Thanksgiving in Babel Tower.

November 30, 2019November 30, 2019 ~ 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 One Woman Band.

November 20, 2019November 20, 2019 ~ Alessandra ~ 1 Comment

I enjoy so very much writing in my often Italianized English, a language I love but, as much as I keep trying to better myself, not my native one! It is lovely to rewind back to the carefree times I was so blessed to enjoy as a young girl in Italy and the eventful years of my own kids’s childhood. If nothing else, these recollections will eventually remind or actually narrate to my own kids episodes of when they were too young to remember them.

As I have said from the beginning, and the main reason I started every morsel matters, many of these long ago episodes are what inspires my children’s books stories. I truly like loosing myself in memory lane (amongst other things it brings me back with people I have loved and are not with us anymore, like one of my sisters); but I have recently come to the conclusion that I am probably indulging myself a bit too much? The thing is that I am a “One Woman Band“, which means that if I write, unless it is for a new story, I don’t draw and paint.

From the series **Jenny & Josh**, the story of *Lightning and Thunder*.

I don’t mean in any way to leave every morsel matters behind! What is probably going to happen is that, amongst more recollections, reflections, fun fact and recipes from my Tuscany, there will be up dates about drawings or a new story. In fact they obviously are indispensable morsels of the whole book as is the inspiration for its story. BE AWARE: when a doubt stalls me I might very well ask for your opinion about which way you prefer for a character to be drawn and such, so, please, bear with me?!

Alla prossima puntata, Alessandra

A lively brain is often misunderstood.

November 19, 2019November 19, 2019 ~ Alessandra

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.

November 12, 2019November 12, 2019 ~ 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!

November 5, 2019November 5, 2019 ~ 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?

October 29, 2019October 30, 2019 ~ 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.

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.

Schiacciata con l’uva.

October 9, 2019October 13, 2019 ~ Alessandra ~ 3 Comments

This is the yearly grape harvest time in Tuscany, and the recipe below, a Florentine’s specialty, is also called the merenda del vendemmiatore, the vintager’s snack. As most things that originated ages ago in the Tuscan country side, this is a very basic recipe that requires the simplest of ingredients and preparations while providing great delight.

Ingredients for six people:

2 pounds black grapes with seeds (as from the original recipe; their bitterish taste balances the sweetness of the fruit and sugar and give some crunch to the schiaccia)

1 pound leavened dough

1 cup brown sugar

extra virgin olive oil

What to do:

Knead the leavened dough with four tbs of oil and 1/4 cup of sugar.

On a baking tin brushed with olive oil stretch the dough to obtain a thin layer, cover with about 2/3 of the washed and gently dried grapes and sprinkle with two tbs of sugar and two tbs of oil.

Stretch on top another thin layer with the remaining dough, top it with the remaining grapes and make sure to seal the edges of your schiacciata.

Brush it with some more olive oil before putting into the preheated oven at 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Cook for about 40 minutes.

For a richer flavor, while you knead the dough add a few leaves of rosemary.

Enjoy la merenda del vendemmiatore!

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

September 24, 2019September 24, 2019 ~ 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!”

Yellow Hair.

September 17, 2019September 17, 2019 ~ Alessandra

I picked up my baby girl from nursery school one day and on our way home she asked me, “Mommy am I dopted?” I wasn’t sure I had understood her question and asked, “Why Topino?” (Little Mouse) “Because only I have yellow hair!” Amongst the five of us our Goldilocks was and is the only one with yellow hair; both her siblings and her parents have different shades of brown hair.

That day at school they must have talked about adopted children since there were a few in her year’s class. It must be a difficult concept to understand for a four years old, and observing the uniqueness of her hair color our Brainy Blonde (she was born and is one!) must have concluded she too was adopted. “I seem to remember somebody kicking in my tummy at all hours.” I told her. “I thought the little baby inside me was practicing to become a great soccer player one day*. Then I went to the hospital and came back with the most beautiful baby I could wish for!”

I proceeded to show her pictures of her American grandmother and Italian nonna, both true blondes, and pictures of her nonna as a child and young woman; whom to these days she resembles in an astounding way!

I wanted her to understand that adopted children are adored by their parents; I didn’t want her to think that her adopted little friends were less precious to their adoptive family than she was to hers. I explained that people adopt children for multiple reasons but they choose to do it and to give a loving home and upbringing to a child who otherwise might not have one. She seemed to be reassured; probably also by the fact that she, with her unique yellow hair, had come from where her darker hair siblings did, but surely her very caring little heart was satisfied to know that her adopted friends were loved and cherished as much as she was!