Thanks
So, I'm sure you've noticed a huge gap in posts. I mean, of course you have, because you're a regular reader and you love my wit, and you can't WAIT until you see a new post from me!Kind of like how I am with The Hermitage, Dreams + Jeans, and Fine Art Tips.A lot has been going on. I have been taking 17 credit hours this semester, and I can't remember the last time I've worked so hard and been so happy in that work. I'm telling you right now: If you've been in a slump, or maybe want to advance in your career but lack of a degree is holding you back; GO TO SCHOOL, even if it's just one class at a time.
There's nothing that will revive you more than feeding your brain. It's the perfect time in the economy, too. Things are starting to bounce back, but it's slow going and business is still slow enough that if you wanted to, you could squeeze in a morning or evening class. Some of them are scheduled to only meet once a week, if that's all you can commit. There are loads of scholarships available, and enrollment is down, so they WANT you to go to school.But assuming you can afford one class per semester - maybe two - what would you take? What has always piqued your interest? Ancient Egypt? Art History 101- Prehistoric to the Gothic, or World History to 1500.
What have you always wondered more about? How to really use Excel, so you can go up a paygrade at work? CIS 105 or Excel Level I.
Or, have you always wondered why rocks look like this? Take Geology 101! I liked it so much I took 102 as well.
Why don't you do something for you? You've always wanted to try painting. Remember how much you loved watching Bob Ross? I recommend taking Color Theory first. It's been a challenge, but a good one!
Think about it.Besides school, we've had a few birthdays
and lost our two best friends :(Butter (aka Best Dog in the World) was 13, and Pepper (2nd Best Dog in the World) was 12. They passed away within a month of each other.
Our new girl, Juniper, was a birthday surprise, and missed meeting Pepper by two days, but kept Butter company for the last month. She's adorable, and smart, and keeps us all on our toes.
The horses have gotten hairy. They got a post-Halloween treat.
Keira is still for sale. It's strange, I think she must be waiting for the perfect home. I've had several people interested in her, and a few offers, but they all fell through for various reasons. All she needs is time and attention. She's super smart and sweet, and responds well to training (see video on her page). I'm so surprised she hasn't sold yet, because she's pretty close to perfect. But that's just my opinion ;)
I gave my first class lecture
and we've had some rain.
Coming up, I've got a post on a popular author, a round-up of my projects for the semester, an out-of-town writing conference (so exciting!), and after Christmas, I get to go visit my family. Please continue to keep my sister-in-law and our parents in your thoughts. This is our first holiday without John, and he is greatly missed.
Here and now, it's holiday time in the desert, cool and crisp in the morning, sunny in the afternoon.I'm thankful for it all - my family, our health & home, the opportunities we have.And to you, for taking the time to visit.
Much love,Heidi...If you'd like to do more online browsing, please stop by my friends' sites:Pb Crazyr. mccormack writestaysteele.comstrategicbongoTracyJoyCreative
And So It Goes
I honestly have no idea what kind of person John would have become had it not been for the saving grace of Music.
This has been the most difficult post to write. Which is probably why it has taken me so long to attempt it. I guess maybe I thought if I didn't acknowledge it, it wouldn't be true.My brother died.This post is for him.
♡
These are things that my brother loved:
- my sister-in-law
- music
- laughing
- beer
- cigars
- basset hounds
- his car
- guitars
- correct grammar
- really good music
- Neal Peart
- going to his weekend property
- the album Asia by Asia
"The Heat of the Moment" has a distinct drum rhythm, and when John was learning (rather, teaching himself) how to play drums, he would start that LP over and over at the very beginning, put on his headphones, and drum out the beat on the one practice snare drum that he had gotten for Christmas two years before, when my parents were still married, and probably hoped that all those years of paying for a rental trombone wouldn't be washed away by a shiny new drum. It replaced the beat-up square of leftover carpet that he'd been using up until then. Actually I think the drum was a gift from my Grandpa. Which makes sense because it was just the type of gift my grandpa would give - something to impress everyone else. Something that was a little expensive, and something that was close to the kid's heart but his parents were on the fence about, so you bought it for him and instantly became the hero.
I'm assuming the trombone was either rented, or a loaner from the school; we wouldn't have been able to afford a new one. I imagine he was probably allowed to buy a used horn a after a few years of sticking with it, and starting the drums would have to be a side project. He would go on to play trombone in the school band all the way to graduation (and later in college, majoring in trombone), filling in on the drums here and there for practicing in the bandroom, and starting a garage band on the weekend with his buddies. (What's up, Northern Lites?) As a senior, he actually got to march with the drums.
Anyway, the snare drum had to have a towel stuffed in it to mute the sound of the drumming, because if there's any noise that gets annoying after a while, it's a sixteen year old boy teaching himself to play the drums by playing the first two minutes of an 80's schlock-rock band over and over and over and over.BOOM - boomboom - TAH! BOOM - boomboom - TAH!Drummers, you know what I'm talking about.Asia was was right after my parents got divorced, and me, my brother and my mom had all moved into the apartment above my soon-to-be stepdad's photography studio. I guess I was the only one who just thought it was incredibly convenient and not involving any other sort of coincidence that there just happened to be an attic apartment for rent in the 3-story Victorian home on Main Street that housed a studio, office darkroom, and private residence of the man who would marry my mother less than a year later. But things tend to go over my head.I don't think anything EVER went over John's head, which meant he had put 2+2 together, and realized why we lived in the same house with this man, and just what was going on when work ran into the evening hours. Which explains why he was so pissed off all the time, and pounding on that drum as if it had just committed some sort of offense.Which is why music saved my brother.
I honestly have no idea what kind of person John would have become had it not been for the saving grace of Music.It was his confidant, his confessor, his therapist, his "safe place."He hadn't had the easiest life. When we were very young, he had some tough experiences, which for the sake of good manners will remain private for now. But nevertheless, at the time these things were happening to John, publicly he had to put on a good face, be the happy kid; the good son. And when he had time to himself, the only thing that kept him from acting out his rage destructively, was music.Before Asia - before the divorce and during everything that led up to it - Our parents' records - The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins soundtracks (our mom used to sing us to sleep with "Stay Awake," and evey chore was accompanied by "A Spoonful of Sugar"), John Denver An Evening With John Denver and Neil Diamond Hot August Night; there was the Big Band Era - Glen Miller, Buddy Rich and Benny Goodman; 70's rock - The Who, Led Zeppelin, Jimi Hendrix; 80's everything - Journey, Michael Jackson, Rush (of course), and Billy Joel. We borrowed the Billy Joel LP, Glass Houses from the library so many times we had to buy it.
In addition to playing First Chair Trombone, John added a cymbal and base drum to his set and moved it to the basement, and wasn't allowed to play too late into the night. But during the day, if you were within a quarter mile of our house, you would say, there goes that Giovannoni kid again on those drums.
I remember one time, being in the attic bedroom, singing along to Pat Benatar, and hearing John practicing down in the basement, there was some type of military fly-over, and I heard my first actual Sonic Boom. I thought John had just hit the drums really hard.So as the family split apart, more pieces got added to the drum set as he saved his money: a cymbal high-hat, a tom-tom drum, some type of smaller drum that I don't even remember the name of, and so on. Then we moved away. From our familiar small town to a bigger, busier, medium-sized city. The high school population was triple that of our home town, and in an area not far from the projects. He lasted one day at that school, then decided living in my dad's 2 bedroom, one bath rental apartment in the country and going to high school with his friends was a much better idea. So he moved back with our dad, and I stayed with my mom and stepdad. I considered the whole moving thing kind of an adventure, and besides, if I was going to be a Movie Star, I had to get out of that small town.
The next summer, the three of us, my mom, stepdad and me, moved to Arizona. I would go home to the Midwest at Christmas and on summer vacation to see my dad and John, and my "wicked stepmother"—which is what we jokingly call my awesome, amazing stepmother, who pretty much everyone agrees was a gift from God. At Christmas, we would go to all of my Italian family's houses for dinner. There would be lots of eating, lots of loud talking and laughing and drinking and smoking and laughing. And kids running around being noisy, and music playing. And probably some yelling in there, too.I would show off my latest stupid 80s haircut, and—as my cousin Brad never fails to remind me—wore a pair of white Van's on which I had painted the proclamation FEED THE WORLD. I also sported some wicked eye makeup. More than any 15 year old has a right to wear. But hey, I was breaking out. I was finding myself.
John wore his signature Levi's, white Oxford button down, leather loafers, a sport coat, and an Alex P. Keaton-inspired necktie. He was gorgeous, but didn't think so. He'd be at the ancient upright piano in my grandmother's basement, and since it was the only musical instrument around, he sat there, on the bench, tinkering with the keys, playing around, finding the notes he was looking for—and that's how he started to teach himself to play the piano. Sometimes my cousin Nathan would sit with him, and talk while my brother played, since they were of the same away-from-the-noisy-crowd disposition. His defense was to either separate himself, or be the most obnoxious one in the room. Having a guitar meant he could be part of the action, but still have something to hide behind.
But I really didn't see much of John on my visits home. We had different friends, and the older sibling seldom welcomes the younger sibling into their group of friends. Especially guy/girl variances. When your best buddies want to date your sister, you tend to want to keep your sister as far away from them as possible. So we didn't do a lot of stuff together. Besides, I was too busy hanging out with my own friends in between family outings. My friend Tracy and I were pretty much joined at the hip. I'm still looking for the scar that shows we were somehow surgically separated.
And the places John would be? Practicing songs with his band, Northern Lites; or hanging out in the choir room at school. Our choir teacher, Mrs. Keene, band director, Mr. Cerveny, and John's piano teacher, Mrs, Schiller, were the human counterparts to his music therapy. They each took equal parts in saving my brother from himself. The choir room, that ancient basement sanctuary, where John would be joking around with his friends or flirting with his girlfriend as she sat at the piano. The girl that he broke up with a year later when she went to Minnesota for school, and kept in touch with over all the years and after they each had a string of relationships, and each a failed marriage. The girl, who after all of that, 25 years later, would become his wife, Chris. Yeah, that girl. The one who always knew him, who understood him, and who had his heart.
And in that 25 year span, he went to college, dropped out of college, tried a move to Arizona—which was cool, because we got to hang out together—but ultimately decided AZ was not the place for him, packed up his drums in the '69 Caddy and drove all the way back home to Illinois. And I went to college, dropped out of college, moved to Chicago, failed miserably, moved back to AZ, went back to college, met my husband, dropped out of college again, and got married and started raising a family of smelly boys who idolized their smelly uncle.In that time, John and his then-girlfriend, Carol, began an adventure that neither of them would believe would become what is is today, 18 years later: the award-winning landmark of downtown Palatine, The Music Room.
He had gone back to school, attending nights first at Harper College, then went on to Elmhurst College. During that time, he traveled to Europe with the jazz band. Switzerland, Ireland, Malta, Italy and probably a few more spots. He received his degree in Music Education at age 35 (and is hugely responsible for inspiring me to go back to school to pursue my own degree now - in Art Education - at age 43.)
Though their romantic relationship ended, John and Carol's friendship and business partnership only continued to grow. They built The Music Room into not only a space for retail and rental instruments, but a gathering place for musicians to both teach and learn. They have also given back to the community with their Gear Shift donation program for used instruments.http://youtu.be/KxjRCVbm9acBut The Music Room was so much more than John's business or job; it was his life. (Second only to his love for my sister-in-law Chris, and the time they spent together at their weekend place, going to local spots for dinner, or just having quiet time at home or with family.) And it shows in the hundreds of comments we have received from former students, their parents, and patrons of John's, as well as members and friends of the band he formed, The Big Cluster Big Band, and former band mates of Simply Vintage.
Who could guess that one day you'd get a call, something about a brain tumor, and fourteen months later you are saying goodbye.*And here I am suddenly an only child, in a spinning haze of life going on regardless of the fact that my brother is gone. Going to class, filling up with gas, shopping for groceries, watching TV, taking a shower, having dinner, feeding my horses, checking one kid's homework, and the other kid's college plans, making lunch for my husband, all the day-in day-out stuff that I always did.Only now it's this weird reality. I have more sympathy cards on my kitchen cabinets than I had Christmas cards this year. People I haven't heard from in years, reaching out to me with folded-paper hugs. It's so bizarre. So wonderful and sad at once.
And maybe it's taken me so long to write this because in all the business of everyday life, even with the cards and phone calls, even with the times that the realization has knocked me sideways, it really hasn't hit me until now.We didn't have the perfect relationship (who does?). We didn't talk everyday, or even every month. But the thing about me and my brother was that we didn't need to. We just got each other. In a way that not even my parents, my husband, my kids, even my best friends - John understood me, and I him. That's the biggest thing I will miss. The one person who knew me better than anyone else, is not here anymore.Not here, perhaps, but not gone. He was sitting on my shoulder the whole first week of classes, cheering me on. He's with my sister-in-law, watching over her and trying to help her feel like she's not alone. He and my grandpa are puffing away on cigars, keeping an eye on our parents. He's with his buddies, calling them all a bunch of no-good shitheads. He's with his nieces and nephews hopefully making sure they don't get into too much trouble, but probably snickering when they do. And he's definitely at the store, his baby for the past umpteen years.It's just...selfish, I know, but I just wish he was still here.
Things I've learned over the past year:Laughter is the best medicine.True love won't let time or space get in its way.Never underestimate the power of being nice to people.Forgiveness is hard.Oncology doctors and ICU nurses are in a class by themselves.Frampton Comes Alive is an album that should be listened to all the way through, over good food, with people you love.A year goes by way too fast.This was played for John at his Celebration of Life. I couldn't think of a better song:http://youtu.be/FHO6a2H-pqYMore about John here, here, and here. And on YouTube here and here.*also: I just want to say Kudos to Valerie Harper and thank her for being so open, brave and honest about her recent diagnosis. Hopefully by bringing more attention to brain cancer, scientists and doctors will be able to come up with more effective treatments for this brutal disease.
Thanks, as always, for reading. xoxo heidi.For information or to donate to the John Giovannoni Memorial Scholarship Fund, click here.please feel free to leave a comment below.
Foggy morning, December
Thanks for hanging out with me on my foggy desert morning!
We finally had a good soaking rain. It has been over 3 months since we had any precipitation, and the whole place - the house, the yard, the whole city for that matter, had been covered in layers of dry gritty dust. There was a lifeless pallor over everything, keeping the color and vitality of the desert hidden from view.While everyone in the rest of the country gets hammered by storms, here's us:
Not that I'm asking for a hurricane (my heart goes out to everyone affected by Sandy), but a few drops here and there would be nice. Below is a lovely photo of what we Phoenicians call "the brown cloud," caused by ozone: "Ozone is an invisible gas created when other pollutants in the air - such as those created by combustion- are heated by the sun." Just another day for us:
And then I'm sure this doesn't help the dust situation - summer dust storms known as Haboobs. (Yes that really is what they are called, and yes, they really do look this big and freaky)
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lrcVqtmugj8]
So when we hear we are getting rain after almost 4 months, we kinda freak out. All the weather people have their sleeves rolled up, the maps are flashing all over the place, and weather is the LEAD STORY.
What is just an average storm in any other part of the country is an event for us. I mean, it didn't just rain...it rained for two whole days!!
I loved it.
Sat in my jammies drinking coffee all Saturday morning, then actually got my rain jacket out of the closet (yes, it had DUST on it!), and went out Christmas shopping.
In the rain!
It was kind of exciting. Everyone had jackets and/or hats, and some even had this fancy type of nylon water shield that they would hold over head. You see them a lot in British shows.
But the cool this was, everyone was in a good mood. And mellow. No grumpiness, obnoxious yapping or complaining...just cool, you know? The rainy day vibe.
The horses loved it, too. They stood out there, just soaking it in, and getting good and muddy.
And then I woke up Sunday morning, to
FOG.
Let's see what else we can find around the ol' place...
Thanks for hanging out with me on my foggy desert morning! I hope you are enjoying some crisp fresh air, wherever you are.
Happy Thanksgiving
Thanks for reading ♡
Today I was listening to a discussion on NPR about retail businesses being open on Thanksgiving day, and how right or wrong that decision may be. One of the things I love about public radio is the fact that they support open debate over many topics, with views from both sides.One person was saying that hey, it's a business decision, it's part of the economy, it's the way things are going now, with such a competitive retail market - stores having to compete with online retailers, yada yada yada.Another was saying yes, but what is it doing to our society when we can't even have ONE DAY where folks can take time off and spend with their families?The response to that was, well, what about all the people NOT in retail who have to work anyways? Police, firefighters, hospital workers, etc. Add to that the fact that many retail workers were jumping at the chance to work the holiday, for the extra pay. Who are we to say they shouldn't work if they want to?Then a comment from a caller came in, so angry and vehemently AGAINST the idea that anyone should work on this holiday, and that it just makes everyone look like greedy slobs, having to make money, or needing to go out shopping for that amazing deal only offered at midnight turkey madness. And how embarrassed she was to call herself an American, and lots of other vicious spewing.To which I say:
Can't we all just get along?
Personally, I think part of the problem with society today (yeah, I'm going there) is that everyone is looking to blame somebody else for everything that has gone wrong in their life, in the country, the world, you name it. The Conservatives blame the Liberals; the Muslims blame the Jews; the Christians blame the Atheists; the Blacks blame the Whites, who blame Everybody Else - and vice, vice, vice, vice versa.
DUDE.
JUST BE NICE TO PEOPLE.
I'm so sick of it. It's like a bunch of kids on the playground, all pointing their fingers at each other:
He did it!No, HE did!She did it first!
Maybe it's having a brother with a tumor in his head that puts it all into perspective. The Jews, Blacks, Conservatives, Muslims - nobody put that tumor there. Not even God. It just is, and it sucks. It sucks that he has to go through a week of heavy-duty physical therapy just to be able to remember how to put his pants on or tie his shoes. It sucks that his wife is so worried and stressed out that she had to be hospitalized as well.So when I hear people bitching about how horrible it is to want to work or shop on Thanksgiving, or, Christians telling people they will "go to hell" if they don't believe in Creationism or have an abortion, or Hamas bombing Gaza because of WHATEVER IT HAPPENED A THOUSAND YEARS AGO. Just fucking love thy neighbor and get over it.So tomorrow, break bread, even if it's with people who irritate you or done you wrong or stole your boyfriend. Just be Thankful you have someone to break bread with. Be Thankful that you have bread to break. Be Thankful that you have the ability to read this, and computer access. Be Thankful that your house didn't get washed into the ocean. Be Thankful that you can sit around the table with those you love. Even if you less-than-love some of them.And be Thankful that you don't have a tumor in your head.And if you do have a tumor in your head, I love you. I'm sending you a big hug.And be nice.Happy Thanksgiving.
Back to the Mountains - a picture post
If you've been reading my blog for awhile, first of all, THANK YOU!! :) and second of all, you'll be glad to hear about a place familiar to us; our favorite spot in the beautiful White Mountains of eastern Arizona. This is where you first heard of it. Here's the follow-up from last year where you see our lovely tree burned to the ground.In celebration of quitting my job, the last hurrah before school started, and my husband having 3 days off, we headed back to the our favorite spot for a cool break from the 115° heat. Here are some AAaaaahhhh moments:
...and then my battery died.
The nice thing to know is that the area is bouncing back nicely. Fire kills forests, but in the ashes come new life. Grass is growing thick, and our camp spot had the biggest surge of baby Aspens that we've seen since we've been coming here. The wildlife will feed on the fresh new growth, and the whole cycle will begin again.
Thanks for coming along with us, and I hope each of you has a chance to get out and enjoy a nice weekend with your family.
Take care!
Heidi
Little Stinker
Isn't there some sort of rule that they're supposed to stay little forever?And cuddle in your lap and ask for a story?Where's pixie dust when you need it?
Only the Good Die Young
Last week, while we were still in the happy afterglow of new life, my husband's family suffered a tragic loss. A cousin he and his siblings had been close to in childhood passed away suddenly and unexpectedly.There have been a few subjects mulling around in my brain for my next blog post, but after an event like this, they all seemed inconsequential. I felt the need to honor this woman's life, if but for a moment. I can't say I knew her well; her family is located in another state, and visits with them were infrequent. We didn't have any sort of relationship beyond annual family gatherings and the exchange of Christmas cards. But she was the type of person instantly liked by anyone who met her. She had a great sense of humor and loved to laugh. We shared the same name, and the lighthearted joke when we were introduced was that I was the "other" Heidi.Heidi greeted everyone with a warm smile, a warm hug, and when she asked "How are you doing?" she meant it. One of the most genuine and unpretentious people you'd have the pleasure of knowing. My husband has great memories of growing up and spending time with her and her sister, and his siblings, all hanging out as cousins.For many years, she taught school and enjoyed every minute of it. One of those rarities - someone who actually loved her work, and it showed in the more than 2,000 visitors who came to show their respects at her wake and service.
Please keep her family in your prayers, and hug your own.
Love Is...
...Finally getting that honeymoon, and bringing the kids...
Looking Forward and Looking Back
It used to be Blues Clues, and now it's Step Brothers...everything is stupid, they tell each other to shut up, and see who can fart the loudest.
As we head down the home stretch toward the birth of a new foal, I can't help looking at Keira and being amazed that it's already been two years since her birth. She's growing into such a beautiful young mare, filling out nicely and showing promise of everything you'd look for in a Gypsy Cob.In much the same way, I've been noticing all the little kids I see; so many babies and toddlers helping their moms shop in the store, leaning just far enough out of the seat in the grocery cart to reach candy so temptingly placed in their path; or my 1½ year-old nephew, who has a new talent every time I see him. One day he's drooling over his sippy cup and the next day he's walking - no - running all over the place, giggling and playing peek-a-boo.It seems like yesterday that my own two little monkeys were perched in that grocery cart playing with whatever contraband they'd plucked off the shelf, or running around living room furniture, playing hide-and-seek, and giving me those long-lashed flirty blinks that my nephew now sends blushingly over to my sister-in-law. The look only a little boy could give to his mother that says it'll be a long time before he's in love with anyone but her.
I see these little ones, and I'm instantly transported back in time. You know, you never appreciate anything while it's happening. It's only after the moment has passed do you realize how special it was. When my boys were small, people told me all the time, "Enjoy them while they're little, 'cause it goes by fast!" And here you are: still haven't lost your baby weight, haven't had any sleep, constantly covered in some sort of baby slime, your little angel is screaming his head off, you haven't had a minute to yourself in ages, and you roll your eyes thinking: Not fast enough.
And the next day you're taking your son to tour colleges. He's getting ready to graduate high school, has a job and his own car. Answers every question with "whatever" and can text 80 words per minute. Your youngest is riding his dirt bike down the street, much to the chagrin of the neighbors, listens to everything from the Beatles to Led Zeppelin on his ipod, and surfs the web looking for a cool drum set and a Ferrari to haul it in.
The same little boys would curl up next to you in bed, begging for just one more story. Beamed with smiles if you showed up to help in their class at school. Cranked up your old Phil Collins CDs and played air guitar with your kitchen broom. Convinced you that this time the goldfish from the school carnival would live longer than a week.
It used to be Blues Clues, and now it's Step Brothers. They used to get excited over a new box of crayons and a jar of bubbles. Now everything is stupid, they tell each other to shut up, and see who can fart the loudest.But if I've learned anything, it's to appreciate even these times. Bickering, eating like pigs, hip-hop music, pants worn too low, homework battles, messy rooms, Jersey Shore and constant references to bodily functions. Yes, >sigh< even these moments are special. Why? Because while today I am wistful for the days when my boys were toddlers, and the mere sight of a two-year-old playing with a balloon makes me weep, ten years from now the sight of two fighting teenage brothers will probably have the same effect.
I can't believe how fast it's gone by, I cherish the present, and can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring. I just wish it would go slower.But wait...I started this post with my horse. How did I end up in a blubbering mess about my kids? (And I am a blubbering mess, believe me. It's not pretty. Be glad you're not here right now).It's cyclical, I guess. Maybe that's why clocks are circular. Everything goes, and then comes back around. Your baby horse growing up will remind you of babies in the supermarket that remind you of your kids growing up. You will cry. And then a new baby horse will be born. And it will all start over again.
Keira decided she needed to be born in the middle of a rainstorm at two in the morning. It was simply an amazing thing to behold. Within minutes, she was up and walking, and bonding with her mother. Such a cool thing to see, and we can't wait to see how this year's baby will enter the world.[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bojr6-Zp2MQ]And to all of you moms and moms-to-be out there, cherish each moment, 'cause it goes by fast!
Basketball, Swedish Meatballs and swearing with your father
By the time we got the #@%* basketball hoop up, the moon had come out.
This weekend one of my projects, besides the continent of laundry that has piled up, is assembling a new portable, adjustable-height basketball hoop. As I unpacked the box and saw all of the little parts, big parts, and list of tools I would need, I thought of my dad.Now, a do-it-yourself type of task around the house, i.e., replacing a kitchen faucet, hooking up the stereo or any kind of "adult assembly required" product which looks so good in the store displayed (fully assembled) under bright lights with a sale sticker, comes packaged in a very large box, its many components neatly styro-foamed, twist-tied and plastic-baggied; well, these projects -- as anyone with a practical, do-it-yourselfer, Italian-American father knows -- require A LOT OF SWEARING. The kind of swearing you usually have to pray about in church the next day.This basketball hoop was going to need some swearing before it got done. And it's more fun when you have someone to help you swear about it. You know, one of you reads the 300 pages of poorly written instructions, the other one misinterprets what you say, you argue about which thingamajiggy goes where, swear some more, at some point the manual gets thrown across the room, that little vein pops out in your dad's forehead (this also applies to Irish fathers), and three hours later you have something which almost resembles the picture on the box, shrug your shoulders, say, "Well, at least it's done," and go have a beer.And in this time your mom/stepmom got all the laundry done, made a whole batch of cookies and cleaned up the kitchen. She's just thankful you kept him out of her hair for the day.Unfortunately, my dad lives a thousand miles away. So in this case, I call him, tell him I need him to help me with the tools and the swearing, and we have a good laugh. Then comes the inevitable question:"What're you having for dinner?"
There's something about moving away from home. Yeah, you miss your family, friends and different places. You talk about the weather. But it always comes back to food.I said, "That's the other reason I was calling about." Midwesterners tend to end sentences with prepositions. We know it's wrong. We're rebels without causes."I've got two pounds of ground beef thawed out, and I have no idea what to make,"I mentioned that I was thinking of meatballs, but not spaghetti-and-meatballs, something different. My stepmom suggested Swedish meatballs, and proceeded to read me the recipe from the Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook. Meatballs fried in butter with a cream gravy. What's not to like?I looked up the recipe in my Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook, which just happens to be my Grandma's copy, from the late '50's. Funny how they stick that "New" title on every year. So you'll see a twenty year old version at a garage sale, and somehow think it's New? But my "New" cookbook didn't have the same version as my stepmom's "New" cookbook, so I did the next best thing: Google.Thank you, Alton Brown. The meatballs were delicious!http://common.scrippsnetworks.com/common/snap/snap-2.2.2-embed.swf?channelurl=http://www.foodnetwork.com/food/channel/xml/0,,67904-VIDEO,00.xml&channel=67904What food do you miss from back home, and does your family swear as much as mine? (In my dad's defense, his language isn't half as bad as mine!)
