the love of an italian mother
Last night we went to dinner at an AMAZING Italian Villa that should be in a movie. I would attempt to describe it to you but I just wouldn't know how and anyway, it's not the point. It's the home of a VERY Italian family that my husband has become friends with. VERY ITALIAN. And while the group of 10 or so of us were all sitting down in the middle of the 2nd course of our fabulous home-cooked Italian dinner, drinking incredible Italian wines from their personal wine cellar and gazing out over their citrus grove and palatial pool, the mother walks out from the kitchen and passes her son a note at the table.
The note reads:
Why is there a rifle outside my laundry room door?
WHAT THE HELL?
I am not kidding. That is an EXACT quote. And I know that because I pocketed that note off the table the minute nobody was looking and it is now hanging on our refrigerator. I love the Italians.
(Don't be afraid - it wasn't an actual rifle. These aren't THOSE kinds of Italians. It was a spear gun the son uses for fishing that the mother isn't fond of so he leaves it around the house to piss her off.)
Posted by Poka Bean at 7:33 AM
laura ingalls poka bean
Hi, I'm Poka Bean and I'm a shameful excuse for a blogger. I feel like I should re-introduce myself but blah, blah, blah. That would be so boring.
So instead I want to catch you up on what's been happening to me in the here and now. And when I say "happening to me" I truly mean it. There is an unstoppable force taking over my life and I am powerless against it. I did not invite it in, it has simply decided to claim me and consume me and sit heavy on my heart like a bowling ball.
People, I want to live on the prairie.
I want to move to the country and sew my own clothes and grow all of our food and make jam. I want to bake things from scratch, help my neighbors with barnraising and can tomatoes. I want to join a co-op, barter my homemade goods and listen to bluegrass music. I want to attend a little country church, make quilts, read books and never watch TV.
WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?
I am serious when I say I cannot stop this. I haven't read or watched anything that has inspired these things in me, they are just suddenly there and I am their puppet. They are shouting "DANCE, POKA. DANCE!" and I am doing a jig to fiddle music.
If anyone has a cure for what is ailing me (or any good marmelade recipes!), please speak up. At this rate my next post could be a telegram sent from somewhere in central Wyoming.
Posted by Poka Bean at 9:51 AM