Happy New Year!

New Year's Eve 2009

I made our traditional New Year's Eve pizzas yesterday. Click here for the recipe from last year's post.

Tradition is a Comfort

--Big Brother and the Princess waiting for the pizzas to be cooked, and the snow to stop. New Year's Eve, 2008

When I was a little girl I watched my maternal grandfather make pizzas for the family every New Year's Eve. He was a product of The Greatest Generation, as Tom Brokaw describes. Grandpa continued this tradition because it reminded him of his mother, who started it many years earlier. He said that when he rolled out the dough, he could feel her nearby.

One year when I was a teenager, he wrote down the recipe on Grumman note paper. I still have the handwritten recipe, although Grumman's and grandpa are physically gone. When I look at his handwriting, I know he's still with me and it is very comforting. The day he wrote down the recipe I knew he was doing it for posterity. Grandpa had a way of leaving a paper trail of himself, dating and labeling everything, with some secret intent. So now, every year since about 2001, I make the pizzas.

This year I left my handwritten cookbook at my mother's house, but I don't need it. I can see grandpa's writing, all capitals, printed neatly and deliberately, in my mind's eye. I roll out the dough while listening to an audio version of Tolstoy's Anna Karenina on my new Ipod. I remember grandpa's flour-covered fingers and smile, a little teary. The kids are looking over my shoulder. I'm taking this family tradition into the next millennium.



Above: Making the pizzas, New Year's Eve 2008




---Making the Pizzas, New Year's Eve 2007








Here's the recipe.

Grandpa D'Anieri's New Year's Eve Pizzas

• Five Pounds of Pizza Dough


• 2 pounds mozzerella


• 1 pound parmesan


• Italian Seasoning


• 1-2 jars tomato sauce, or homemade


• Any chopped up cooked meat. I used ham this year.


• flour


• Peanut Oil (1 gallon)


• Deep Fyer

1. Let dough rise overnight in bowls covered with dish towels.


2. Turn on the deep fryer and fill to line with oil. Then cover the top with a wire mesh splatter protector thing.


3. Set up trays lined with paper towels for pizzas as they come out of fryer.


4. Roll dough into loaves. Cut loaves into seven or eight pieces. Then make each piece round and very flat with the rolling pin. Use lots of flour.


5. Fill each circular piece of dough with cheese, seasoning, meat and sauce, then fold over like a calzone and seal with a fork or a real pastry sealer tool if you have one.


6. Drop one or two pizzas into the deep fryer and cook until brown, turning once. Let cool on paper towels.

(Warning: If you eat this high cholesterol dish more than once a year, you may be dead before 2010.)

Happy New Year!

Christmas Eve is Magical

There's something magical about Christmas Eve, at any age, viewed from the right perspective. It is one of my favorite nights of the year. Here is a little moment at my parish, Christmas Eve, 2008. This is a view from the choir loft, as the kids wait before the pageant begins. In the choir loft I can capture a little bit of that magic reflected in the soft lights and anticipation of celebration. My church is 120 years old, quaint and country-like. It's a cozy place to be, and yes, it is a Catholic church. The princess is the seated angel. Big brother is a blue wise man, half in the right side of the picture.

Chill Out This Christmas

Remember when that guy who called himself Vanilla Ice ripped off Queen's song "Under Pressure" with his one hit song "Ice, Ice Baby?" My fifteen year old self was shocked back then when I realized the copy, but I still secretly liked the new song too. What's tricky about remaking art in all forms is that sometimes the remake ruins the meaning or message of the original.

This is what modern society has done to Christmas. It's hard to avoid that feeling at Christmas that sucks the joy out of you and leaves you exhausted. This week I feel overwhelmed, to say the least, with things I have to do, attend, make, prepare, buy, etc. I've been running around for the past few days trying to get everything done. Meanwhile, I can feel myself slipping off the point a bit. Next thing I know, my five year old is telling me to "Chill, Mama."

On Saturday, we go to my grandmother's house in the Poconos. My aunt, who lives next door to her, is throwing her a party for her 85th birthday. On our way there, as we're entering the mountains, the landscape changes abruptly. It is so shockingly different and beautiful, that I pull out my camera and stick it out the window. (Don't try that while you drive.) The picture (shown here) doesn't do the scene justice. It is like we're driving through an ice world; it's shimmering in the sunlight. All of nature is frozen solid because of the altitude. It is stunningly beautiful, and so refreshing, after seeing miles of barren trees and grey ground. In an instant, nature changes perspective.

Advent, the weeks leading up to Christmas Day, is a time when people are invited to change their habits of thinking. If we're looking for the beauty of Christmas and finding only frustration and disappointment, maybe a perspective adjustment is necessary. Seeing this beautiful ice world really brings that point home to me.

It is my job to walk my grandmother over to her party. She's busy with the usual routines: feeding me and my family this huge spread for lunch, loading the dishwasher and cleaning the sink. Meanwhile, my aunts are calling me on the phone telling me to get her over because everyone is waiting. Then grandma goes into her room to get ready. I feel bad rushing her. When we finally walk into my aunt's den, a jazz band plays Happy Birthday. All my grandmother's cute lady friends are there, and many family members. Four generations honor Grandma, because she is a very special person who has given of herself completely to her friends and family her entire life. She is shocked, to say the least, and glassy-eyed all night. "You are very important person to me, grandma," I say, as we hug. She grabs both my hands, obviously moved by the night's event, and replies. "You don't know how important you are to me." It's been a while since I saw grandma 'choked up' with joy. This is what Christmas is all about, honoring Jesus through loving one another.

If you click on the first story I wrote on this blog, in March, called "Save the Homemakers," you'll see a picture of my grandma.

Day Trip to Rockefeller Plaza, NYC

On Saturday we get nostalgic. There was a time when we could take the train into Penn Station whenever we wanted, with nothing but a small knapsack to keep track of. "Let's take the kids in to see the tree at Rockefeller Plaza." I say. Milk Man thinks it's a fine idea. After all, we went in with just Big Brother, and last year we took him and the princess to see the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular Show. Although we had a few more things to worry about, including a stroller, it went very smoothly.

Three children and an umbrella stroller on two trains, a subway and walking the crowded streets of Manhattan is, however, a whole different ball game altogether. Don't try this at home.

First we have an argument in the subway, trying to slide the kids through the turnstiles. I'm stuck between two metal bars and an alarm is sounding. "What do I do?" I ask. "Should I slide the metro card again?" Milk Man gets short with me, because the crowd is pushing past us, and I am irritable. "You have to be more flexible," he says. Whether he means figuratively or literally more flexible, I'm not sure, but nevertheless, I decide the comment warrants a Marital Cold War. I sop talking to him for blocks.

We do get to the tree, and take some pictures of the family.The crowd is so thick I suddenly understand why free range hens ARE happier. We do our best to navigate the stroller through the mob.

Eating is a blur. Then we're off to the American Girl store. How does one explain the American Girl craze? Multiply the fuss over Cabbage Patch dolls in the 1980's by one hundred, and that's what it is like. The line to get into the store, which is three floors, is all the way down the road to the Chase Manhattan building. Inside, there is a hospital for plastic people, and a hair salon, not for you, for the dolls. I'm completely serious. Employees dressed in white coats take your broken American Girl doll to the doll hospital. "These dolls better be stuffed with cash." I say, as the line inches forward toward the door. The princess is in doll glory overload, and thank goodness Grandma ordered the Biddy baby online, so it is coming for Christmas on Santa's sled. It is nice to breathe fresh air again when we exit that American Crazy Place.

It's true that Milk Man and I are ready for divorce court by the train ride home, as the day is a bit more stressful than we expected. However, the kids have a blast, despite their frazzled parents.

--on the train to Penn Station

At Rockefeller Plaza... and lunch was a blur. (As you probably realize, I don't post face shots of the kids on the blog to protect their privacy a bit.)

I'm Sew Weird, in a Hallmark Sort of Way

Sewing is a skill that can be traced back through multiple generations of women in my family. Some of my grandmothers made a living from it, like the one who brought some of my Italian genes to the United States, Angela. She worked in a coat factory in New York City during the early 1900's. There was also Margaret, the mother of my maternal grandfather, another factory worker who sewed American flags during WWII. Vincenza, my maternal grandmother, made designer dresses for Macy's in the 1940's. Later in life she taught me how to sew on an old machine that was her mother's. The first thing we ever made together was a quilted make-up case. Grandma said sewing was good for the mind, like figuring out a puzzle. It could be relaxing, actually, if you could find the time to do it. She sewed my mother's school clothes and prom dresses. While raising four children, Vincenza sewed at night to unwind.

My fascination with the skill continues to this day. I can make curtains, and various types of sacks. When I was a teenager I secretly made extra money completing the boys' sewing projects for them in home economics class. Sorry, Mrs. Brines. In college, I tried to make a dress, and when I was finished with the project I showed it to my grandmother. She said, "That's good," then, giggling, added, "Let me fix it." I know the zipper was all twisted and wrong. When she was done it was actually wearable.

A few years ago I started sewing quilts after I took a class. Quilts are one of my favorite things in life, because they are intricate, and tell a story. Even the most simple quilt, to a non-sewer, looks challenging to create. I've made blankees for two of my three children, and I'm about to make one for Baby Bigfoot.

It turns out that these blankets are more valued than favorite toys. My quilts are not perfect; I can point out a million mistakes. They are not kept in boxes, but rather, are dragged everywhere, and resewed in places. These homemade creations bear the brunt of my belief that, in my house, things are meant to be used.

Quilts are complex, but easier to understand if taken in pieces, a lot like life. Every aspect of constructing a quilt is carefully thought through. The fabric, the pattern, the color of the thread all has a reason behind it. No two quilts look alike, even if they come from the same pattern, and each has a unique purpose. I like to think about the life-quilt parallel when I'm sewing, (a little weird, right?). My quilts are crooked in places and the pattern is sometimes out of whack. At times the batting is stubborn, and bunches up a bit while I'm sewing. Nevertheless, my quilts are beautiful. I love giving them away. I've made about eight, but I haven't kept one. Someone who gets a quilt from me is really getting a part of me. When that blanket is a comfort to them, I hope they consider it a hug from me. I wish someone would make me a quilt.

--Two of the quilts I made for the kids.

"We don't accomplish anything in this world alone... and whatever happens is the result of the whole tapestry of one's life and all the weavings of individual threads from one to another that creates something."- Sandra Day O'Connor

The Perfect Mom Thing: Hey, I Tried

Attempting to be a "Mommy Extraordinaire" I bought one of those pre-made ginger bread haunted houses. Just a few squirts of icing and I'm supposed to look like this super mom chef who can bake. Or not.

That was a waste of fifteen dollars. I guess they don't make pre-made gingerbread houses like they used to, because the walls wouldn't stay up. I tried everything: extra icing, jellybean pillars, wood glue. Nothing worked. So we took one picture, (below), before the ghost of Big Bad Wolf blew the house down, (above). Then we ate the walls. Shortly after, when the kids went upstairs for the night, they bounced on their beds for an hour until the candy corn wore off. I had a really bad headache from the sugar. You think after 33 years of life I'd know the equation: sugar = head rush, but I still can't control myself. I'm just an older kid.


Case in point, I know what I'm going to be for Halloween, the same thing I am every year, an angel. (Leave me alone, I can pretend!) The real kids are dressing up too. Big Brother is leaning toward being a Pirate, but just informed me that another boy in his class plans to have the same costume. "A boy wearing the same costume as another boy in the SAME class is a Halloween fashion no, no, Mama." He says, pointing his finger in the air with authority. I can't wait to tell my husband that our oldest son is showing signs of becoming a male fashion reporter when he grows up.

Can you guess what the princess will be? The same thing she is every other day, "Snow White." Baby Bigfoot is going to trick or treat as a frog. I'm hoping his cuteness gets me some pure chocolate. (How pathetic am I?) Baby Bigfoot has added a little something extra to his costume. He's a frog that ROARS! NO, I'm actually not one of those parents who thinks it's cute to confuse little kids. You can blame Fisher Price for this one. His "See n' Say" toy is broken, and it's now funny enough to leave in the batteries.

Family Fall Fun

Today we go to a great farm that we visit often as a family. There are things for the kids to do and plenty of yummy, fresh produce. I can't wait to take some veggies home, arrange them in a bowl, and watch them rot because no one will eat them. The kids enjoy playing games on the lawn! When it is time to leave, they cry and scream like they are being dragged off to the Guillotine.

We pick out some great pumpkins, many of which are suspiciously deformed. Maybe the band Pearl Jam was on to something when they warned us, "Don't Drink the Water." I think this pumpkin needs a lawyer. (Below)