I can feel her pain.

On the one hand, she has zero desire to expose herself or her kids to drugs. On the other hand, "goody two shoes" is an unkind label that's been foisted on her all her life by our dad, and I'm sure she isn't eager to be seen that way just now.

But, I don't want her to go. I haven't seen her in years. And as sad as this last week of funeral preparations has been, we've had phenomenally good laughs. We've made new memories. My sister is hilarious and dependable, and I am savoring every second.

Read musings on 
love and food from more Chow Bella writers through the rest of February on 
www.phxfood.com.
Read musings on love and food from more Chow Bella writers through the rest of February on www.phxfood.com.
Read musings on 
love and food from more Chow Bella writers through the rest of February on 
www.phxfood.com.
Cynthia Clark Harvey
Read musings on love and food from more Chow Bella writers through the rest of February on www.phxfood.com.

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Read musings on love and food from more Chow Bella writers through the rest of February on
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"I'll take care of it," I assure her.

She's not convinced, but she agrees and wanders off to locate her kids while I make my way to my father's closest friends to see if I can get their help spreading the message of "don't fire up."

A few minutes later, my sister calls me softly from the kitchen.

"Kim, may I speak to you?" her voice is edgy and her expression too intense. I enter the kitchen and see her standing by the buffet table next to Susan. My sister gestures like a game show hostess toward a platter of pickles and olives. "Look, Susan brought a relish tray," she says, trying not to laugh. "Wasn't that nice?"

"Thank God!" I say, making my way toward the table, toward my sister. "I was hoping someone would bring a relish tray."

"Me, too," my sister says. "I just love a relish tray."

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5 comments
mstails
mstails

I would love to know, too!  I haven't been able to find a good Italian restuarant since I left the NY/NJ area in '86 to move here.  Keep trying different places, but none measure up, so I'd like to make my own gravy and meatballs.  PLEASE share!

naoma
naoma

Er,  what kind of "gravy" is served on your spaghetti?  I come from an Italian background on my Mother's side  and it is called "sauce" and made with tomatoes.  Just curious.  

shazam47
shazam47

@naoma 

In second and third generation Italian families from the NY/NJ area, it's ALWAYS called gravy, never sauce. Got another flash for you, we call it macaroni, not pasta. My grandparents called it pasta, but they were from Italy.......both sides. Matter of fact, there's a cook book by a women from NY/NJ titled "We Call It Macaroni"

naoma4man
naoma4man

@shazam47 @naoma   How lovely to hear from you.  My Grandmother was from Italy and spoke no English.  She lived in Pittsburgh.  I think it was called:  "spaghet."  Had a dear friend whose parents were also Italian and her Mom made her own spaghet -- and hung it over a chair after she cut it in thin strands (with a dish towel to hang it on.)  Her Dad made wine in the basement and if we'd bring guys around for them to meet her Dad would give them a glass of WINE (it was killer stuff) and her Mom always pronounced the guys:  "he's a so cute."  Loved her family.  Long gone; long ago.  I have a friend living in Paris who is Italian but now he considers himself French.  Speaks 4 languages.  

shazam47
shazam47

@naoma4man @shazam47 @naoma  Yes, that's another one, "spaghet". Wow, as soon as I read that word, it was like a wave of memories came over me. Living here in AZ for the last 39 years has dulled some of that "culture". Thank you!

 
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