Recollections

Thanksgiving in Babel Tower.

~ Alessandra
Caipirinha: cachaça, lime, berries, crushed ice.

I hope everybody enjoyed a merry Thanksgiving with family and friends! It is by far my favorite celebration of the year, now that my kids are grown and I can’t play Mrs. Klaus any longer for Christmas*. Christmas is so overly commercialized that, with out young children to make it magic for (which for years I have enjoyed to the fullest!), I much prefer the celebration of Thanksgiving with family and friends; seating around a joyous table filled with all the traditional dishes mixed with delicacies that our foreign friends have contributed to the festivities over the years and have become our own family traditions. After some Brazilians joined us years ago, for example, caipirinhas are an absolute must in our home for Thanksgiving, just as much as the turkey is!

*…waiting for grandkids! Not holding my breath.

Ours have been called the UN Thanksgivings; over the years kids from all over the world have sat at our table. When they were in college, our kids would invite over whomever didn’t have a family to go to in this country. We have enjoyed the most diverse populations on any given year; Brazilians, Greeks, Germans, Indians, Austrians, Chineses, Pakistanis… Italians, you name it, they have been with us. What a fun Babel Tower our table has been, and still is!

Also this year we were joined by my son’s best friend, an Indian who for fifteen years has been close to our family, and his young wife, a most adorable Hong Kong Chinese. We can’t wait to celebrate their wedding in Thailand with them at Christmas time! These are the kind of lasting, precious relationship that were born around our table on Thanksgiving days. We are truly blessed and thankful!

A lively brain is often misunderstood.

~ Alessandra
Credit: Vector Sketch

Like you might have gathered from my August 20th and October 22nd posts (‘He’ll be a President‘ and ‘Mesopotamia‘), there were recurrent misunderstandings between my darling little boy and his teachers. One day I was told, again, by one of his grade school teachers that the boy was fast as a bullet but interested in everything except the standard required school proceedings. I called his father at the office and unleashed my frustration about his son‘s shortcomings, and the fact that I and I only had to keep dealing with the teacher’s many grumbles! My husband understood my pain, or most probably just wanted to shut me up, and left everything at the office to rush home and have a serious talk with his first borne once and for all! Only…when he got home he found his son head to head with his mom at the kitchen table; after her kid had told her his side of the story, mom was soothingly stating something of the sort, ‘don’t fret Topino (little mouse), lively brains are most often misunderstood…’ Obviously, the teacher did not understand the intrigued ways of my kid’s tireless curiosity and the Lioness, always extremely protective, was sweetly reassuring her Cub‘s sensitivity! To this day my husband reminds me of the unbelievably maddening scene he found in the kitchen after leaving his busy day at work behind in a hurry, and of the fact that he wasn’t sure who to strangle first, his boy or his wife!

Fun Fact:

When I complained with my mother in law about her grandson‘s school shortcomings she rolled her eyes telling me that she was called by my husband’s teachers every other week all the way up to the 12th grade. Every week she would try and guess the teacher of which subject she would have the pleasure to confer with. My husband eventually proceeded to complete college in 2 and 1/2 years and went to Warthon for a master where, btw, our little bundle of apprehension was born.

Reflections:

I often say to my successful son that many of the lines on my face have little to do with age; we truly appreciated (and still do!) his out of the box personality but it certainly contributed to his parents’… seasoning. On the other hand, probably because of the lack of brute pressures in our Italian upbringing, our kids enjoyed their childhood to the fullest. They are cosmopolitan, well rounded kids who have chosen to do what they loved and did it well, not simply for a college application. Children are robbed of an already short childhood in order to get into this or that university; by the time they graduate high school they already are worn-out by the constant pressure to outdo themselves and the fact that they didn’t enjoy the carefree childhood they should have been entitled to. I was appalled when, while still living in the City, my husband too was required to participate to our toddler’s interview for next year’s nursery school! Oh, he got in, but we thankfully then moved to suburbia. I have always believed that a name school, especially nowadays, doesn’t vouch for the wit of a kid’s brain or the capability to deal with the rest of the world once that kid gets out of the school’s protective walls. And it is plainly obvious in real life!

The little pyromaniac.

~ Alessandra

All these very serious problems with wild fires have brought back to mind a little wild child, my brother. What? You will ask. What can possibly be the connection?

After four girls, my baby brother, the fifth kid, was (and is to this day) the prince of the bunch; an adorable child with mischievous eyes and a particularly adventurous nature. Like my own little rascal a couple of decades later, my brother was attracted to danger, to the point that after several bumps on his head due to rough encounters with hard edges, cement shower floors, stone steps and the like, the pediatrician urged my mother to make him wear a helmet at all times.

One of my little brother’s main attractions was FIRE! For some inexplicable reasons, it seamed to spring from nowhere wherever the little boy happened to be… I remember about the corner of a rug in the living room, when he was less than two, that all of a sudden caught fire…my mom recently told me that she can’t recall that time; it is known that our brain chooses to forget some of the importunate episodes of our lives…

What we all remember is the time when on a month of November we were in the country side; the days where short, the weather cold and a warm fire was cracking in the dining room’s fire place. How idyllic, right?! Except…near the fire place a sorghum broom had been forgotten: my brother, still a toddler, grabbed it by the wooden handle, put the sorghum side into the fire and when it had lit, started chasing the youngest of his four elder sisters around the dining table. At her screams the next one up run to help her only my brother was now chasing the both of them. The next sister run to their rescue…my brother was now chasing the three of them. Then it was my turn… And it all happened in seconds. To make a long story short, when my mom arrived to check what the whole ruckus was about, the scene in front of her must have been scarily hilarious: her four girls were chased around the dining table with a burning broom by their little brother, a toddler…

And what about the time when during a summer in the country side an elderly aunt of my mother was visiting for tea; the two of them where chatting when the elderly lady told my mom, “There is a fire in those bushes behind you.” Not to be disrespectful, but mom’s aunt was pretty old and my mom thought she was seeing things… Mom proceeded to offer her another cookie, but her aunt insisted and mom felt compelled to turn around to make her happy. Sure enough, my brother, probably around 4 at that time, was near a burning bush and proudly declared, “I made a fire!“

The broom’s episode aside, to this day it is a real mystery how my baby brother was able to apply fire to bushes or carpets, apparently from nothing. Our mom was running a pretty tight ship and, although rules were looser than they are today, with five active children roaming around things like matches were certainly not available to us or left unguarded. In addition to providing a helmet for him, my mom should have tied a fire extinguisher to my little brother’s belt!

Sue, look at these!

~ Alessandra

Have you ever felt a certain discomfort taking your constantly bruised child to the pediatrician? My little boy was always into some venture of his own making and, having a tendency of bruising easily, often looked like a Dalmatian.

Let alone the time I left him male bonding with his dad while preceding them back home with his younger sisters from a vacation on the mountains, when he fell from a branch of a dead tree that broke under his bouncing weight… The little rascal was keen to get physically into trouble and his little body was a constant reminder of his exploits.

At 18 months, while still living in the city, my toddler managed to swallow a largish button I had set aside on a high shelf; to this day I have NO idea of how he was able to get to it! I run him to the emergency room where they made sure the button had gone through him the right way and told me I would eventually find it at the exit end…While I was collecting the results my little fellow busied himself opening every door around us and chatting the nurses. I was reassuringly told, “To next time, Mrs. B!” At two, as soon as we moved from the city to the suburbs my guy broke his front baby teeth coming down from a slide face first. Then there was the time when while running on a little friend’s backyard he fell bumping his head on a stone step requiring several stitches, from a plastic surgeon, no less. Not to speak of his brilliant idea, around four, of jumping into the low end of a pool head first, hitting the bottom of the pool and braking several front teeth-yet again!- two days before leaving to Italy for the summer. Around 12 while riding a horse with his dad (am I repeating myself?), he had a difference of opinion with his equally dunderhead mount about from which side to pass a large, thorny bush…when I went to pick him up after the ride, I didn’t have to ask who had won!

You will understand my discomfort when once, at the pediatrician office, the doctor called, “Sue, look at these!”, for his nurse to witness my daredevil’s several bruises?! Thank goodness the pediatrician and Sue had known me for a couple of years by then, and didn’t call the police on me for child abuse, yet. The reality is that the abused one was I, the poor mother, always on alert, concerned and suspicious of my darling boy next move!

Can I pretend Andrew is my cousin?

~ Alessandra

I grew up in a large extended family which includes several cousins; each of us five siblings had one or more cousins of the same age. Some of my most fond memories are the ones of the afternoons in grade school when after classes our moms would take us all to our nonna‘s on the hills of Florence for hours of outdoors playing and some of the most incredible homemade merende (afternoon snacks). Those truly were unforgettable days!

Also our children have enjoyed their numerous cousins during their summer and winter vacations in Italy and Switzerland, but at home in the States things have been quite different for them. In the U.S. it has always been just the three of them. All things have their positive and negative aspects; my children greatly missed having their cousins to play with regularly, especially knowing that they had several around their age in Europe. Once my first born, while in the third grade, asked me, “Can I pretend Andrew is my cousin?” Of course he could, but I understood his sense of loss.

With the Swiss cousins
With the British cousins.
A happy gang of Italian cousins at nonna‘s (one is missing from this youthful table and the Parisian cousin had not been born yet.)

On the other hand, the fact that our children didn’t grow up each around cousins of the same age resulted in a closeness between them that my siblings and I, perhaps because we could always rely on other kids to play with, didn’t need to create between us. Their relationship has always been deeply special; they have always been there for each other, learning daily from life and each other at the same time in a way that I have never witnessed in any other set of siblings, here or abroad. My friends have expressed utter disbelief when told that my now adult kids would explore the West Coast from Seattle to California for a couple of weeks on a trip together; by choice just the three of them!

Oddly enough we probably might have to thank the much suffered absence of an extended family around us for the fact that our children are each other’s best friends and ours is an especially tight knit family.

Have you ever heard of Mesopotamia?

~ Alessandra ~ 1 Comment

My little boy was in the third grade when there was some big family gathering in Italy for a special occasion. We let the school know that we were going to take the children away for a week; given the grades they where in, you would think it wasn’t a big deal. Wrong! My third grader’s teacher chased me down the hallway to tell me, “Mrs B, you can’t do that to me!” Do what to him?! Apparently the teacher was of the opinion that my little boy should’t miss a second of school, let alone a week. I informed him that we were going to Florence, not exactly a remote deserted Pacific island.

Not a remote deserted Pacific island?!

After an eventful week in my beautiful native Florence we went back home to the U.S. and the kids went back to school. In the third grade they had just started History and the teacher was talking about American Indians. During our week abroad, between festivities my children had been at the Ufizzi Gallery and the Stibbert Museum. My little fellow let the teacher go on for a while about the American Indians after which, perplexed, he raised his hand and asked, “Have you ever heard of Mesopotamia?”

The Ufizzi Gallery seen from the Ponte Vecchio.

The Big Red Ball.

~ Alessandra

Here I am, in my native Firenze!

I was born and raised in this magnificent city; yearn for it when away, delight on its unequaled beauty when here and, like any Florentine D.O.C. (Controlled Denomination of Origin), feel so very proud of the ancient blood that runs in my veins. Like we, Florentines, like to state, Fiorentini si nasce, non is diventa. (Florentines we are born, we don’t become.)

Also my children, born and raised in the U.S., although not Florentines by birth feel a special bond with the land of their ancestors. They have visited Florence since they were weeks old and live the city like locals at their nonna’s (Italian grandmother’s), a stroll away from il centro (the city’s center) along the Arno river, and with their extended Italian family. They have been exposed to the art, architectural and natural wonders of Florence and Tuscany at large from the very beginning of their lives.

The Big Red Ball is visible from many locations in and around the city and as such is often a point of reference for directions. How proud would Brunelleschi be knowing that his masterpiece would eventually get such a practical, no-nonsense name?

Although the kids feel comfortably at home in the city and are well aware of living and breathing art while there, Art History hasn’t always been ingrained in their thoughts (Gelato artigianale and focaccia all’olio d’oliva are and will always be some of the most treasured pleasures Florence has to offer. Obviously?!) One of the first times my young guy went on his own to meet friends in centro, when asked if he was sure he knew how to make it back to nonna’s his reassuring answer was, “Of course! I’ll just have to see where the Big Red Ball is!”

Tuscan kale and Cannellini beans Crostoni.

~ Alessandra ~ 4 Comments

I am about to leave to Italy for a two weeks visit home; while getting ready nostalgic feelings and recollections come to mind. Florence, Tuscany, ready or not, here I come! This recipe of quintessential Tuscan ingredients for a delightfully hearty dinner dish instinctively came to mind: some things run in your blood.

Ingredients for four people:

2 small bunches of Tuscan kale, about 8 full cups

1 can of Cannellini beans

2 finely chopped cloves of garlic

1 cup of vegetable broth

1 and 1/2 to 2 tsp of crushed Cayenne pepper, to taste

3 to 4 tbsp of extra virgin olive oil

8 slices of Italian bread about 3/4 of an inch thick

What to do:

Wash and chop the kale.

In a pan pour the olive oil on medium heat, add the garlic cooking for about one minute, until yellow-brownish, stirring.

Add the kale to the garlic and cook for 2-3 minutes, until wilted, stirring often. Add the vegetable broth, Cannellini beans (drained and rinsed) and the Cayenne pepper.

Bring to a boil, then simmer for about 10 minutes on reduced heat to soften the kale, still occasionally stirring.

Toast the bread well and put two slices on four bowls. Pour the Tuscan kale and Cannellini with their broth on top of the bread crostoni (they will soak up the flavorful broth) and serve, with Chianti wine. It will be easy to pretend to be enjoying a deliciously clever peasant meal in the Tuscan country side. Alla Salute!

Did you get a lollipop?!

~ Alessandra

With three children born in less than four years I often felt that I was entitled to a group discount at the pediatrician’s office; one kid would get sick, the week after it would be a second one, then it was the third one’s turn. At times the doctor felt so sorry for me (for my sanity, that is!) that he would ask the nurse to give me extra meds for free!

The kids had very diverse reactions to their pediatrician’s visit; our little boy would start screaming his head off, and obliterate mine, while still across the street from the office’s door. Our no nonsense May girl accepted the annoying visit with a stoic, lofty demeanor. She was surely thinking, “I am here to shut mommy up although I had better things to do with my time! Let’s get it over with!” I can’t recall her crying at any time. Goldilocks was something in between; she would get inside the office without needing to be dragged but if she eyed needles…Apriti cielo! Spalancati terra! (Litterally, Open up heaven! Open wide earth! In short, The Apocalypse!)

In those days to sugar coat (literally) the often stressful visits Saint Sue, the pediatrician’s nurse, was promising a lollipop from a large glass jar in the entrance to any child who would behave (then giving them out wether one had or not…). I would always remind the children about that treat, trying to divert their attention to, “What color would you like?” Never holding my breath!

Also mommy had to go to her doctor occasionally and my children (my darling girls seldom missed an occasion to monitor and reproach mommy’s behavior) demanded a concrete proof that I had courageously endured MY visit, especially when I was coming back with a bandaid on my arm. SO?! I resolved to keep a stash of lollipops hidden it in my bathroom; every time I had a doctor’s visit I brought four with me (obviously if I had been really good my doc would give me lollipops also for the three of them?! DAH!) As soon as I got back home from my visit my children would run towards me and enquire, “Did you get a lollipop?!”

Fun fact.

One time I absentmindedly went and came back from the doctor’s office without my bounty; the children caught me before I could sneak up to get some of the lollipops I kept hidden; boy was I in trouble! I couldn’t say the doctor’s stash had run out, could I? That meant the alternative reason for coming back without lollipops could be one and one only; I must have behaved really poorly! Mommy?! REALLY?!!!!!

Thankfully they still didn’t know about impeachment… PFEEEW!

Is Bau-Bau (Woof-Woof) coming to school today?

~ Alessandra

Our first born was around eight months old when he was gifted the adorable plush dog, Bau–Bau, that was to become his inseparable security blanket. Bau-Bau was always with the baby and the baby always with Bau-Bau!

A few years later, when he reached grade school, our little boy would agree to separate himself from Bau-Bau for the duration of the school day. Until one day, in the second grade, he left to school grabbing Bau-Bau under his arm. I thought he might have show and tell that day but what I learned was a heartbreaking discovery. My little boy matter of factly declared, “I am taking Bau-Bau with me so I can play with him if nobody wants to play with me.” WHAT? Not only I hadn’t heard of bullying, yet, but could it start as early as the second grade?

In my little fellow’s case the bullying was never physical, it was psychological. The other kids would purposely mispronounce his Italian first and last name in order to make him feel different; even suggesting that his English had a funny accent (he was born and raised in the U.S), which most probably was a result of hearing his mom’s funny accent. My very sensitive little boy wasn’t a large or tall kid at the time, but didn’t cowardly retreat and endured those hurtful days with an unexpected aplomb, conscious of the fierce love and support of his family and, obviously, Bau-Bau’s backing.

The years have gone by but nobody has had the heart to dispose of the lump of mesh and plush Bau-Bau has become after much intercontinental loving. Although it doesn’t even remotely remind you of the cute plush dog it used to be, it still is stashed in a closet’s corner; you just can’t get rid of a loyal paladin!

Fun Fact...

By the age of 14 my guy shot up and surpassed most of his peers by at least half a head. About his funny accent? He fluently speaks three languages and can manage anywhere he chooses to go in the world. He recently came back from a 5 days/10 men bachelor party in Cartagena, Colombia, where he was the voice of the group, translating back and forth for guests and hosts to be able to comfortably manage a great time. There is a saying in Italy, “Ride ben chi ride ultimo!” “Laughs best he who laughs last!”