooked all the Italian recipes over the years, but found ones new to me in the book, with pictures! I love this book and highly recommend it!
What if? Those are two small words that bring about big thoughts of imagination. Regrets? Missed opportunities? Longing for what could have been? Anyone who has lived any length of time at all and has an imagination must have at least a wee couple of What Ifs.
It can be interesting when you’ve gained more ground behind you than in front of you to give a thought to What if? See what you come up with. Have you been super careful in your choices in life? Or the opposite, did you make a few wild choices when your life could have been safer, sounder and moe solid?
It’s time to remind you that books signed by the author make wonderful gits. .
