Archive for May, 2007
i’ve "bean" interviewed
Today I am the subject of an interview by Ally Bean of Crazy Dust In My Coffee. Ally had been questioned by J of Thinking About… and then as part of “The Interview Meme,” she offered to send questions others if they chose to accept the challenge.
I did, and here are Ally’s questions and my responses:
Question: What part of your day do you enjoy the most?
The early morning. If you would’ve told me five years ago that I’d respond as such, I would’ve thought you’d been hitting the sauce, but I’ve come to love the fresh morning air, the silence, the hope and potential that each day holds. And of course my morning routine and, these days, my iced coffee.
Question: What is your opinion of the color yellow?
I love it in all shades, but not for all purposes. I’m not fond of any shade of yellow for a car, but my house is pale yellow, which I find charming on a home. I don’t wear much yellow, and if I do, it’s also of the pale persuasion (like me), and I *love* yellow legal pads. If I had my druthers, I’d have the walls of my (as yet to be developed) home office painted yellow. It’s in discussion.
Question: What is the dumbest pair of shoes that you’ve ever worn out in public?
Anything with the slightest heel in my hilly village full of cobblestone streets.
Question: Just how creative are you?
Sooooo creative? I do think outside the box, and I’m decent at most artsy type things like drawing, painting, music, etc., but I’d love to be much better at all of them. My to-learn/to-improve list is a long one.
Question: What quotation(s) and/or motivational phrase(s) do you live by?
Two major ones: (1) Everything happens for a reason. My grandmother told me this when I was very young, and it’s gotten me through many a tough time; and (2) Do unto others as you would have done unto you. Doesn’t get more simple and true than that.
Now here are the rules of this interview meme:
1. Leave me a comment saying “Interview me.” (If you don’t feel comfortable putting your e-mail address in the comments, please directly send me a message to the address on my sidebar.)
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
Come on, you know you want to play!
And now some entirely unrelated photos.
P happens to be painting the school where I work, but he’s in a part of it that I had never seen before–this place is huge with dormitories and everything.
So the other day I embarrassed P to no end casually took some shots around his work area this week.
Buon weekend!
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[tags]memes, interviews, soverato, calabria, ionian sea[/tags]
seeds of truth: my growth fiction contest entry
For those of you who didn’t catch it in yesterday’s post and/or to save you a click, I’m posting my entry to The Moon Topples Growth Fiction Contest, you know the one that captured 4th place among the Author Awards?
The theme of the contest was growth, and the entry had to be less than 500 words. It was wonderful and inspiring to see the submissions go in so many different, innovative directions, so do check them out.
I particularly enjoyed:
Brilliantdonkey‘s entry #25: White Lies
Goodthomas’s entry #19: Thinking of Others
Heartinsanfrancisco‘s entry #22: The Scar
Reading the Signs‘ entry #9: Forget-Me-Not
Seamus Kearney‘s entry #4: Paolo and the Snakes
Sounds cheeseball, I know, but it really was just a privilege being part of a great collection of writing–the fact that my peers selected my piece among their favorites is quite humbling. I’m just getting my feet wet in the realm of fiction, so I’d appreciate any and all feedback.
And thanks again to Maht at The Moon Topples for organizing the contest!
Seeds of Truth
Anna cupped her growing belly as she leaned over the sink and stuck two fingers into the soil of the basil plant on the windowsill.
Still not time to water.
How many basil plants had she killed in her overanxious desire to see them big, leafy, and oh so healthy?
Not this time, she swore.
So instead of filling up the watering can, she peered out the open window past the basil and saw a bumblebee buzzing around her orchids. She used to be afraid of anything with stingers, but after much trial and error, she learned that if she let bumblebees do their thing, they wouldn’t even notice her. Her only job was to cultivate the orchid seeds and keep them alive for when a bumblebee’s turn would finally arrive.
“Unbelievable! Another car bomb,” yelled her husband from the next room.
She heard the unmistakable pop of the recliner being unreclined, but her eyes remained fixed on the furry black and yellow visitor.
Although she considered digging out her camera to capture the moment, she didn’t want to lose a single second of the golden sunlight catching the white of her orchids, which made her squint, and, accordingly, smile. And besides, just because she had accepted coexistence with Bernie, as she called the bumbler, it didn’t mean she trusted him.
So she shifted her weight onto her right foot, crossed her arms, and titled her head for a better angle.
“How can we continue to stay there when it’s obvious that they’re going to have to build their own country with their own rules?” asked her husband, tapping the remote control on his leg in time with Bernie’s fluttering wings. “Honey, come here and see this,” he said.
“Why don’t you come here and watch this instead?” she said without turning towards him.
After one last look at debris, he turned off the television, threw the remote on the couch, and joined his wife at the window, standing just behind her.
Over her shoulder, he watched the bumblebee kissing the orchid’s waiting, yellow lips.
“You know that the laws of aerodynamics say that a bumblebee can’t fly?” he whispered into his wife’s ear, careful not to disturb the romantic moment before him.
“Obviously no one told the bumblebee,” she whispered back, and they laughed.
As the bumblebee moved on, she noticed some weeds had shot up in the cement cracks of the walkway. She didn’t remember seeing even a hint of them yesterday.
“I’ll get those tomorrow,” her husband said, following her gaze. And then the tiny sprouts of basil on the windowsill caught his eye.
Perfect, he thought, envisioning a rich pesto in their future, and hugged his wife, wrapping his arms around his world.
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[tags]short fiction, short stories, moon topples growth fiction contest[/tags]
Love Thursday: Remembering the Silver Years
I don’t have a lot of physical reminders of my childhood. In fact, as my mother recently told me, both cameras were broken at the hospital the day I was born (it wasn’t me, I swear), so I don’t even have one of those adorable minutes-old, crunched up and puffy-faced photos.
But the other day I received a package in the mail from my mom. She’s moving from house to apartment and also moving a friend from apartment to retirement home, so she’s sorting through a lot of old stuff.
And I’m the benefactor.
She thought now would be the perfect time to send me these:
My baby silverware.
My brother got his set when my mom wrapped them up as a gift to my sister-in-law for her first baby shower. Some of you may wonder if my mom’s package was her subtle hint to get moving on the bambini, but really it’s not. She’s never been one of “those” moms so I know that this gift simply means she knew I would love to have these at this exact time in my life, and, as usual, she’s right.
Being far from home, away from nearly everything that ever symbolized anything in my previous life can be difficult; yes, memories are in the heart, but it’s still comforting to hold something that was once important to me, even if I didn’t know it at the time.
Looking at this silverware, I think of how many relatives and family friends have touched these forks and spoons meant for my mouth only–although surely they had to take a bite or two themselves to convince me that pureed carrots were mmm-mmm-good, bless their hearts as it was a decidedly uphill battle.
Also in the collection is a special spoon from the local jeweler’s; when I was born, they were running a special on engraved baby silver, and here’s mine:
It has my name, birth date and time (it’s 12:21 a.m. in case you can’t make it out). Isn’t the stork adorable?
(The ring, by the way, is essentially my engagement/wedding ring from P.)
And that wasn’t the end of the package.
My mom also sent some things from the apartment of the woman now in the retirement home. Kitty has been like a mother to my mom and another grandmother to me, particularly since my mom’s mother was never much of a nurturer, to put it kindly. I always felt a particularly special bond with Kitty because her birthday is just a day before mine (well, and 55 years earlier). Indeed, save twenty-two minutes, we would’ve shared our day.
I have countless wonderful memories of Kitty, but most involve cookies as she and my mom made them together every year for the holidays. Kitty loves to tell the story of one Christmas when I was “The Cookie Monster” who kept sneaking into her dining room and swiping pizzelles and chocolate chip cookies off the table–just from around the edges though because I had to get on my tiptoes to play thief.
And I can still smell the anise as I write this.
I remember trying to find excuses to tramp from one end of her apartment to the other down the long, hardwood floored hallway, which, looking back, probably wasn’t all that grand but sure seemed so to my 4-year-old legs.
There was always something magical about Kitty’s place because it was a like visiting a fairy tale. She had all kinds of grown-up fancy stuff that a little girl could want to be surrounded by–red velvet Victorian furniture, the best china and flatware (which I wouldn’t appreciate until much later), a huge collection of dolls–in fact her apartment rather resembled a doll house.
And Kitty was the doll at just a few inches below five feet tall. Did I mention she only wore pink?
And so, among silver ladles and serving pieces, one particular item sent by my mom stood out:
We think it’s an old-fashioned tea strainer, fitting in nicely with my tea and cookies memories of Kitty, but if anyone has other thoughts, please share.
Now I sit surrounded by a bunch of old silverware, some of it Kitty’s grandmother’s, and I can’t help but remember how my own grandmother used to open up one of the bottom drawers filled with cooking utensils for me to play with. I’d sit on the floor and spend hours going through them, banging and clanging at first, then gradually asking what everything was used for.
I feel like a child again in the middle of all this fun, and I look forward to sharing it with another generation when the time is right.
Happy Love Thursday everyone!
** On the sage advice of Goodthomas, I am proud to announce that my short story, Seeds of Truth, has been selected for one of the Author’s Choice Awards in The Moon Topples Fiction Growth Contest. Do yourself a favor and go check out all the entries; they were all superb.
I’d like to thank Maht for the opportunity and for all his hard work to make this contest a success. Now everyone keep your eye on The Moon Topples for the next contest and join in!
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[tags]silver, argento, baby silver, tea strainers, tea, love thursday[/tags]
what’s cooking wednesday: spaghetti with meat sauce
Go ahead. Roll your eyes. Yawn like an anchovy .
Could it get any more boring than this week’s What’s Cooking Wednesday‘s spaghetti with meat sauce?
Not too long ago, I would’ve been rolling my eyes with you.
Far too many a college lunch was spent over a (paper) plate of pasta with meat sauce–and it was horrible. I mean really, really bad. It was so awful that I ended up asking for plain pasta, i.e., without what they called, I swear, “red sauce” which should’ve been a clue. I loaded up on grated cheese as a topping instead.
So in the opening stages of our relationship, when P suggested that we have spaghetti with meat sauce, I was, how you say, reluctant.
Luckily for my taste buds, I was still trying to be agreeable (girls, remember those days?), so I let him make it.
Wow.
It was that day that I learned to trust P’s food judgment.
I’m now a huge fan, and although my favorite type of pasta to serve with this is tagliatelle, here I’ve done it with spaghetti.
Oh, and I’ve left the part about how to make the pasta because I know you’re all old pros by now and can handle the boiling water and salt routine.
Spaghetti with (Ground) Meat Sauce
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium sweet onion chopped finely
3 cloves garlic, chopped finely
1 fresh peperoncino, chopped
1 lb ground meat
1/4 cup red wine
28 oz. can peeled tomatoes, coarsely chopped or passed through grinder
2 tablespoons fresh parsley, chopped finely
1/2 teaspoon salt
In a saucepan, add olive oil over medium heat. Sauté onions until translucent (3 to 5 minutes), then add peperoncino and garlic and sauté until the garlic is just starting to turn light brown (about 2 minutes).
Add ground meat, stirring with a wooden spoon. When the meat is lightly browned with little to no pink remaining, add wine. Let wine cook off for about 3-5 minutes.
Lower the heat and add tomatoes. Add parsley and salt, and let cook on low to medium heat for about 35 minutes.
Serve with plenty of grated parmeggiano cheese and more fresh peperoncino if you like it spicy like I do.
A clever reader might have realized that this is extremely similar to the sauce I use in Calabrian stuffed lasagne. Indeed, the only major difference between the two is that I prefer fresh peperoncino (the more the better!) in this sauce–I absolutely love the flavor it adds to the sauce.
Love.
A lot.
I usually don’t use it in the lasagne sauce because it gets lost in all the other tasty ingredients anyway.
A final note: be aware that for the most part, the smaller the pepper, the more it’ll open your sinuses, so choose accordingly.
Buon appetito!
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[tags]what’s cooking wednesday, spaghetti with meat sauce, pasta, recipes, cooking, ground meat[/tags]
Fun with Statistics 101
Well if that title didn’t hook you, you’re my kind of person. I’m not fond of statistics myself–as the saying goes, anywhere from 1 to 100% of them are made up anyway.
But not those on my Google Analytics account! They tell me who’s visiting my blog, where they’re from, how long they stayed–and there are graphs and lines and bars, oh my!
What I find most interesting, though, is how my visitors find me.
Most searches are looking for information on malocchio, Italian superstitions, Italian language (yes, you can use “ciao” for hello and goodbye; “ciao bella” is “hello, beautiful”), life as an expat in Italy, Calabrian food, dialect, traditions, holidays, etc., recipes (banana cake, spaghetti aglio olio peperoncino, zeppole, rabbit), dog menstruation (a few searches looked specifically for “Luna Balloona“–is she *that* famous?), grandmothers, the JFK assassination, and seeing an old crush.
I couldn’t have done a better job of summing up my life than that right there.
What’s that? You want a gratuitous Luna photo? Twist my arm! OK, OK.
Moving on.
Once before I tried to answer some questions that came up in my stats, and I think it’s time again. Oh, and for the people (that’s plural) who continue to wonder about smoking basil, please go here as it’s been, in legal terms, asked and answered.
(1) Do snails bleed?
I believe Shakespeare already covered this general premise in “The Merchant of Venice,” but if I have to spell it out: yes.
(2) Why do anchovy [sic] appear to be yawning?
Because they’re light sleepers and have disrupted REM sleep, which leads to inadequate rest. Accordingly, they appear to be yawning because they are. They swim around all day trying to accomplish anchovy goals (including but not limited to staying out of fishing nets), and they get run down just like the rest of us. Cut them some slack, would you?
(3) Why do Italians go to Nana’s every day?
Because they love her, dammit!
Aside from questions, sometimes a kindred spirit finds me: “I hate Telecom.” Sing it my brother/sister!
Other times I just get a prompt for a short story: “Nutella and her hot friend waiting for you.”
And, when I’m extra lucky, I even get unsolicited advice (this from two different locations): “Never try to teach a cat algebra, it frustrates you and annoys the cat.”
Duly noted.
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[tags]google analytics, dogs[/tags]
Michelle Kaminsky is an American attorney-turned-freelance writer who lived in her family's ancestral village in Calabria, Italy for 15 years. This blog is now archived.
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