It’s out there, the beauty

Without a doubt, one of the hardest times of my life was when my mother was dying in the hospital. Knowing her time was limited and having all these things I wanted to say to her but couldn’t, because she simply could not comprehend, was agonizing. It drained me; in the evenings, after a day at her bedside, I would walk back to the apartment Dave and I shared, ironically a stone’s throw from the hospital, to sit on the couch and just stare.

Continue reading It’s out there, the beauty

Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky

If any of you are planning on selling your house or are in the process of selling your house, get yourselves a statue of St. Joseph the Worker, pronto.

Twenty-four hours after we said the prayer and put the statue on our mantle, we got an offer. A good offer. It’s just the offer we’d been hoping for, and if all goes well over the next few days, our house will be officially sold next week. BOOYA!

Continue reading Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky

Kinda like the time that lady farted on my leg in the checkout line

Saturday Night at the Italian Hall ’07 was not nearly as interesting as the ’06 version. I didn’t limp to the Hall doors battered and bleeding, as Dave thoughtfully took my arm while we walked there (and I held on for dear life). Unlike last year, this time around Dave did manage to maintain conversation with me while he tried to “fix” his father’s cell phone. He didn’t try to dump the leftover gnocchi into a Ziploc freezer bag under the table and not once did he blame his own noxious gas on the guy sitting at the table next to us.

Continue reading Kinda like the time that lady farted on my leg in the checkout line

Two Things

Thing Number One

It’s that time of year again…it’s Gnocchi Night at the Italian Hall. Every year, a handful of Nonnas get together and make sweet, sweet gnocchi’s with their beautiful Italian gnocchi-making hands. They make hundreds upon hundreds of them, and folks buy tickets and paint their faces real pretty, puff their hair up special and get dressed to the nines to gather at the Italian Hall for a sit-down gnocchi feast. It’s a big deal in Dave’s family; we’ve gone almost every year since I’ve known him.

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Husband, take note…

By the time four p.m. rolls around, I am usually hanging on by a wing and a prayer over here – something my children can keenly sense. Knowing full-well that Mummy is rapidly making her downward descent, they either turn into animals or emotional basket cases, depending on if they have napped that day and if so, for how long. It’s my least favourite time of the day; I feel my energy, patience and wherewithal quickly draining from my body (and mind) and I cling to the knowledge that soon, my husband will be home. Soon, I won’t be the only one who is having the stamina sucked out of them by two small children.

Continue reading Husband, take note…