A widow decides to live out her husband's dream of living in Italy.  She goes for three months.  She finds healing, herself and love again. Written by Kimberly Caristi The novel is a fun-loving story touching on the exploration of widowhood, building a new community, and the possibility of new love, emphasizing that life can take unexpected turns even after devastating loss. It all takes place in beautiful southern Italy. A Club I Never Wanted to Join written by Kimberly Caristi 1. I have arrived I smiled when I entered the town of Cetraro. I found the apartment with little trouble. I was lucky to find a place on the beach that I could afford, especially since it was in season. Living on the beachfront property in Italy would fill my soul and when I saw it my tiredness fell away. I pulled into my parking spot behind the apartment and breathed a sigh of relief. I couldn’t believe I was here. Nick would be so proud of me if, well if he could see I made it on my own. I caught my flight to Italy, booked a rental car and an apartment all without help from the kids. Shoot, I was proud of myself. I have to give credit where credit was do. Having never been on my own before was a challenge but I thought I could do it. I was kidding myself but I was a good pretender. I walked around the apartment building to my front door. The front of the apartment looked a little worse for wear, but what would you expect? It faced the beach. The pictures I saw online didn’t look this dreary, though must have been old photos. My apartment was on the southern corner on the ground floor. I liked the fact that it had a large patio, about twenty feet deep and around thirty feet wide. There was a ten-foot overhang that was the balcony above. Nice, it would protect me from the sun or rain. I liked the fact that there was a big window in the middle of the apartment. I hoped I would get some daylight into the apartment despite the large overhang. I stood there looking at the patio with my back to the beach. I felt the sea as if it were tapping me on the shoulder, saying “Turn around and come to me.” I wanted to give all my attention to the sea though I would wait until I was settled in with my glass of wine in hand. The patio gave me the impression of a courtyard, with walls extended on each side of the apartment and a quarter wall that separated my patio from the boardwalk. To have a straight shot to the beach over the boardwalk was nice. Well, more than nice: it excited me to be so close to the water I could taste it. There was a four-foot opening in the middle of the quarter wall. There used to be a gate there. I saw evidence of old pieces of hardware. Salty air and metal aren’t a good combination. The walls on each side of the patio tapered down from the balcony above to the cute little wall. I could see potted plants, flowers, or herbs on that little wall. The walls must be six or eight inches thick. I would have privacy, a plus. The border of the patio had ten inches of sandy dirt. It had a half a dozen cacti that looked like weeds. I filed them under weeds because they are unwanted and ugly. The only thing I saw the place needed was a table and chairs. I walked around to my neighbors’ apartment to see if they were the ones who had my key. The property manager had texted me while I was driving here that they dropped my key at my neighbors. It was night and day comparing the two apartment fronts. They had done an exceptional job making their patio look like a photo shoot. It was very inviting. They had all kinds of plants around their walls and a shade that came down off the balcony protecting their stylish outdoor furniture. They even had wall art which comforted me. I knew it had to be safe here or all that would be gone. Their walls had been painted, but mine weren’t: that seemed strange. I wondered if they did it themselves. I knocked on the door. No answer, I guess it was time to watch the sea. I went back to my place and sat on the wall. If I had a party, I could use the wall as extra seating. Look at me, planning a party, that was a good sign. I vacillated between staying and going. I looked at the sea and I felt like I wanted to stay. I had said from the start that I would come to Cetraro for three months. All the shutters were closed, so no peeking into the windows of my apartment. I took a deep breath and breathed in the fresh, salty air. The sea was everything I imagined. I couldn’t believe that I got to have my morning tea just looking at this gorgeous beach and sea. Better yet, have a glass of wine with some cheese and olives and watch the sun set over this alluring blue sea. Blue wasn’t enough to describe the different colors of blues, greens and white floating around and the colors kept changing as I gazed out on the seascape. While I contemplated, I heard, “Excuse me, excuse me,” in the Queen’s English. I searched for the voice. I saw a woman waving a scarf on the balcony. I shielded my eyes from the sun. The woman said again, “Excuse me, are you Kristy?” “Yes, I am Kristy, Kristy Russo.” “Oh, good. I have your key to your apartment,” I looked around to see if there were stairs anywhere close, so I could meet her. She pointed towards the middle of the complex, “Why don’t you come up and have a cup of tea. After your long trip, you might like to relax a little before you start unpacking.” Well, I guess I was meeting my upstairs neighbor, “Thanks.” Walking to the stairs, I saw that the boardwalk went all the way to the marina. I got a tinge of excitement which quickly faded away when the memory of walking to the marina in Greece with Nick followed. We loved that walk. Our apartment in Palaio Faliro was only two blocks away from the boardwalk that went up to Piraeus. I put that thought out of my head. I needed to meet my neighbor. We greeted each other with a welcoming handshake, “Hello, I am Susan Brown,” she conveyed with the sweetest smile. I knew instantly I liked Susan. Close up, I saw she had gray blue eyes. They twinkled so brightly. She was pleasantly overweight, but who wasn’t these days? About my height, but she carried herself with such grace. I guessed she was about ten years older than me. She moved to reveal a gentleman getting up from their little table. He set down the paper and reached out his big burly hand and introduced himself. “Hello, I am Sam Brown.” He said in a deep baritone voice. Sam was about eight inches taller and wider than Susan. A good-looking man dressed in a linen suit and a tie. I would have to buy new clothes if that was the attire for the apartment complex. I bowed my head slightly as I shook his hand. I introduced myself again. “Hi, I am Kristy Russo.” Sam replied, “Let me get you a chair. Are you Italian?” He reached in their door and pulled out their kitchen chair. “No, I am not Italian, my husband was.” This yielded to the dreaded question. I should have come up with a lie to tell people. I wouldn’t be able to keep up the pretense for long. Susan caught the slip. “Was? Are you divorced?” Her sweet look made me tell the truth. If I talked fast, I could just get it over with. Just like letting go of an inflated helium balloon, let it go and see where it lands. I blurted out my response. “He passed away three months ago. He wanted to come here to live. I decided I would come for a few months for him.” I said that all too fast. I saw the shock on their faces. I braced myself for what was to come. The sad “I am sorry” accompanied with the tilt of the head with a few nods. Both didn’t disappoint as they said in unison, “I am so sorry.” Susan needed more information, “Was it a long illness? That makes it so tough.” “No, I woke up and he was gone. It was a shock. In outward appearance he looked good and everyone, including his doctor, thought he was healthy.” I couldn’t believe I was being so open with these people I just met a minute ago. It was something about Susan’s face. She reminded me of my grandma. I wouldn’t tell her that. She was my sister’s age. Susan spoke with such feeling. “We have lost several of our friends that way. It is almost as bad as the ones that last for years in such pain. I am so sorry for your loss, Dear. Please sit down. Would you like some tea? Or a glass of wine?” I knew when I shook her hand that we were going to be friends. I smiled, “I will have whatever you are having.” “Well,” she started, “I am going to have a glass of pinot grigio and Sam is having tea because, in an hour, we are meeting our friends for drinks in their hotel, then going out to dinner. If Sam starts drinking now, he won’t stop, so I have ordered him to have tea.” She smiled at Sam, and he gave a sheepish grin. “Well, if you don’t mind, I think I will have tea this time because I will need some caffeine to keep me awake while I set up my apartment. Next time I would love a glass of pinot grigio. It is one of my favorite white wines.” Sam got up to attend to our drinks and turned to Susan, “You better warn her.” Susan altered her demeanor. “How did you come across getting this apartment?” Her expression and her voice held a form of concern. I said with apprehension. “I got it online. Why?” “Well, there are a few of us who did the same thing, and we didn’t exactly get what was advertised. I just want you to be prepared for what you might see down there,” she tilted her head to the side. “Oh, great.” I let out a big exhale. “I really was proud of myself for making all these arrangements with no help. Well, I get what I deserve for not checking references.” I was right I might not be ready to be on my own. “The management is very disappointing,” was her tart reply. “We have tried repeatedly to talk to the apartment’s owner, but to no avail. The office says he will get back to us but hasn’t so far.” “Now you have me worried. Please, may I take a rain check on the tea and get my key so I can see what I am in for?” I felt sick to my stomach. My go back home meter was point just that way, just go home Kristy. I have to stay I kept telling myself as I walked to my apartment. “Of course,” She yelled out, “Sam, I am going to take Kristy down to her apartment. I will be back up in a little bit.” I heard through the open door “Okay.” She grabbed the key off the table and said, “Let’s go see the damage.” She tried to sound positive but was not successful. 2. The Apartment The door was all the way to the right. I took a deep breath as I put the key into the lock. I turned the key, pushed open the door, and I instantly felt the hot, stale air escape, as it hit me in the face. First, I saw what looked like an indoor-outdoor carpet. It reminded me of the cheap AstroTurf. Why would anyone put that in an apartment? It felt crunchy under my feet. My heart sank even more as I stepped into a small room that was the kitchen, dining, and living room. It was the size of my bedroom in Indiana, maybe a little longer, but not wider. I knew it would be small, but the carpet and the dull, stained, peeled paint didn’t help the look. I opened the window to get fresh air into the place. Susan stepped gingerly around the carpet as if she were stepping in something sticky. Her face said it all. The apartment was gross. “Is this what your place looked like?” As I looked around in disbelief. Her eyes looked so sad as she replied with a flat, “No.” I pleaded, “Now I know why I got it so cheap. What should I do?” My mind reeled. “Well, that is up to you. A couple of us have tried to get our money back, but as I told you, no one will take our calls that can do anything about it. If you have the money to say forget it and just leave and leave behind all the money you put out, do it. A couple of people painted their places. We did. You must make a mindset that it is only a few months, and you can live with this for that long…right? Besides, all the neighbors here are lovely, and I bet you will enjoy your time here.” She said the last bit encouragingly. I straighten my back, “If I can live in a one-bedroom apartment with two little kids for five months I can do this,” I said, sounding more hopeful than I felt. “I guess I should get to work making up a list of things I need at the store.” “I have some cleaning supplies you can use until you get to the store,” she said as she turned around to leave. I was not sure if she was just trying to escape as quickly as possible or if she was trying to be helpful. I was delighted that there was a small plastic table with two chairs stuffed between the table and cabinets, out they went. When I came back in, I got a better view of the small row of cabinets across from the door. There was enough space to do some prep work for cooking on each side of the oven and sink. I really didn’t need what I had at home. There would be no large parties. It was just me. It would be perfect if it were clean. The oven looked like a joke someone was playing on me. I wasn’t sure if a cake pan would fit in it. I had never seen one that size before. The couch was stuck in the corner, it looked so uncomfortable, there were no armrests, and it had a dirty cover over it. My heart sank a little more. It was the first thing you saw when you opened the door beside the indoor-outdoor carpet. I liked the kitchen table. It was old, worn and a little distressed, just like me. Without the plastic table and chairs in the way, I could walk through to the hallway that was on the opposite side of the front door. I started down the hall to check out the bedrooms. The first one was right behind the kitchen wall. It was tiny with two small twin beds with a small table between them. I would be buying bed sacks for each of them if I had company. Well, at least there was a small cabinet for clothes. I opened the window and the shutters to get some fresh air into the room. The window looked out on the sidewalk, to the right was the sea. I had hoped a couple of friends would visit me. I could tell people that their room had a view of the sea. I looked around the room, then I hoped no one would visit. I could put a bunch of money into this place if I were going to live here long term. I noticed the sand in the disgusting carpet. I took a deep breath, telling myself, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Two more rooms to investigate: the main bedroom and the bathroom. I didn’t know which one I was more worried about. I flipped the lights on in the main bedroom and it looked like I had some work to do. I open one window on the south side of the bedroom. I stuck my head out the window. Of course, the sea was to the right. Nice. One matrimony bed, twice as many cabinets as the small bedroom, two small night stands on either side of the bed, and a small stuffed chair in the corner. The chair was the cutest thing in the whole apartment. That was not saying much, but I would use it in my house in Indiana. I opened the closets to find a grocery pull cart in one and two drying racks in the other – another plus. I was trying my hardest to stay positive, but all I kept thinking was that the place was positively atrocious. I climbed over the bed to open the other window and shutters on the east side. It looked out over the parking lot, and I saw my car. I didn’t think I would be leaving the window open on a regular basis. Shoot, someone walking on the sidewalk could step on the rocks and reach through the window. A little creepy, I locked the shutters so I could get air coming into the room. I didn’t know why I was worried because I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping much on the lumpy mattress. I was like the title character from The Princess and the Pea. I felt every lump. Finally, the bathroom was at the end of the hall next to the main bedroom. I was surprised that it was decent looking, and the tiles were in good condition. It just needed cleaning. I was thrilled that the tub didn’t have a rounded bottom. We lived in Florence for a month with a rounded bottom and you had to stand with one foot in front of the other or your ankles would be tilting inward. That was something I always checked. Not that I could change anything about it, but I always checked. The building must have been built or remodeled in the 1950s because of the tile color. Everybody back then must have been a fan of institutional green. The kind of green you used to see in hospitals. It probably had come back into vogue, but by looking at the rest of the apartment it must be old. I was glad they didn’t go all the way up the wall as in many Italian bathrooms. They were about six feet high, leaving around four feet of bare walls. I went back to investigate the kitchen. I almost puked when I opened the oven as Susan returned with a pail filled to the brim with cleaning supplies. I shut it immediately. The smell filled the room. My eyes filled with tears, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the smell or the place. Susan remarked, “That oven looks like it’s for a tiny house. I hope you don’t bake.” I looked at her and replied in a low dejected voice, “I am known for my baking.” I tried to fight back my tears. Susan took pity on me, she came over and gave me a sideways hug and whispered, “If you want you can spend the night with us until you can air out the place and do some cleaning. How’s the rest of the place?” I made a grand waving motion with my arm, “Be my guest, though your lovely shoes might get a little scuffed up walking through all this sand.” “Well,” she looked at her feet lifting one foot then the other inspecting them, “Maybe after Sam and I come back from dinner. I feel bad that we are leaving you like this, but we won't be long, maybe two or three hours. We will stop by when we get home ok?” She uptalked that last bit as she tried to stay positive. “Susan, isn’t Cosenza the closest big town that would have shops where I can get what I need or should I wait out for market day and shop then.” Before I could ask her when market day was, she jumped slightly and told me, “Tomorrow is market day!” We shared that moment when we both knew what market day meant. I could get what I needed, and it would be cheaper than any store. The only problem I saw was that I was not a good haggler. With all that I needed, I’d better become a great haggler. I chuckled, “I can survive one night here before I clean the place up.” With that statement I stooped and slapped my leg. I looked up at Susan, “Bug spray is first on the list,” I gave a wry smile. I was glad I brought Benadryl with me. “Now you go on before you get bit and have a nice dinner. If you see a light on when you get home, stop by for a drink. If there is no light, I have passed out wrapped up like a mummy in what I hope are clean sheets.” I hesitated then added, “Or,” I let the word hang in the air for a moment of drama, “I gave up and I am spending the night in a hotel, booking a ticket for a return flight.” I gave a bigger than necessary smile. Then I let out a, “Go,” with a shooing motion. “Have a great dinner and I will see you tomorrow.” I gave her what she needed, a smile, satisfied that I would be okay. She left giving me a little wave. I hadn’t checked the network to see if their password worked. I pulled out my phone, plugged in the password and voila, it worked. Yes, something had gone right. My phone had internet! Ok, I wasn’t cut off from the world. Nothing would be brought in from the car until I sprayed the place for bugs. Before it got dark, I did bring in my carry-on, bathroom bag, and my Bi-Pap machine. Debate, debate, debate. Should I go and get something to eat or just eat the last of the things I got at the autogrills? I made do with the food I had so I could spend some time cleaning. I took pictures so I could get my deposit back, but I figured I have seen the last of that money. I started cleaning and writing a list of things I needed to get. I screamed and hit the table then ripped up the list I yelled, “Nick look what you got me into.” I was glad no one was around. I took a deep breath and I got another piece of paper and wrote the list again. I needed to stay, or I would never get rid of the feeling that Nick wanted me here. As I wrote the list for a third time, I thought Nick would be so proud of me for writing a list. He thought if you didn’t have a list for everything you did, then you failed at being organized. I always thought that was so funny because he had a mess of an office, and we had an organized house. I hated making lists. I don’t know why just hated it. “OMG,” I just realized that he was getting his way again because I had moved to the place, he wanted us to live! Plus, I was making a list! I never got to choose a move or job in our married life. I always said, when he retired, that I would get to choose where we lived. When I told him I had an idea, he would shoot it down. In other words, I wasn’t going to be choosing the place we lived. What the hell? Look where I ended up: in an atrocious apartment where I didn’t speak the language. Why were these things bothering me when they didn’t bother me when he was alive? I kept saying, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I needed a break. The sun was going down, so I went outside and saw why the place was worth all the rubbish. The sky was on fire. All the colors were present, and they lifted my spirits. I sat in my chair and stared out into the sea. I started my ‘tank God, tank God, tank God prayers.’ I knew it wasn’t nice to make fun of the dead. Our ritual when we came to the end of our journey was to call Nick’s mom to tell her we were home. She would say that in her broken English. Our kids even say it now, though we just sent each other texts with ‘TG x 3’ when we get to our destinations. I sat in silence just watching the waves lap onto the beach and the sun sinking into the water. My eyes followed a few couples taking their passeggiata, their evening walk, along the boardwalk. I hoped they realized that they were lucky to have each other. That’s one of my favorite “things” about Italy. People took the time each evening to walk around town. When we lived in Macerata, it was our favorite part of the day. On days that I decided not to cook, we would hit all the pizza-by-the-slice places along our walk for one slice at a time. We would end our journey with a gelato. I liked those places because they were so cool with the industrialized cookie sheets filled with all kinds of pizza and focaccia. You got a rectangle slice of pizza on a napkin for a couple of euros. I had two favorites that I would pick first if they had them: artichoke pizza or focaccia with rosemary and onion. My mouth watered as I thought about it. The sky was almost dark, and I only saw a few boat lights coming back from wherever. I saw light coming from behind me. I knew my screenless windows were open and there were more bugs inside than outside. It was because of that damn carpet which provided a perfect dwelling for the bugs. I realized how tired I was as I walked back into the apartment. Was seven p.m. too early to go to bed? I closed and latched all the shutters. At least they all latched. That was a good thing. Then I got nervous. I bet someone could easily unlatch them and I wouldn’t hear anything. I was so tired. I was about to shut and lock all the windows. No, I was not scared, I kept telling myself as I got ready for bed. I set up my computer. I got out a Dick Van Dyke Show DVD and started it. I had put on that show for years to fall asleep. I took a sheet out of the closet and wrapped it around myself. I thought about the open window above me. I told myself that I would hear if someone started to climb over my head… 3. The nightmare that won’t quit I woke up screaming, “NO, NO!” I sat up and I was sweating. Where was I? Why was I wrapped up like a mummy? For Pete’s sake, I was in Italy. I hoped Susan and Sam couldn’t hear me. My dream, or should I say my nightmare, which was on repeat flooded my thoughts. Sometimes I saw it so clearly, sometimes I was me, sometimes I floated above watching the two of us, and the worst was when I was Nick. That was a creepy feeling. I couldn’t shake the feeling for the rest of the day. I got up and walked around the apartment. I wish I could put the dream out of my head, but all I saw was the dream… I woke up and I didn’t want to open my eyes. I rarely got up before the sun. I liked staying up late and sleeping late in the morning. I listened for Nicholas breathing; with no sound I thought he must have gotten up early. During the night, when I woke up to get a drink because that damn BiPAP machine dried me out terribly, I felt like something was wrong. What had I forgotten to do? When I felt that way, I always thought I had done something wrong. I was a good Catholic; I always felt I was guilty of something. When I woke up the second time, I laid there awake thinking I might as well get up. I reached out to turn off the damn BiPAP machine and I took off my mask all while keeping my eyes closed. I finally opened my eyes. I shivered and I saw Nicholas was still in bed. I stared at his back trying to see if he was breathing. After thirty-nine years of marriage, we had gotten twin adjustable beds to fit into a king frame. A big byproduct was Nicholas didn’t snoring anymore. I knew on the weekend after a couple of drinks, I knew no amount of adjusting the bed would stop his snoring. After years of sleeping on my back and all the way to the side, it still was my habit. I saw myself trying to reach out to see if I could touch him. No Luck. I knew something was wrong. I still couldn’t tell if he was breathing. The realization came over me that my life as I knew it was over. I couldn’t believe I was thinking of myself…I spoke aloud “I am sorry Nicholas.” My voice sounded so strange in the quiet of the early morning. I shook so much I could hardly get the covers off me. I had difficulty getting out of bed. I saw myself trying to stand up, but my legs were like jelly. I could hardly walk. What the hell was going on? I was so frightened. I called out his name. “Nick, Nick wake up.” No answer. I dragged myself around to his bedside. I saw in the green glow of the charger that something was devastatingly wrong…he was gone. I dropped to my knees and started to cry, no, more like howled. Was that sound really coming out of me? “No, No, No,” I heard myself say. I touched his face so gently. I have done that a thousand times before as I came to bed at night to kiss his sleeping face. Most nights he’d wake up and we’d kiss for real. Oh, how I loved him, and I knew he loved me. We would each smile. In the early years it would go farther, but as we have gotten older not as much. Now we planned our love making because we were too tired at night…no more planning…my heart was broken. I kissed him gently…he was so cold. I remember thinking what should I do now? We thought I would go first. I had so many things wrong with me and he had nothing. His mother lived to be 100 and her father lived to be 96. Nick’s dad was a smoker, and he died at 80 from emphysema. Nick was rarely sick, he worked out four or five times a week, good blood pressure, ideal weight, well maybe 10 to 15 pounds more than he should be, but he looked great. How could this happen? That morning, I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. Who should I call first? Should I call my kids? Would Giovanni be up? Maria? Should I call 911 or who? I just knelt there and memorized his face. Funny, I just told him the week before he died while we were looking at a family album that the picture of him in his thirties was the picture of him that I had in my head. Nick confessed, “Sometimes I am shocked when I look in the mirror and see my dad looking back at me, so it is good you still see me as a thirty-year-old.” I called David, figuring that he would be Maria’s strength. He was up early, and he could break the news to her. My voice was shaky when he answered the phone. “David.” He instantly knew something was wrong. “Kristy what’s wrong? Is it Nicholas?” I started crying again. I couldn’t stop crying. “I’ll get Maria.” “No! You tell her he’s gone.” I paused. “I will wait to call for the ambulance until after you are here.” David didn’t miss a beat, “We’ll be right over.” I was aware of the garage door going up. In my dream it just took seconds for them to travel three miles between the two houses. Maria came running down the hall yelling. What, I didn’t know. She ran past me to Nick’s side saying, “No, Daddy, no! I’m not ready for you to go.” She laid her head on his side. “Please Daddy please…Daddy, I love you,” she whispered. David came to her side. I heard soft crying from the door. That was when I noticed my grandsons standing there in their pajamas. David was talking. It took me a minute to realize he was talking to me. “Kristy,” he touched my arm. “Kristy, have you called 911?” I shook my head no. Maria stood up and, in a flash, she lunged at me. At first, she scared me then I realized she wanted comfort in my arms. Maria was almost pulling me down with her heavy heart. I kept saying I’m so sorry repeatedly. Maria was daddy’s little girl and she had him wrapped around her little finger. She just had to mention something, and he would get it for her. The truth was, he would tell me to get it for her. He got all the credit, and I was the dumb one who made sure she knew it was him who got it for her. My mind was wandering. I really couldn’t focus, Maria asked if I called Giovanni. I shook my head no. Oh, I was a terrible mother! I didn’t call Giovanni. He lived about ten hours away, so I knew he wouldn’t come right over. My heart hurt. I needed to sit down. I realized I was sitting in my chair in my room. Everything was swirling around me. I saw things happening. Maria talked on the phone; David took the boys over to say goodbye to their Nonno. Then the police, two ambulance attendants and a couple firefighters appeared in the bedroom. Everyone was talking to me, but I was not making any sense of what they were saying. Did I answer them correctly? David took over…thank God for David. They were wheeling Nick out. I couldn’t let them. I screamed, “NO!” Everyone’s attention turned to me. I worked my way out of my chair and went to Nick. I laid my head on his chest and said, “I will love you forever and a day.” Crying, Maria came to my side, “Mom, you need to let him go. They need to take Daddy to the hospital.” I couldn’t tell how long I laid there. I didn’t think it would bother anyone if I held on to him as long as I wanted. I couldn’t let them take my love out the door. What was I going to do without Nick? I just thought – God help me. God take care of him. I stood up and let them wheel him down the hall. I started to scream, “No, no, no!” And then I wake up at that point every time. I couldn’t understand why they were taking him to the hospital. It was not like I poisoned him or something. When his mom first lived with us, I said I couldn’t grow the striking Castor flowers because the seeds contained the poison ricin. If she died while living with us, believe me, they would have investigated her death. My mother-in-law did everything she could to get between Nick and me. I posted what I called my MIL sagas on social media. I didn’t remember much the following weeks after Nick died. I felt like I was walking in a fog. I remember seeing family and friends coming and going, but what they said went in one ear and out the other. If they started to cry, I cried. I really didn’t want to see anyone. Giovanni came home and took charge. Everyone was happy to step aside to let him deal with all the arrangements. Nick would have been so proud of him. Nick said he should talk to Giovanni about doing just what he did, take charge of the situation. I told Nick, “I should tell Giovanni to take charge because you wouldn’t know what to do if I died.” In the end, neither one of us did and we didn’t have anything to worry about. We forget that Giovanni was a good man, not a boy anymore. I tried to shake off the memories of that morning as I walked around my new apartment. Sometimes, it felt like yesterday and other times it felt like a lifetime ago. I hated that dream; it made me feel like I was reliving Nick’s death repeatedly. I wanted the dream to stop. 4. The decision to come I walked back into my bedroom to find my phone. I saw it was four a.m. I had hydrated well on the plane to counteract jet lag, but going to bed at seven p.m. was the worst idea. I should have tried to go back to sleep, but the uneasiness I felt had woken me up. I had things to do anyway. I was excited to go to the market to see what goodies I could find. Plus, I wanted to get to know the town where Nick wanted to live. While I cleaned, it brought up thoughts of when I cleared out Nick’s office. Maybe because all the dust that was in the apartment reminded me that Nick never dusted his office and had accumulated fifteen years of dust. A ton of his books were gone from the funeral. Someone had organized Nicholas’s books for people to take as they left the funeral. They were set up in the narthex. He thought that would help me get rid of all the books in his office. He said, “Just make everyone take a book at my funeral.” I thought it was a silly thing, but I guess the kids remembered that it was something he wanted. I couldn’t believe people actually took books. I had talked to his head of department about the stuff they needed. The last few years of his grade books were all. So, I had a plan: clear his hard drive; recycle old paper; throw away all his badges from conferences; pull out the last of the books to donate. I knew I should have called a book broker to see if they wanted any of his books, but that was another step I didn’t want to take. Collect all the books that he wrote. I knew I was going to throw away the faded picture of me from when we dated. I didn’t mind that he remembered me as an 18-year-old. When I walked into his office, I felt like I had walked into a Nicholas Museum. Everywhere I looked, it was him and his mess. The leftover books from the funeral were stacked next to the door. That part was easy. I sat in his mess for two hours while everybody on the floor came in to see me and tell me how sorry they were. If they started to cry, I would get up and hug them. By the end of the day, going through things was easier for me because I had less disruptions. I came across a file that said Future-Italy. I almost threw it into recycling because he kept files from all our trips. I knew the files from Macerata, Florence, Rome but Future that one didn’t sound familiar. For some reason I opened it. It was research he had done on places to live in Italy. I wondered why he hadn’t shown it to me. We talked about everything. Every time he would apply for a Fulbright we would talk extensively about where we wanted to live. I couldn’t lie, that hurt me. I skimmed through and saw that he had circled and starred multiple times the town of Cetraro, Italy. He underlined all the points I was sure he would have raised about why we should move there. Of course, his research was thorough. It would have been hard to say no. I just didn’t want to leave my family. When I had everything in order in his office, I texted the administrative assistant that the trash was near the door and the things they wanted were on the desk. I only brought home the books that he wrote figuring that the kids or the grandkids would want to have them. They had better want these, I said to myself as I lugged them out to my car. I also tucked the Italy file into a box. When I got home, I showered and ate a fried egg with toast. I looked at the box of books I had brought in and decided I would look through the Italy file. I pulled up the town on my computer and saw how charming the town looked. The sea pictures were breathtaking. The town was relatively close to his cousins, we could be there in a day. The train ran close by, and it would be easy to get to Fiumicino airport in less than seven hours. The trip down would be a beautiful train ride along the coast! I saw on the paper ‘Kristy loves water,’ and ‘Kristy loves mountains.’ Written next to the marina was ‘We love walking around Yachts.’ He thought of me, of us! I closed the file with a snap. I smelled Nick’s cologne. How I missed him. I missed talking to him. I miss his touch, his laugh. Back to reality, I had cleaned what I could in the apartment without even thinking what I was doing. As I walked around, I felt pretty good about my progress. I cleaned the cabinets, refrigerator, the stovetop, the countertops, washed a load of towels with the couch cover and a load of sheets with the tablecloth, cleaned the bathroom and left the tub for when I showered. When I finally jumped into the shower it was seven a.m. I was glad I brought flip flops, laundry soap sheets, one towel, and washcloths. I needed all four items. In the morning, I examined the whole floor more closely. It looked like someone had brought in large buckets of sand and sprinkled it all over the apartment…yea, for flip flops. I knew some Italians used washcloths, but you never get them in hotels or rentals. I had brought my laundry soap sheets because we had started using them years ago to try to save on single-use plastic. I didn’t know if Italy had started using them yet. The towels were gross and needed to be washed. I would be using the ones here, but if I couldn’t get the smell out, I would be looking for a couple of towels at the market. 5. My Change As I combed my hair, I examined myself in the mirror. I had aged since that morning when Nick died. I said aloud, “Well, I am here, I might as well stay for three months.” Nick got me here, but I made the decision to stay. I needed space between me and my home. Besides, Maria and David would be disappointed to move back into their home. It excited me to no end to see them settled in my home. The grandsons were so excited to have their own rooms. Almost as excited as when I told them that I paid for a hotel for the week in Cincinnati and bought some family tickets to the zoo, aquarium, and the water park. No, I didn’t spoil my grandsons. I also gave money to Giovanni and Michele to get some new things for the new house. I even sent money for the older boys to buy new things for their new rooms, plus enough money for new clothes for their new school. I tried to be fair. I kept thinking about what I had. I needed to stop that; it wasn’t good for me. Neither was having these dreams. The process you go through for grieving sucks. It was an emotional rollercoaster, and I was tired of it. I thought I was doing better, though there were still the littlest of things that made me cry or worse, angry. Back in Indiana I had started walking daily when I got overwhelmed with all the well-intentioned people who stopped by, mainly women telling me their stories of when their spouse died. I was invited out daily to have lunch with different groups of widows. I got mailings for support groups from people who lost their spouses. I was a part of a club that I never wanted to join. Good intentioned people kept stopping by, I was never alone in my thoughts. I had to get out of the house. I decided to try walking again. In my reading I came across a quote from St. Augustine: “It is solved by walking. What is “it”? If you want to find out, then you will have to do your own walking.” I took this quote literally. I loved getting out and walking, but with all my health issues I found excuses to put it off. I figured out that if I took my cane, I could walk a little, stop for a while, then walk more, I could be outside for the better part of the day. I would get up early and walk and walk. By two months, I had built up my stamina that I walked to the little towns around us. I still used my cane. Mainly because I was nervous. What if I was walking too much, I would need my crutch to get home. If I wasn’t walking, I read about how to let go of a loved one, what to do when you lose a spouse, and why God takes good people. I started to pray more and asked what was next. I tried to find my “it.” One day while I sat and enjoyed the flow of the river and the occasional bird swooping down to try to grab a fish. I kept going back to the dream I had the night before. Not my nightmare, but one I started to have after I opened the Italy file. It was such a fun dream. Nick and I were in the bedroom packing. Acting like teenagers going on spring break. Nick was kissing me and saying, “Please promise me you will give Italy a chance.” I said, “Okay I promise.” Nick replied, “I promise it will change your life forever.” He winked at me then kissed me on the neck in my special spot. When I had that dream, I felt warm inside. I wondered if that was Nick’s way of telling me to go to Italy. I loved going with him, but would I love it without him? He was my own special interpreter and I was the one who made him do things beside read. I tried to pray, but my thoughts of Italy kept interrupting them. Fine, I would go live in Italy for three months. I would go for Nick and then decide what step to take in my new life. I could go and volunteer. I knew churches there had opportunities for volunteering. I felt like I had to call Giovanni and tell him of my idea. He answered on the second ring. “Hi, mom, is everything ok?” He said with some urgency. I never called him during work hours. “Yes, I just wanted to talk to you. Do you have any time now?” “Yes, I have a few minutes before I have to go to a meeting,” I could hear the relief in his voice. “Well,” I took a deep breath, “I have been thinking about what I am going to do.” I heard an exhale and knew he thought I would take forever. So, I sped it up. “I am going to Italy and stay for three months. I found this file your dad had made up of research. I am going to live in Cetraro, Italy. This part is not up for debate. What I am calling you about is, would you mind if I had your sister, and her family move into my house while I am gone? I have thought this out.” I said the next thing faster because I knew I was trying his patience. “I will have the lawyer draw up a contract that says this will be part of her inheritance if anything should happen to me on the trip. I don’t want you to feel like you are being cheated out of anything. I don’t know if they even want the house permanently. I just know they can’t get out of their small house in the condition it is in. I think that they could clean it up and paint it while I am gone. Then my house wouldn’t be standing alone without anyone in it. I will be in Italy at my favorite time of year. I could put the house up for sale right now and I will if Maria doesn’t want to move in. I don’t want to offer this if this will upset you.” Giovanni cleared his throat. “Mom, you don’t have to ask me for permission. I say go ahead and ask her if she wants it.” “Thanks for your time. I know you are busy. I hope the boys and Michele are good after this move.” “Yes, yes everyone is good,” came the usual reply. “Though I would like to hear more about this trip. I need to go, mom. I love you and we’ll talk soon.” Everything went off without a hitch. I had my tickets, I even found an apartment online though I failed in not getting references, rented a car, updated my will, and moved a few boxes and some furniture I wanted to keep for my new place into storage. We even moved Maria, David, and the boys into the house. I felt good. Though when it came time for me to leave, I started to doubt that I was doing the right thing. Since I got to Italy, I wasn’t that scared…except during the night. I was ready to shop for my new apartment. I grabbed the cart and took off walking. I walked out of the complex of apartments; darn it, I had no idea where I was going. I knew where the main part of the town was, so I headed in that direction. Soon I saw old ladies with their carts heading northeast, so I followed them. Shoot, I realized I was one of those little old ladies with her cart but was I that old? I still have most of my original hair color with one large streak of white at the right temple and a little bit of white on the left temple. On men, people would say it was distinguished, but on women, not so much. I wondered if I used the pool every day if my hair would turn fire red like it did when I was younger. I looked forward to swimming again. Nicholas was not a swimmer. I could never figure out how someone who grew up in Florida did not learn to swim. He lived less than three miles from the beach! I never could pass down my swimsuit after the season was over. My mother put it best: my swimsuit was worn so much it rotted right on to me by the end of summer. 6. To Market to Market The market bustled with excitement. My spirit soared. I would need the energy to get through the day. I bought kitchen supplies. I wanted more than one bowl, three forks, two spoons; there were four plates, and they were all chipped. If I found friends that I wanted to have for dinner, I would buy new plates. I bought another frying pan because the one in the apartment had seen better days. I wished I had left my cane in the apartment. I could walk without it, but I felt more stable with it. Though sometimes it was just in the way. I bought more than I should, but it was so fun. I was hungry, and I had my eyes open for a bar or a bakery. Finally, I found a bar and went in for a pastry. I loved bars in Italy. They served coffee all day long though in the morning they had pastries, afternoon they had sandwiches. Of course, you could have alcohol at any time. I wished for an almond-filled croissant, but I couldn’t remember what they were called. Croissants were French and Italy didn’t make French things. The bar was full of people, and I wormed my way to the counter. I was rude because I insisted on bringing in my cart. I didn’t know how safe it would be to leave it outside. I was thrilled when I found out that they had a little sign for mandorle cornetti. I was pleased with myself that I knew mandorla meant almond. The main difference between the cornetto and a croissant was that the cornetto didn't have as much butter. I was ok with that. After losing so much weight since Nick’s death, I was thrilled to go buy something that was rich in calories and wouldn’t feel like someone was judging me. Here they would judge me because I didn’t want coffee, and I wanted to take it to go. After I took the first bite, I would be back. The cornetto was amazing. I might even have tea and sit next time. They could charge me extra to sit in that delightful piazza, eat an almond cornetto and drink a pot of tea. I looked at my cart and wondered, should I take it back and empty it or should I just hang the fruit and vegetables off the cart? I opted for hanging. The market would close soon, so I was off. I walked devouring the heavenly snack in search of the fruit and vegetable stand. I rounded the corner and up against the overpass was a stand with tons of people. The place had either the best prices, best produce, or the only produce. My bet was it had the best produce. I worked my way up to pull the number ticket then stepped back a little. I wanted to make my choices, practice my Italian in my head, people watch, and try to do it without them noticing me watching them. If we looked at each other at the same time, we had to have that uncomfortable bit of acknowledgement. It took me twenty years of visiting Italy to accept the fact that they prefer to acknowledge people they knew. I lost count of how many people I had made uncomfortable by saying “hi” or “good morning.” I noticed a guy was being rude by reaching over people and moving all around the stand. Great, the guy moved in front of me, and he smelled. I wanted to direct him to a shop that sold deodorant. Damn, then he butted in front of the nice-looking couple next to me. I glanced down as the nice-looking man backed into another gentleman and for a split second, I thought he was going to step on the gentleman’s toes. Instead, I saw the “gentleman” pull the nice man’s wallet out of his back pocket. I didn’t know what got into me. I took my cane and with all my strength smacked the thief’s hand and screamed “thief” as loud as I could. He dropped the wallet and yelped. The smelly man knocked into me, and I fell onto the thief grabbing a hold of his jacket to catch myself from falling. We stumbled together, both of us trying to gain our footing. While I had both hands on his coat, I yelled what I hoped was help, police. I screamed. “Aiuto polizia, aiuto polizia!” The man wiggled out of the coat while everyone around yelled at him. One woman had a bag with a muskmelon in it and whacked the man as he ran away. I was left with the man’s jacket, and I looked around at people like what in the world just happened. The nice little man tried to get everyone to stop yelling, and the nice little woman picked up her husband’s wallet and all the money that fell out. In English I said, “Should someone call the police?” I couldn’t even begin to think of the right words in Italian. The nice little man told everyone, “No, no polizia.” At least, I can respond in Italian “Perche? Why?” He looked at me with what I called cow eyes. These soulful eyes looked up to me and he recognized me as an English speaker. “He is just a poor man trying to feed his family.” His wife added, “We see his kind all the time at the church. Usually just the wives and children because the men work the town for money.” The wife handed the wallet to the man, “Guido, it is all here.” They both looked up at me, “Thank you for stopping the pickpocketer.” With satisfaction, Guido added, “This was the money we saved for our daughter’s party. She just graduated from university.” “You are welcome.” That was all I could think of saying. Guido said, “Let me introduce myself. I am Guido Gallo, and this is my wife Chiara.” I looked at the wife, “That is one of my favorite Italian names. It has a lyrical sound to me. My name is Kristy Russo.” They both piped up, “That is an Italian name, Russo.” “Yes, my husband was Italian.” Chiara looked down and whispered “Was?” I took a deep breath, “Yes, he passed away a few months ago.” I might as well just tell everyone my husband of forty years was dead. Maybe I should wear a sign saying “widow” across it. Words I hated. I hated it more that he died. Both made the sign of the cross, “Oh Dio mio,” with very sad faces. Chiara suggested, “You should come to the party tonight.” “Yes, you saved the party.” The suggestion made Guido excited. As we had the small conversation people kept saying to me "grazie" or in English, "good job" and patted me on the arm or back. I was so distracted, out came, “I would love to.” Without thinking they probably just wanted to offer, not expecting me to say yes. I was still holding the thief’s jacket, and it was heavy. I started fiddling with the jacket and realized that there was a hidden pocket. I reached in the deep pocket and felt a couple of wallets and some cash. As I pulled them out, I was embarrassed with my response, “Oh shit!” I looked up, “Pardon me.” Guido laughed, “I have said worse. Let me see if I know who owns these.” He took the wallets from me. He yelled out the name on the identification card in the first wallet and a man turned around, “Si.” The two had an exchange and the man reached out to kiss me on each cheek saying, “Grazie, grazie.” He hadn’t even noticed it was missing. It astonished me if I had witnessed what just happened, I would have instantly reached for my wallet. Of course, I realized I hadn’t felt for my own wallet. Yes, it was there. I wished women’s pockets were deeper. Since I didn’t design clothes, I shouldn’t complain. Well, I could complain. I might complain more than I should, but it really didn’t help. We heard a commotion at the checkout station at the produce stand. Chiara was standing behind a woman paying for her produce. Chiara yelled to Guido, “Someone stole her husband’s wallet right out of her purse.” Guido held up the other wallet, “See if this was his wallet.” Chiara retrieved it so fast then ran back waving the wallet over her head shouting what I figured was, “is this it?” Happy ending. Chiara came back over and in a low tone, “That’s the judge’s wife. He was taking a call when she left this morning and gave her his wallet. Instead of taking the money out she just threw the wallet into her purse. She knew that she was going to be back before he had to go to court.” She touched my arm, “She will come over to thank you in just a minute.” “Oh, she does not have to thank me. It is the guy that knocked me into the thief, or I would have never caught his jacket.” It was then I understood, the two had been working together. Mrs. Judge came out of the mass of people wanting to buy produce. She was elated, “Grazie, grazie,” and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t understand, so I looked to Guido for help. His English skills were excellent. That reinforced that I needed to work on my Italian. Guido interpreted without any hesitation, “She can’t thank you enough and she is going to tell the judge how brave you are. She wants to have you over for drinks, so she can introduce you to her husband.” Mrs. Judge with the realization that I didn’t speak Italian, “Excuse me.” She pulled a card out of her purse and handed it to me, “Please come for drinks tonight at 18:00. The address is on the card. I know my husband would like to meet you.” Chiara was thrilled with the idea, “That is perfect then you can come over to our house when you are finished.” Mrs. Judge replied, “Perfetto,” as if that was all she needed to say and walked off. I kind of nodded and wondered what I had gotten myself into. I looked down at the card and saw it was her card not the judge’s card. Giulia Filice, Designer d’interni, I wouldn’t be asking them over for drinks. In my other hand, I still had a fist full of cash. I looked at Guido and Chiara and asked them, “What should I do with this? I can’t keep it. It’s not right.” They looked at each other and smiled, “Caritas.” They said simultaneously. I guess the look of puzzlement on my face had Guido continue, “Caritas is an organization in our church that helps poor people, immigrants, and the homeless. It is a very good organization. I promise.” “Okay, and how do I get this money to them?” He smiled, “We volunteer there every week. You can come and see for yourself what it is like if you want?” Again, the cow eyes. “Sounds wonderful. I thought after I settled in, I would look for somewhere to volunteer.” Chiara inquired, “How long have you been here?” “Less than 24 hours” was my dismal reply. They both laughed, and Guido said. “Do you like all this excitement for your first day?” “Not really.” I chuckled. “I can’t believe what just happened in the last half hour. I can’t wait for the next 24 hours.” I gave a smirk. Chiara added, “I hope our party isn’t this exciting,” she gave a little sigh. Guido looked at her and responded, “Maybe not your family, but with my family you never know what will happen,” He smiled so broadly. Chiara patted Guido’s arm and said, “Si, si, your family.” She rolled her eyes at me. “Come we need to finish shopping. Il Contadino has our bags, and I will have to make him go through all of them to see if he has given us everything on my list.” She spread out her hand toward the vendor. “Well, I haven’t even started. I have so much to do to get my place livable and one of them is getting some food. I guess I should get back in line.” As soon as I said that I wanted to take it back. Italians don’t have lines. At least this farmer had a number system. As Chiara and Guido were leaving, Guido came running over. “Here is our address. Can I send a car for you? Wait a minute you will be at the judge’s tonight it’s not far from here.” Everyone knew everyone in a small town. “Alora, we live up this street,” he pointed up the hill. “Go up to the end and we are on the right, number three.” “Can I bring anything?” “Bring nothing, you are our honored guest next to our daughter,” he said with a smile as broad as his face. You could see the pride in his shoulders. It dawned on me, I didn’t have my cane, well, my father’s cane. I took it after he died and kept it in the corner where I could see it every day. After my last surgery I started using it. I searched the ground and mumbled, “My cane.” Guido inquired, “Your cane?” “Yes, the cane that I hit the man’s arm with when he was trying to get your wallet.” He laughed at the idea of it. “I did not know you used a cane.” “There it is.” I pointed at my cane or pieces of cane because it was in two pieces. I felt a ping in my stomach. “I will buy you a new cane?” “I really don’t need it. Well, I don’t know if I can do without it. I have had several back surgeries, and I use it because I am nervous without it.” The anguish on his face had me add “This is good now I can give it up. Really this is good. I was too dependent on it. I really don’t need it,” I picked up the pieces and felt the loss of my dad over again. “You know what? I can fix it. Some glue and duct tape and it will be as good as new.” My eyes moved from the cane to Guido, and I smiled. The cow eyes would always get to me. “It really is ok. I will see you tonight. Oh, I didn’t ask, what time is the party?” Guido wave of his hand, “You come whenever you finish at the Judge’s. The party will start when you arrive.” Then that great smile appeared. What sweet people. I was astonished with what happened in such a brief time. Two events in one day and there would be nothing for the rest of my time here. I arrived back at my place and saw Sam sitting up on his patio. “Hi Sam.” I waved to get his attention. “Hello Kristy. We are just sitting down for a cup of tea and biscuits. Would you like to join us?” “You had me at biscuits. Let me put these in the house and I will be right up.” We had an exciting tea conversation telling them all about the event that just happened. They couldn’t believe how brave or maybe stupid I was. They warned me that I should keep an eye out for the men when I was out and about. Brits knew how to make a cup of tea though it was too strong for me. Which was great for me because it gave me the excuse to add sugar and milk. Which reminded me of when we were young and sick with a stomach ache. My mom would make us a weak cup of tea with milk and sugar with dry toast. I didn’t think dry toast was good for anything. If you want me to feel better, put cinnamon sugar and lots of butter on it. That was a great piece of toast. Oh, wait, fry a piece of good bread in butter then add honey. There was nothing better. I stayed too long at Susan and Sam’s. I did enjoy their company. They dressed like normal people on holiday. Both were in shorts with Sam in a polo shirt and Susan in a blue gingham top. It brought out the blue in her eyes. What was it about blue eyes? I just loved them, maybe because my father had blue eyes. I asked them where they got their plants because I would like a few plants around my patio, too. Sam had a green thumb; he had so many beautiful and healthy plants. It gave the drab run-down feel of the place a real facelift. I wanted to grow some basil and some flowers. It wouldn’t compare to the garden he was growing. Susan said every time he went out, he came back with another plant. If I had someone to cook for, I would put in more herbs, but with it being just me, basil would be enough. Maybe some parsley. I bought eggplant at the market so caponata would be my next dinner. Before I was to leave for the Judge’s house I needed to make a start a biga so I could make bread tomorrow. I found making an Italian biga better than having to feed a sourdough started all the time. It had been a while since I made bread. Just before Nick died was the last time. Before then I made it weekly. Nick loved my bread. I swear if I let him he would have eaten a loaf of bread the day I baked it. I really had a craving for homemade bread. Maybe because I was in Italy I wanted to make my Italian cuisine. Being here and making Nick’s favorites makes me feel, makes me feel like I am making them for him. There were no hiccups at the grocery store, and I was happy that it was uneventful. I walked past a place where I could buy a memory foam pad and mattress cover, so the bugs and whatever else was in the mattress wouldn’t go in my new memory foam. It was very awkward walking down the street pushing the pull cart with the foam pad on top. I was frustrated by how many times I dropped it. At one point I thought it would be easier if I just kicked the foam ball home like it was a soccer ball. The airtight package made the pad into the shape of a large beach ball. I could just see me kicking it into the path of a car. The thought was gone. I would keep picking up the package of foam and balance it on my cart.When I got back, I put the groceries away and pulled out the cans of bug spray. Not that I knew what kind of bugs were in the apartment. I just sprayed the whole house and went out to sit on my patio and crossed my fingers. Glancing next door, I wondered when I would meet my neighbors. Sam told me, I would love them. Alastair and Bram were two Scottish gentlemen who lived here and were on Holiday visiting their parents. Apparently, they hadn’t told their parents that they were gay. At first, their parents visited. No, not at the same time, Sam said. When one parent came the other guy went home and vice versa. Twice a year they went home for a week each to their own homes. It worked for Alastair, but Bram wanted to tell his parents. Alastair said that they won’t be around for long, so what harm would it be to let them think we were too picky to find a mate. I looked forward to meeting them and hearing how they told the story. They must be remarkable story tellers as Susan and Sam kept laughing, retelling their escapades. Several others in the complex were gone for a couple of days, so I would meet them soon. I felt I had met a few too many people already. I liked my alone time so after all the stimulation of the flight, all that went on in the morning and I didn’t know what the night held for me, I looked forward to having a nothing day. I checked my phone to see what time it was. Shoot – I’d better get ready. I was going to have to trust that nobody would try to break in because I was leaving the windows open with the shutters closed. When I walked back into the apartment there were dead or almost dead bugs everywhere. It was so disgusting. As I walked through the apartment I wanted to throw up with every squish or crunch as I stepped on the bugs. I grabbed the broom and started to sweep, and I couldn’t believe I was sweeping Astro turf in my apartment. I would try one more time to reach the realtor, then I would pull up the corner to see what the floor looked like underneath, or I would go home.As I dressed, I started to worry about the food being served. I hated to be asked when I went to a dinner party if there was anything I didn’t like or couldn’t have. When you told your host you couldn’t stand cilantro because it tasted like dirty dish water, that limited the possibilities of what might come. When you placed restrictions on yourself you missed opportunities: New food to explore, places to travel, people to meet, conversations to be had. Now, I must tell people here that I couldn’t have chestnuts. I was highly allergic, and they ate chestnuts here. You didn’t find many chestnuts in central Indiana. They sold chestnut flour here, which added food I couldn’t explore. It was like almond flour, which made some of my favorite pastries. Once when we visited Nick’s cousins, I tried just one roasted chestnut. I ended up in the emergency room just so I could get Benadryl. More than that really, but if I had had Benadryl in the first place it wouldn’t have gotten as far as it did. My throat almost closing, tight chest and swollen mouth.I thought about all we had planned. Nick was to retire in a couple of years. He had started telling people lately that would give him enough time to talk me into moving to Italy. His parents were from Sicily, and he still had cousins living there. We had visited them several times when he taught in Italy. I loved his family. They were so welcoming and fun to be around. I just loved my family too and didn’t want to go where I was terrible at the language. I had an American accent. Nick, his brothers, and mom spoke Italian when they were together, and my two-year-old vocabulary wasn’t welcomed. They told me, “You can speak English.” To be honest, I screw up English as well. I had my own language Nick would say. He would say he spoke three languages: Italian, English, and Kristy. I made up words all the time and I would take Italian and English words and blend them. Shoot, I took English and English words and combined them to make up words all the time. Once we visited Majorca, Spain and found out that they mixed Spanish, Catalan, and Majorcan and I told Nick, “See I am not alone in making up my own language.” I did get a laugh out of him. No more laughter, no more sweet caress as he walked by me or vice versa, no more hugs, no more kisses, no more love, no more.I shook off those feelings and said “I am here for you, Nick. I hope you are smiling down on me.”

Recipes Filter by Level beginner easy medium easy Pizza alla Sicliliana Sicilian Pizza pictured is one recipe. It is a delicious crust made thin or thick easy Gougères Gougères are French for cheese puffs. They make great appetizers though if you have a husband like mine he will eat them all day long. They are light and airy and can be made with all kinds of cheeses and dips. At the party where I took these people where saying they would be great little sandwiches. I always make the choux pastry that I learnt in my first cookbook Betty Crocker. It never fails me. I do add a touch of nutmeg because I think it goes well with the cheese. It might be I have been influenced from the Italians and Greeks. easy Strasbourg Pastries (Strassburg-bakelser) These unique cookies that melt in your mouth. Easy to make but people will think you went to a lot of trouble. beginner Biga A biga is what you use to start a bread. In English it is a starter medium Pane di Como Serve it with stew and meats with rich sauces, with green salads, fresh cheese, sliced salami, and smoked meats. easy Grandma's Cinnamon Rolls my family loves these Cinnamon rolls with lots of icing medium Bagels These bagels are worth the time. I make the dough in the afternoon then put them in the refrigerator. The next morning, I boil them then bake. I once made them with one hand. Not that I am recommending you to do this but it can be done. easy Almond Tea Bread (w/ poppy seed) This is our Christmas bread. We give it to friends and if we forget to give them the recipe they call for it. medium No bake Peanut Butter Balls (from my great aunt Izzy…Isabelle Keith) I usually quadruple this recipe because it is a family favorite easy Lemon Artichoke Risotto Arborio rice makes a great risotto. Stirring it and adding liquid slowly makes it a creamy rice. Adding cheese to the rice makes it so delicious. This recipe has lemon and artichoke. You can drop the artichoke and make it a shrimp dish. Use raw cleaned shrimp and add them on top after you add the cheese. Stir and stir until you see that the shrimp have changed color. Please don't over cook them and you will thank me after you eat them. If you like a little spice add some red chili flakes when you add the garlic. When you smell the chili and garlic add the wine. Another tip is to have everything ready when you start cooking. easy Peanut butter cookies The best peanut butter cookies easy Garlic Bread The first bread I taught my children to make. Very easy and forgiving. Makes a good pizza dough.

Books written by Kimberly Caristi The Diner Life is hard and worst of all lonely for Sandra. You wouldn't know it because she doesn't let the struggles she has define her. She has a smart and level head on her shoulders. When Dante comes along he tries to make her think with her heart instead of her head. Possibilities Dorothy or Dart is an amazing singer with perfect pitch who grows up in an amusement park. Dart's life take so many different directions it's is hard for her family to keep up. Each possibility leads her to new heights but she can't always see what is in front of her face. Dart is lucky to have people who can help guide her to open her heart. The Winds of Wyoming Jolene has a real love of horses and learning. Jolene is brought up in a well to do family that thinks women should only do lady-like things and marry within their class. She leaves home to attend college in Wyoming much to her parents' dismay. There she finds herself, her husband and her true calling through read books. Crow's Nest Tessa is an over ambitious young woman. She turns over her father's farm to an organic farm, becomes a chef, competes in a competition of young chefs, opens a restaurant, raises pekin ducks and emus. She has one great fling and one drunken night in Italy which is life altering. Tessa sees love all around her but thinks she will never find that one true love. My Daughter thinks I Ruined her Life Ellie hasn't had an easy life. The one solace in her life is her art. A promise that she made to a dying friend has her working very hard on her art. Her life revolves around her daughter and her art and she doesn't know how to communicate well with people until she meets Lorenzo in Florence. He shows her that life can be more than her daughter and her art. My Mother Ruined My Life A fifteen-year-old girl thinks her mother ruins her life when the mother keeps changing their life situation, being a scatter brain, and too busy with her work. It takes a grandmother figure to help her figure out her mother did everything to give her a life she wanted. Life is....so Many Things Tanzi is a passionate chef who waits tables more than she cooks. After losing her boyfriend and the restaurant she is working in closed she travels to Italy with her dad and meets Kyle and Phillip. She falls for one then realizes that she loves the other. She comes to the conclusion that she needs to straighten out her life before she gets into another failed relationship. My Summer Adventure A shy 15-year-old girl finds an unwanted visitor in her tree house. Something in Ned makes Sam want to protect him. The two bond of the love of art and poetry. My Summer Adventure is a coming-of-age story about love, loyalty, and the courage to protect those who matter most. A Club I Never Wanted to Join A widow decides to live out her husband's dream of living in Italy. She goes for three months. She finds healing, herself and love again.

Latest News Jan 25, 2026 January 2026 After my husband retired he started volunteering at the Habitat store. He came home all excited. He had bought a white Christmas tree that he was going to use on our front porch as a decoration. He begged me to come out and see the tree. This is what my husband thought was a white tree. The “needles” were falling off it. I have to confess it didn’t look that bad at night but I cringed during the day when I had to drive by it or look out the window. BTW, my husband’s name is not Charlie Brown. 😊 My January news letter is late this month because I fell on Christmas day. I hurt my ACL, PCL and tore a ligament in my knee. May I suggest when you see a tripping hazard that you move it right away and not think you will get it later. Recovery is slow so my post on social media has been effected. I haven’t been out of the house except to go to therapy and the doctor. I hope your Christmas was a delight and you are having a blessed beginning of the New Year. Dec 15, 2025 December 2025 This Christmas party table is just a small part of our party celebration. We got into having a Christmas party when we were dating. When we were in college we took ashtrays from Arby’s to make ornaments. We bought store bought cookies and I made a couple of cookies that I knew by heart. We gathered our friends the first Saturday after the Thanksgiving weekend. Had a few friends bring their guitars and we say sang Christmas songs. We continued having it on that first Saturday after we got married until my body gave out. I miss making as many candies, cookies, dips and appetizers in one week as I could. The only item I started before that week was I soaked my stemmed cherries in rum for a couple of weeks. People couldn’t believe I did everything in a week. I couldn’t have done it without my kids and husband taking up the slack and helping me or doing my duties around the house. We would get our Christmas tree the weekend after Thanksgiving and started decorating our tree and home. We cut down a tree if we could find a tree farm; if not it was a non-profit place. The last thirteen years we have decorated an artificial tree. I always was sick when we had our party and it took forever for me to realize it was the Christmas tree making me sick. I would get a sinus infection that always turned into bronchitis or worse. Nov 3, 2025 Bookshelf This isn’t an amazing picture at all! The importance of this picture is to show most of my cookbooks and the stories behind them. Many of them are from our 2008 study abroad when my husband took U.S. students to Italy to do a documentary on Italian food. My job on these trips were to help students stay with the group during tours. If you haven’t heard the term herding cats, nailing jelly to the wall or pouring water into a sieve you should try to keep thirty young adults following one person who is talking in a normal voice about what took place a thousand years ago while there are cars and motorcycles zipping by, tens or twenty different directions they could go, windows filled with pastries, clothes, perfumes, art, jewelry, or things they have not seen before and you will totally understand the before mentioned phrases. I was grateful that I have an uncanny ability to know how to get to places I have been told about, read about or drove by it once. In these travels I have been pulled away from the group by following a student who just had to go the bathroom, tied a shoe, just had to take a picture and probably a dozen other things and I have never lost a student and found the group in a timely matter. I have had one misstep but it wasn’t all my fault and I will leave that for another photo later on. I will tell you I have never lived it down and every time we get together with our Italian director, him and my husband love to retell the tale. I have gotten off track and need to bring it back to the cookbooks. I have really came into my own after that trip and finding all these cookbook neatly stacked in my kitchen. First, you should know we did buy them ourselves and let the students use them. Second, I realized I could make a recipe my own, meaning taking a recipe and adding this or that to it and it still be good. I had always known I could do that with baking as long as I didn’t throw off the fats, dry ingredients and liquids balance. I can bake for anyone but now I felt I could cook for Americans and do a pretty good job of making something that they would like, for Europeans I know I should make something less sweet (no applesauce with the pork but greens.) I can cook for Asians but I am not sure how to bake for them. Sad to say I have never had the opportunity to cook for anyone from Africa. I haven’t hosted them in my home…yet. I always do research on food from their area before we host someone. I never tell them it is their food because no one can cook exactly like their family. Example, I cooked what I thought was Chinese and our Chinese guest said “What do you call this Kim? It almost taste like Chinese.” Being that our guest was from Szechuan province and their spice level was quite a bit higher than ours I took that as a compliment. We had a guest from Slovenia who said she loved everything that came out my large saucepan. These cookbooks gave me the experience to experiment and I fell in love with cooking just as much as baking. Our friends noticed a difference. I have always had about a half a dozen recipes for a dinner that I used repeatedly. When I started mixing it up they took notice. When we started donating dinners our community notice that I was not just a chocolate nut or a baker. I have had two articles written about me on those subjects. I make my own truffles and for our Christmas party each year I would make about a dozen different cookies, a half a dozen bars, a half dozen other pastries plus a dozen different chocolates. I did offer other non-sweet items. The first few years of our marriage it was all store bought with a few personal bakes. I kept challenging myself to go bigger until it got too big. To make us feel a little better about all this over indulgence everyone invited were to bring dry goods for the food pantry in town. I look forward to sharing my recipes with you as time goes on. This past last month we have been travelling. I hope to get my photo albums up soon. We traveled through eleven states. North Dakota was our 48th contiguous state to visit and we got to it this time. We also got to see the head waters of the Mississippi river and I got to stand in it. I was so excited. We stayed in a cabin without a television, even more important no internet. We taught ourselves a new game of cards and the silence almost drove my husband nuts. I have to say I did miss the internet. I wish you all safe travels even if it is just to the grocery store to buy a new ingredient. Oct 1, 2025 Marshmallow Dessert This dessert brings back so many memories. In 1995 we lived in Slovenia and we brought our five-year-old daughter and ten-year-old son. Our son went to an International school so he was gone from seven until one in the afternoon. That left me with a rambunctious little girl who didn’t care if we had a clean house or what we were having for dinner. She wasn’t a big fan of grocery shopping either but with a bribe she would be a good girl meaning she wouldn’t whine, complain or wander off. Her treat would be a doughnut or a couple of times I bought her one of these. The first time I bought one I thought I would be getting some of it. To my surprise and disappointment she ate the whole thing except a tiny bit she gave me when I asked if I could try it. When we got home from Slovenia we were asked if we would take part in a fundraising event. We donated a Slovene dinner and I made this as the dessert. I had figured out how to make it. I made a better base but the rest of it was pretty dead on. This stay was our fifth time to Slovenia and it was another five month stay. I wanted to buy this dessert for friends who visited us because I wanted to see if the dessert tasted like they did thirty years ago. We bought four and they protested that it was too much. Let me tell you they were all gone in minutes. They are so easy to eat and if you like fluffy marshmallows and chocolate you will love it. The ones I made I used a seven-minute frosting as the filling. I saw little difference. In fact, I was looking at some of the recipes and some have a cream filling. I am sure that it is a dessert that has a multitude of recipes like our chili here in the U.S. or spaghetti sauce here or in Italy.

Jolene is a smart, well read young woman whose parents are well to do and have an idea how a young woman should behave. Jolene has other ideas. When Jolene picks a school a few hours away her world changes much to her parents dismay. Jolene falls in love with Hank, Wyoming, and feels alive. When Jolene chooses Hank and Wyoming her parents disown her. Through books Jolene, heals, grows, discovers her talent and reunites with her family. Written by Kimberly Caristi Jolene has a real love of horses and learning. Jolene is brought up in a well to do family that thinks women should only do lady-like things and marry within their class. She leaves home to attend college in Wyoming much to her parents' dismay. There she finds herself, her husband and her true calling through reading books. The Winds of Wyoming A life lesson that books are your best friend, your confidant, your knowledge, your trade, your comfort and should be your love. If it weren’t for books I would have been lost somewhere between Colorado and Wyoming. I read since I was five and a half years old. I wrote stories since I was six and a half years old. By eight I did pretty good minus ending a sentence with a preposition. My diary was my life blood. I wrote everything in it until I learned to keep things to myself. Journaling is the best thing for you. You can look back over your life in each journal and say thank you for keeping order to my memories. My Eighth Birthday: Dear Diary, today was a very good day. I turned eight. Dolly gave me you and I love you very much. I am going to write in you every day. My brothers gave me games. My brothers don’t play with me like Dolly does. I don’t see Porter or Joshua very much anyway. They are too busy for me. I wish I had someone my age to play with then I would have someone to play the games with. I think I am going to solve mysteries like Nancy Drew. I love her. She is so smart. My family thinks I am so smart so I should be a good detective. Sincerely, Jolene PS. At school during lunch Cathy gave me some of her chocolate bar. I LOVE CHOCOLATE! PPS. Again, I didn’t get to pick the restaurant I wanted to go to. My dad said you would never see him in a fast-food restaurant. I don’t care; I still love their fries. My mother wouldn’t let me get fries so I got a baked potato with lots of butter. At least, she understood I didn’t want to eat steak because of my many loose teeth. My mouth hurts so I have not been eating very good. I wonder how long I can say this before my mother stops giving me popsicles. The waiter brought me a slice of chocolate cake with a candle in it after dinner. I was so excited to see it but it had a different taste. Father told me it had coffee flavor in it as he was finishing it. Someday I will get a whole birthday cake like Cathy does. My sister Dolly gave me my first diary. It was a little pink diary with a sweet bouquet of white and yellow daisies tied together with a green bow. The diary had a little gold clasp and a little gold key. As an eight-year-old, my imagination was all I had. I really thought I would be the next Nancy Drew. I had loved her books since I was six and I would sneak around our house and spy on my family. I didn’t start taking notes until Dolly gave me my diary. When I look back I am sure the diary was the start of my writing career. Yes, I was naive to think if I locked it before I set my diary down it would be safe. I actually called it my book of knowledge. At dinnertime I would relay my details of the day to everyone. In my mind’s eye, my parents thought it was cute and would give me five minutes just before dinner to tell my tales. My brothers were not keen on my telling all about their conversations on the phone with their friends. Less desirable was when I talked about their conversations with their girlfriends. Since I was trying to sound more interesting, I might have embellished what I heard. That all started my life’s work as a storyteller. It wasn’t long when I learnt my first life lesson. Dear Diary, I heard Porter talk about making out with his girlfriend. I had to ask at dinner time what making out meant. Porter was not happy with me. Father and Mother were not happy with Porter. Porter’s girlfriend was not to our standards. I asked what our standards were and I got in trouble. Diary, no one was happy with me. Dolly came into my room after dinner and said there were things that we were not to talk about. Life is hard Diary. I am learning to keep things to myself like loving horses and things I hear in the house. Sincerely, Jolly The lesson I learned when I found out that my key was not the only thing that opened my book was people keep secrets and so should I. To my surprise my brothers asked to have a turn at telling what they had found out that day. I thought I was the smartest person in my family but I found out that I really shouldn’t tell all the things I did in my diary. That was not a brilliant thing to do especially when I left the book in plain view of everyone. I knew the key had not left my chain around my neck. I even took a bath with my necklace as I called it. My brothers had gone through my diary and wrote notes or tore out pages. I got in trouble for blaming the cat for knocking over the vase in the living room where I was not supposed to go. My siblings and I called the living room the museum because no one was allowed in there. I was practicing my sleuthing sliding under the couch and when I bumped my head on the end table the vase started to fall. I heard it rolling on the table so I tried to get out from under the table as fast as I could before it fell. Instead, I made things worse and when I tried to catch the vase, my clumsiness sent the vase flying and crashing on the floor. I felt bad for blaming the cat and felt I had to tell someone so I wrote it in my diary. The day my brothers told my story was the day that I decided I would not be the next Nancy Drew. I was better at making up stories and leaving my brothers alone. They liked it better that way. Dear Diary, I am writing in you with tears in my eyes. My brothers got into you and I am sorry they ripped out some of your pages. You gave away my secrets. I know it wasn’t your fault but I felt betrayed. I got in big trouble for lying about the vase and for breaking it. I had no idea I shouldn’t trust anyone from getting into you. Dolly wasn’t happy that I lied to her. We have our secrets that I haven’t even told you and they are big! I mean really big! I almost started to tell you one day and I thought I’d better find a better hiding place before I do. It was a very bad day. Sincerely, Jolly At the same time my diary betrayal my second grade teacher was having a hard time trying to curtail my interrupting class. I was always finished with my work first and wanted to talk. Since my teacher said I had the gift of gab I needed to write my stories instead of telling everyone my ideas during class. She gave me a note book to write my stories down. If I kept the talking to a minimum I could read one of my stories at the end of the week. That was incentive for me to be quiet well, quiet for me. I liked writing the more I wrote. My mother and Dolly bought me pretty pens and journals. The only thing I liked more than writing was reading. I still got to have my five minutes at dinner for the next few years to spin my tales. My brothers would make fun of me or argue that my idea wasn’t possible. These interactions would benefit me later in my life but I wasn’t a fan of it when it was happening. I was not sure if it was a good thing to be the youngest or it was the worst thing that could ever happen to a child. I hadn’t figured out what birth order was best. These were things I thought about as a child. Being the baby of the family had made it nice as far as my older siblings having paved the way for me but sometimes, I felt like I had a lot of responsibility that they didn’t have. I had all the attention of my parents that used to be divided among the four of us. One by one I got more attention and responsibilities as my two brothers and one sister had left home. I had to attend all the parties and dinner meetings to represent my siblings. To me it seemed that my parents liked to control what each of their children did in their lives. Well, that was the way I saw it. I thought because I was the youngest, I was forced to go everywhere with my parents or maybe because they had a hard time controlling me that I was dragged to every charity event and golf outing my parents went to and that was many. I knew my place when we were out together and would never talk back or question them. That might have been the reason I had to go with them to these numerous events. They, my mother especially, learned not to push my buttons too much during these events because there would be payback at home. They had yet to figure out how to punish me for my bad behavior because I didn’t care if I was grounded, no television or the use of my phone. I was happy to go to my room and read or write. Once my mother made me stay with her instead of going to my room and I talked to her non-stop asking her questions about what she was doing and why. My mother tolerated that for about an hour then sent me to my room. I was six. I should clarify my bad behavior at home. I wouldn’t come when called. I had thoughts and chapters to finish before I would go find out what they wanted. I loved to go for walks. It sounds good, right? No it was bad in my parents’ mind because they didn’t know where I was. I loved the outdoors. They only spent time outside if they were playing golf or the restaurant was full and they had to sit outdoors in the shade. These behaviors were not welcoming in my family and not tolerated. Every time I would defy them it was one more function I had to attend. A child’s thoughts are all they have when communication isn’t a two-way street. One example was I thought my brothers did what my parents wanted them to do with little hesitation. Of course, I was so young when they left home and like I said my memory was a little vague. They both studied finance and management so they could eventually take over the family business of our hotels and upscale apartment buildings. My sister was allowed to study what she wanted but had to go to a university close enough that she could come home when my mother needed her. Dolly was my mother’s favorite and my mom had her wrapped around her little finger. That was made more evident as the years went on. We did have our secrets Dolly and me. Though I thought if my mother would have said jump Dolly, of course Dolly would jump without asking a question. On the other hand, I would ask a million questions then I might jump or not. I was a frustration for my mother and she did her best to try to break me. I couldn’t be broken. I had a will of my own my father would say to my mother over and over. The only thing my parents were proud about me was that I had straight A’s and was happy about studying. Too smart: Dear Diary, my homeroom teacher asked me if I wanted to skip a grade because I was so far ahead of my class. I begged Mrs. Lightfoot not to tell my parents and thanked her for not saying anything in front of the class. I have a few friends that don’t make fun of me for knowing more than them. I would be made fun of by everyone if I were promoted to the next grade level. I don’t like to be made fun of as you know. Being in middle school is tough enough I didn’t need another thing to add to my stress. You can tell when students hear Dolly Parton’s song Jolene for the first time, they come to school and sing it behind my back as we are walking down the hall. It is tough enough to have flaming red hair and green eyes but that song puts another knife in my back. I heard my father tell my mother that this week's subject for our discussion will be about religion in school. I am reading all about it so maybe they will let me be a part of the discussion. Sincerely, Jolly I loved to study. My friends thought I was nuts about how much I loved learning. Give me something that I didn’t understand and I would be at the library looking for more information. I knew I could look stuff up on the internet but I loved books and the research was so much fun. The feel of the books in my hands felt good, turning the pages was pleasing. I had been caught more than once sniffing a book. Oh, how I loved the smell of an old musty book. I couldn’t tell you how many bookmarks I had, but they almost made a book themselves when stacked together. My siblings all had graduated from college and my oldest brother Porter had his MBA. Joshua hadn’t decided if he was going to get his MBA or not. He asked father if it would be okay if he worked for him for a couple of years then decide if he wanted to go back and get a law degree. My dad was thrilled Joshua was thinking about a law degree so he accepted his offer to work. It had been several years and he still hadn't gone back to college. I really didn’t think Joshua wanted to go back to school, he thought he had to make our father happy by dangling a law degree over his head. I thought Joshua was happy working for father because he still came to dinner on Sunday. Sunday was a day that we all knew we were to attend the family dinner and the discussion that followed. My father loved to talk about politics, religion or whatever hot topic was happening in the news. My mother got what she wanted before dinner…we listened to Dolly Parton music. That was the only time my mother would relax her persona was when she listened to Dolly Parton music. We were all to be there when she would play her choices for the evening. The music would transform my mother. If you would watch closely you could see the transformation take place. First the smile would appear, the tension in her body would fall away with each beat of the music and the last bit of transformation was the twinkle in her eyes. My family did not seem to notice the change but I did. The smile that appeared when she would play one of her favorites “Jolene” was magical to me. She would come over to me and touch my face and sing Jolene to me. When I was little my mother would twirl me around or I would twirl around by myself. I loved how my dresses would swish and make a noise I liked. I thought my mother would dance with me because I could never sit still or keep my mouth closed. All that changed when we danced together. When I got old enough to understand the lyrics I thought it was weird but kind of sweet. She was singing about a woman who was talking about her husband’s mistress but when she sang about the flaming locks of auburn hair with ivory skin and eyes of emerald green. I always smiled because she was looking at me so sweetly. The next line was ‘your smile is like a breath of spring.’ My mother would gently take hold of my chin and slightly shake it. That was the only time my mother would touch me that made me feel loved. Then she was off moving to somewhere other than singing to me. As I got older I didn’t dance anymore and I sat and looked bored like everyone else. It was my secret that I liked my mother’s singing. She seemed free and I thought in a different life she would have been a singer. On the evenings that Jolene was the first song in her line up of the evening, she would sit with me throughout the whole song. If the song was near the end, she was off to the kitchen to oversee dinner prep. She moved back and forth between the kitchen and the family room. You’d better be in the room when she came back or she would stop the music and Mother was on a mission to find the missing person. My father had to be there too if he expected her to be there during his discussion. If he were late or tried to sneak out, mother would be very dramatic in her departure from the dining room when dinner was finished. My brother Joshua had her attention when she played Dolly’s Joshua’s song. Joshua had black hair like my father. Joshua teased my mother once when she sang the song to him that he was going to grow his hair long and grow a beard. We didn’t hear that song again for a long time and when she did play it, she wouldn’t stroll over to tousle his hair. Dolly and Porter were lucky that they didn’t have songs about them that she sang. If the two of them went out together people might ask if their parents were fans of Dolly Parton. If Dolly and I were out together and we were introduced people usually chuckled at Dolly and Jolene. We were tired of telling people that our mother was obsessed with Dolly Parton. My father just went along with naming us because apparently my mother held it over his head how hard it was to deliver his children. That was how she got what she wanted throughout their married life. Frustration: Dear Diary, I asked for a horse for my birthday for the umpteenth time. Still the answer is no, ladies don’t ride horses. My mother is wrong. I have a secret to tell you but I am afraid someone will find it out. I can tell you that I found my song. It is called ‘No Reins’ by Rascal Flatts. The moment I heard it I realized they were singing about me. I am nothing like my family…maybe I really am adopted. Sinc Jol PS. I am working on my next book. It is about a little girl who wants a horse and her parents won’t buy it for her even though they have the money for it. Mother, if you are reading my diary and I think you are, does this sound familiar? PPS. Find a better place to hide my diary. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that the song ‘No Reins’ was very fitting. I wasn’t breaking away from a man but my families way of life. As some teenagers feel that don’t have a connection with their own family. Like I said, I rarely saw or talked to my brothers. I really didn’t have much in common with them except that we shared some DNA. They were civil to each other and to me. I think because I was the baby of the family and so much younger than they were I was of no interest to them. Dolly was totally different. She was ten years older than me and from day one I was hers. She was the only one in my opinion that showed me any kind of love. What I thought love should be. I didn’t have to do exactly what she wanted me to do for her to show me love. I could be who I really wanted to be around her and she wouldn’t scold me. The best example I have was from an early age I loved horses and I wanted one in the worst way. Every birthday I would ask for a horse and my mother would say, “Ladies don’t ride horses.” When I was five, I learned I wasn’t supposed to say “Huh?” I had no idea what ladies were and how they were to behave. Evidently, riding horses and saying huh were at the top of the list of what ladies don’t do. When Dolly was old enough to take me places without supervision, she would find a way for me to see a live horse and even pet one. When Dolly could drive, she would use her money so I could even ride a horse. Dolly understood me more than anyone. I needed to be free and riding a horse gave me that feeling of freedom. I had a picture of me on a horse that Dolly framed for me and told me to hide it between the mattress and the box spring as far in as my arm would reach. I had to make sure that mother didn’t find it. Every once in a while, when I was upset or sad, I would pull out the picture and just look at it. I would remember the day that Dolly took the picture and it would lift my spirits. Losing My Heart Mom: Dear Diary, I cried myself to sleep last night in my closet. Harold came over to dinner. He stood up to get everyone’s attention. He put his hand on Dolly’s shoulder and announced that they were getting married. He had the biggest smile while Dolly looked down. Harold is nice…sorta. He has a weird sense of humor that I don’t get. Plus, he doesn’t talk to me, he talks over me, like I am not smart enough to understand him. He does talk in riddles sometimes and after he leaves, I have heard father say to my mother, did you understand Harold? Mother’s reply is always that he comes from a good family and he will make for a wonderful husband. I guess that is my mother’s way of saying he makes enough money. I am going to lose the only person I care about to a man. My heart is broken, sinc Jol PS. I finished book number twelve last night. I will let you know what my next book will be about as soon as I decide what to write about. I know you know it will have horses in it :-) When I was twelve Dolly got engaged to the right man as far as my parents were concerned. I wasn’t sure about him. He seemed a little stuffy to me. Harold came from a prominent family in Denver and was an accountant. My father thought he would make a good addition to our family business. I thought he got in the way of Dolly and me having fun. Dolly told me that we had to keep our outings a secret from Harold. “Jolly, he wouldn’t approve of us going horseback riding.” I was perplexed why anyone would marry someone that they had to keep secrets from? It seemed wrong that Dolly had to keep a secret about something she loved to do. I was going to keep my pact with her because the past year Dolly had been riding with me. We had a blast riding in the mountains, along streams and some meadow lands. Dolly found us places to ride all over the area. It was exciting in two ways: one I got to ride and brush the horse when I was finished riding and two Dolly and I had something that just the two of us knew about. I couldn’t even tell my friends because they might tell their parents and in turn their parents might say something about it to my parents. I was learning about being sneaky and it became a handy skill. When Dolly got married, I was her maid of honor. I was so excited. Dolly picked the dress that looked best on me rather than her other so-called friends. Mother picked the other bridesmaids. That was when I learned who was who in the society of the snobs of Denver. These were Dolly’s words. I felt bad for her. How could mother not let Dolly pick out who she wanted in her own wedding? I knew I didn’t want my mother making those decisions for me. I told Dolly she should say something to Mother. For some reason Dolly couldn’t or wouldn’t stand up to her. I felt so much older wearing all the new dresses I got when we hosted all the events surrounding Dolly’s engagement. We had two engagement parties, two wedding showers, three bridal showers and one bachelorette party. I was the host of one of the bridal showers though I couldn’t plan any of it. My mother didn’t like any of my ideas. They were too juvenile for her taste. I was a little upset. One of the bridal showers was hosted by her real friends and they included me in the planning. They even took one of my ideas for a game to play: cell phone scavenger hunt. I gave ideas like a selfie with the bride, wedding date on their calendar, something the color of our emerald green dresses of the bridesmaids, stuff like that. The wedding was an elegant event and Dolly looked so beautiful in her wedding gown. I wasn’t sure if she was as happy as I would be getting out of our house. My parents had refused to let her live on her own. They said she was too delicate to make it on her own. I really thought they were wrong but Dolly thought they might be right. “Jolene, I wish I had your confidence. You are braver than I am.” “Dolly, you are smart and I know if you wanted to you could live on your own and maybe find a man that you really love.” Well, that upset Dolly. I sometimes put my foot in my mouth but I wanted her to have her best life. “Jolene, I love Harold. He is perfect. Mother and Father love him too.” Why did it matter that mother and father loved him? I didn’t understand why that made a difference. The way she said she loved him was like a duty she had. All of this troubled me. I wanted Dolly to be happy. I knew she made me feel loved and I prayed that Harold made her feel loved. “I will tell you one thing Dolly. When I find the right guy, I won’t care if Mother and Father liked him.” I knew I sounded snotty like her bridesmaids but I probably sounded like a naive twelve-year-old. Though in my head Dolly and I were the same age metaphorically. “Now, Jolene, Mother and Father are just looking out for us. They want us to have a good life.” Dolly was snippy with me and I could tell I had pushed her one button that got her upset. I had many buttons that made me upset. “I will have a good life if I love my husband to the tips of my toes no matter how much money he has.” “Jolene!” Well, that statement sent her over the edge and she yelled. She really never raised her voice to me; she just had this tone in her voice that told me I had gone too far. “I am sorry Dolly, I didn’t mean to upset you. I know you don’t love Harold because of his money.” Really, I didn’t know why she loved him. I thought love would be something like you couldn’t keep your hands off the person. I never saw them touch each other or even kiss. After the wedding, I was hoping we would still go horseback riding together. To my dismay, she was afraid to go riding. I didn’t understand why until one Sunday dinner. Harold brought a bottle of champagne and when it came time to toast, they announced that they were going to have a baby. I was surprised that their baby should come almost ten months after they got married. I knew I should have been happy but I knew my freedom was over. Dolly wouldn’t have time for me once the baby came. During dinner Dolly wouldn’t look at me and I didn’t understand why. When father declared that the family discussion was over, Dolly asked me to show her my homework and maybe she would be able to help me. We had to use her offer to help me with my homework as our code to talk without our parents around. Neither parent would offer to help me with my homework. When I was younger sometimes Joshua would quiz me on my times tables but the rest of my assistance with my homework was done by Dolly. Porter was out of the house and in college when I started school. Dolly and I were excused to work on my homework problem. If I were honest, I didn’t need help, but that was the best excuse we could think of so we could talk alone. Really the only thing that Dolly helped me with was calling the homework hotline. Dolly was my teacher in all areas except for school. Dolly was the one who taught me about the facts of life and my period. She wanted me to know everything before I started to ask questions. She didn’t want it to be a shock for me when I started my period like it was for her. I was so fortunate that I had Dolly in so many ways and it was so sad that she wasn’t around much anymore. “Jolly, I wanted to tell you that I was pregnant but Harold said you were too young and would tell mother and father before we did.” I looked at my carpet because I couldn’t face Dolly. “You haven’t called me Jolly in a long time.” I looked up at her, “Dolly, you know I keep secrets.” I was a little upset. “Jolly, I know you are the best secret keeper. I just couldn’t go against Harold’s wishes. I hope you understand. Maybe, I can go riding after the baby is born.” Dolly saw my disappointment. “I will still try to get away and take you but I won’t ride. Dolly took me riding a couple of more times then when the baby came our getting together stopped. It was hard for me at first to welcome Harold Jr. because he had taken the only person who I could be myself around. I lost all my resentfulness once Harry was big enough to take a hold of my finger and laugh. I was the only one who called him Harry. I just couldn’t bring myself to call him Harold. He was so tiny and that name didn’t fit him anyway. Dolly just asked that I not call him Harry around anyone. She didn’t want me to get in trouble. Life is a conflict of feelings: Dear Diary, my life has ended the way I knew it. Dolly isn’t around anymore. Baby Harry is adorable but I don’t fit into Dolly’s life now. Okay, I am being dramatic as mother would say. I just wish Dolly and I could go off together and go riding. I can’t wait until I can drive! That is a long way away but maybe I can figure something out. I need the feeling of being free. My parents drag me everywhere. S. J. Once Dolly’s second baby came along, the only time I saw Dolly was if I went to her house which wasn’t far from our house and Sunday during dinner. I thought the dinners were why my parents hired Betty. Betty was their new nanny. Mother and Father hired her to help their poor daughter who had two babies in two years. Plus my parents couldn’t handle the noise that two small children contributed to our dinner time. It was easy for them to put them in the kitchen with Betty and the cook. It was fun dressing Dorothy in frilly dresses but Betty was always hovering around the four of us. Again, they called their child another big name for a small child so I started calling her Dot. Dolly, Harry and Dot, were watched all the time. Apparently, Betty reported to my parents since they hired her. I felt sorry for Dolly. Finding my niche: Dear Diary: If I have to go to another adult function I am going to scream! I have to figure out how I can get out of these parties. I need to make sure that my mother doesn’t want to take me. I wish you could talk to help me with this problem. I know the more I write about my problems the better it gets. S.J. Because I was a challenge, my parents thought I would be good at Debate so my freshman year of high school I joined the Speech and Debate team. That took the place of going horseback riding. I found a new love. I had years of practice on Sunday night when it was time for discussion. Because of my love of reading, I would study for these discussion sessions with Father. I waited patiently hoping it was a topic that I had prepared for. That was the only time that Porter would talk to me in earnest. If we were on the same side, he would praise me. If we were on opposite sides, he would try his hardest to persuade me to his side. Sometimes, my father would call a draw and praise both of us for having good ideas. I was considered one of the best debaters in our school. I got to travel on weekends to debate competitions and I loved squashing my opponent. A huge bonus, I found I didn’t have to go to as many parties because I was too busy with competitions and practicing. A couple of times Dolly got to come and watch the debate. That made the whole event better having someone there cheering me on. I was winning awards on top of awards. My mother said they were going to have to build an addition to the house for all of my awards. My debate teacher said I could get a scholarship with how good I was but to be more competitive I should start doing speech too. My junior year I was doing both speech and debate. I wanted that scholarship because I knew my parents wouldn’t pay for a college that wasn’t their choice. They would only pay for where they wanted me to go. I knew I was being a little obstinate at that time. I had no idea where they wanted me to go. I just knew I wanted options. I was as independent as they come. Weighing my options: Dear Diary: What do you think about this sentence? “The time has come for you to become the person you were meant to be.” I feel like I have read this line somewhere and I don’t know where. Maybe it was on a poster in one of my friends' rooms. I have to find it. I want to start a book about a teenage girl who runs away from her family to find herself. It’s not about me but sometimes I feel like I am being smothered here. I have to do some research on this. Anyway, this girl’s aunt tells her this because her parents are sick in the head and she needs to get out from under them so she can be the doctor that she wants to be. Her aunt can’t take care of her either. I am still working on the outline. So much research to do! I have to find a college that I want to go to, too. Life is fun here in Denver…tongue sticking out. S.J. It was coming time for me to start thinking about college and my mother brought me an application for Denver University. “Here you go. Your father and I have talked it over and we decided that you should go to Denver University, it’s close to home.” Close to home! It was down the street from us! There was no way I was going to go there. “We know your grades are good enough and your father knows the president. He says it is a wonderful university” I sat there at my desk just staring up at her in disbelief. “It is a good school.” Well, at least, her tone had changed from demanding to pleading. No, pleading was not the word: cajoling was more like it. She should have known by then demanding something from me was not how to handle me. I took the application from her, “Thanks, Mother.” My tone was reassuring to her because I saw her smile. Little did she know that I had already started applying to a dozen colleges all around the country. Whoever gave me the best scholarship wins. I knew my parents would not be paying for anything but Denver University now that they decided that was the college I should attend. Dear Diary, one sentence for you. Parents don’t listen to their children! S.J. Bridezilla Times Two: My senior year was a busy year for our family. Porter and Joshua had found women of our standards to marry. My parents wanted Joshua to wait a year but someone in her family talked my parents into six months after because all of their family got married in May and they didn’t think it was right to make Joshua and Vivian wait a year and a half. Dolly was going to have another baby between the weddings. Because she was having a baby she didn’t have to be in the weddings. She was lucky. Porter’s fiancé Carolyn was such a bridezilla. She wanted me to dye my hair to match the other bridesmaids. She didn’t like how I stood out when we were all standing in line with our dresses on. My mother was upset and so was I. I didn’t want mousy brown hair! Carolyn’s mother took her into the dressing room and when they finally came out Carolyn said in a very pouty voice, “You can keep your hair color.” I couldn’t believe that her mother handed Carolyn one of her diamond rings as she finished saying I could keep my hair color. I guess my hair was worthy of a big diamond. I might have dyed my hair if she had made me that offer. Joshua’s fiancé Vivian was a little better but not much. We all had to wear our hair the same way and have the same color dress at every event we attended together. They had more showers than Dolly and Carolyn had. I think they were in competition with Porter and Carolyn. Everything had to be better than theirs. I think my parents liked that they only had two daughters’ weddings to pay for. I knew I wouldn’t be having a wedding like any of them. I knew I wouldn’t be as picky as all of them. Dolly didn’t have a choice of anything at her wedding except which dress I wore though I know my mother loved my dress so maybe she was letting Dolly think she got her way. You could say my mother was a motherzilla though she was pretty much that way all the time. Baby Colleen was born the day after Christmas. I felt sorry for her because no one was going to want to come to her birthday parties the day after Christmas. She looked like she might have my auburn hair. That excited me because I was the only one who had that hair color. I was told that my grandfather had my color, but he died before I was born. Harry and Dot were so excited about having a baby sister. Harry would rather have had a brother but once they placed Colly in his arms he was in love. “Baby sister, I will always protect you.” I didn’t know where he came up with those words but we were all in awe of the little fellow. During the holidays, I walked into the kitchen as my mother tore something up in disgust. When she saw me, she stuffed it deep into the trash can. “Some Democrat mailing,” she said with a nervous laugh. My curiosity had to find out what the letter was. When she was out of the room, I quickly went through the trash to see what it was. It was my letter of acceptance to Harvard University with an invitation to interview for a Debate scholarship. How dare she tear up my acceptance letter. It was Harvard for God sakes. You would have thought she would have been proud that I got accepted to Harvard. I was proud. I had to call Dolly at the hospital and ask if Harold was there. He wasn’t so she was free to talk. She didn’t like that I was going that far away. “Jolly, couldn’t you find something closer to home.” Grateful for email: Dear Diary: It’s a red-letter day or maybe a red-letter email day. Since I don’t trust anyone in this house that is all you are getting today. So far this is the best day of my life. I look forward to what is to come now. I just have two hurdles right now. I hope they aren’t that big but that is wishful thinking. You are the only one I can share this exciting information with but you will have to read between the lines to know what it is. S.J. I was glad that I had applied to a couple of places that sent the acceptance letter in the form of an email. I got accepted to the University of Wyoming and they offered me a full ride scholarship if I stayed on the Dean’s list. I didn’t think that was a problem as I have never gotten anything but A’s. I accepted their offer. I was excited but I knew the challenge I was going to have with my parents. I was trying to decide when to tell them. I thought it would be best to wait until I packed my car and drove off. Dolly didn’t like that idea. When I got my acceptance letter for going to the University of Denver I was wavering if I should tell them then. My mother started with, “You should sign that and we can put that in the mail tomorrow.” She set it right in front of me and jabbed her pointer into the paper. “No, that is alright I can do it another day.” I really didn’t want to get into an argument right then so I tried to put it off. “Jolene there is no reason why you should delay signing it right now, then I can put it in the mail.” She retrieved a pen for me to sign the letter. Mother was pushing the letter and the pen at me to sign it. I knew she wasn’t going to give up. “Well, if you insist on talking about this now, I want you to know I have already signed to go to school in Wyoming.” Well, that went over like a lead balloon. She acted like I had hurt her to the core and wouldn’t discuss it until my father came home. When my father came home I heard him yelling my name in a tone that he held for a dog that got in his way. I had prepared my outline of why I should attend University Wyoming. He wasn’t prepared for my defense or attack. He thought he could get me to change my mind but I changed his mind. My mother wasn’t happy. She wanted me to live here and go to school. I thought the reason why she wanted me to live here was so she could control me like she controlled Dolly. Mother wouldn’t talk to me for over a week. I was fine because I had peace, which I didn’t have most weeks. Parents!: Dear Diary: I am sure you heard the explosion that happened today. It didn’t take me as long as I thought it would to change my father’s mind. He wasn’t prepared for my attack. He couldn’t believe that I thought they wanted me around to take care of them in their old age. That one really flustered him. I am hoping my mother’s not talking will last until I go away to school. I am sure she thinks I am an ungrateful daughter. Mother, when you read this, I know you have given me a wonderful life. I just want to go away to college like my brothers. S.J. I thought Joshua’s wedding was going to overshadow my graduation but it didn’t. Vivian even thought about it and made sure that I was having a graduation party. She suggested that I wear one of the dresses I got for one of her showers. The one that went with my hair and eyes and the least seen by the people who would come to the party. I thought she was sweet to think about me. My mother wouldn’t hear of me wearing a dress that people had seen before. Vivian and Dolly insisted on going shopping with Mother and me. Mother wanted to buy this very fashionable sundress that went well with my skin color and hair. The bridesmaids all had to go to a tanning booth before Vivian’s wedding so I was very tanned. I liked the dress my mother had picked out until Vivian walked up with this white dress with the aquamarine flowers -- I knew it was the dress for me. I loved it. My mother wasn’t sure about it being a halter top and the stretchy fitted waist through the hips. I thought the ruffle on the bottom was cute. Vivian and Dolly insisted that we buy the dress for my graduation party. They both went nuts over it and loved it just as much as I did. Mother had to agree to buy it because they said I had to have it. I was liking Vivian even more than I thought I would. I knew we weren’t going to be best friends or travel in the same circle but at least there would be another person I would be happy to talk to at the dinner table on Sunday. Vivian and Joshua’s wedding was perfect. We all looked like we came from California instead of Denver. I almost got into a fight with the wedding planner who thought she could stick her hand into the top of my dress without asking. I failed to get the little string you hang the dress on secured inside my dress. I had no idea what she was doing when she came and slipped her hand in my dress over my breast. I was about to hit her with my bouquet of flowers. Luckily, Dolly was paying attention and grabbed my hand from hitting her. The wedding planner never said excuse me or sorry. She was too busy talking into her headset. After all these weddings, I decided I was going to find a guy who didn’t like big weddings. I hated talking to all these people who didn’t know me and really didn’t care that I was the sister. I was too busy to date much so I didn’t have a boyfriend to hang out with at any of the weddings. It didn’t really bother me. I sat on the outside and watched. I just thought about what my next book I was going to write. Sometimes I was able to pull my phone out to read my current book or take notes for a book idea. I was still writing when I had time. The family rule was we couldn’t date until we were seventeen, which had I turned the summer before. I knew my brothers didn’t listen to that rule. When I wanted to take the time to go out I found ways to sneak out with a guy. No one ever made the cut to bring home to mother and father. I knew the couple of guys that I went out with a few times would have been chewed up and spat out of the house. I liked independent liberal guys and my family was very conservative. I was always on the liberal side when we had discussions at Sunday dinner. I held my ground and I needed to find someone who could stand up to my family. If a guy ever did, I knew I would marry him or at least have repetitive dates. I was happy I was allowed to have a few friends at my graduation party. Why, oh, why did I have to have people I didn’t even know come to my party? I didn’t get to pick the food, decorations, or people. I was thrilled that I got to wear the dress we bought. At the last minute, my mother walked into my bedroom with the sundress she liked. She had bought the sundress without letting me know. She sashayed into my room with the hanger on her finger and all I saw was the sundress she wanted me to wear. I told her if she insisted I wear it, I would not attend my party. I said it in a tone that she knew I meant business. I won that battle. I played the hostess and greeted everyone in my beautiful white dress with the aquamarine flowers. The highlight of my party was that I met Evan, a son to a business partner of my father’s. He was not happy to be there but when I sat down to talk to him, he turned on his charm. When we were introduced, I thought he was probably the cutest boy I had ever seen. He lived north of Denver in Frederick. My friends all thought he was cute too, and they surrounded us as soon as I sat with him. They wanted to know how I knew him. Then they started asking him question after question. We went into the game room that my brothers insisted we had to have and never were in as much as I was. I practiced playing darts and pool as long as my mother never saw me in there. If she did, I would be ushered out and told ladies don’t play pool and definitely don’t throw darts. Evan was impressed that I could play pool. I was better than he was and when I saw that he was getting frustrated with me beating him I backed off. I didn’t back off on darts and narrowly beat him on the last throw. He said he wanted a rematch and would call me. My friends were jealous, which I didn’t pay attention to because half of them were already dating someone. I wasn’t sure if he would call me even though he had me put my phone number into his phone. It wasn’t a week and he called me asking me out on a date. My mother and father were very happy. The suspicion that my parents had set up Evan being at my party was unsettling. I had to process the pros and cons about going out on the date with Evan. The pros won because I liked Evan and we had fun at my party. We went on our first date; we hiked our way around Lake Ladora. There was no competition there. We talked about our colleges that we were going to attend. He was going to Colorado State less than an hour from his house. I was glad my college was at least two hours away. I wish it were further but getting a full scholarship and having one of the best college debate teams, it was hard to say no to. We talked about how we would be about an hour from each other. He was glad I would have my own car so I could come visit him when there were home football games. I could drive down to Fort Collins and watch him play then we could go out together afterward. That didn’t sound like fun to me but I agreed to do it. I did admit I had no idea what my time commitment for speech and debate would be. He said he could tell that I would be good at debate after trying to decide where to have our first date. He said he had never met a girl like me before. I chuckled and thought, had he never met a girl with brains? We both came from strict families and they were a little overbearing, too. His mom sounded a little easier going than mine: for one reason he was allowed to call her mom. I had to call mine “mother.” If I said mom, she wouldn’t answer me. They went on family vacations and we always said we would but never did. I knew my family went on trips before I was born because I had seen pictures. My mother said that we would go on one soon. I changed tactics and said could we go somewhere other than Denver. My father was too busy to go anywhere was his reply to my asking about a vacation. For the next two months Evan and I would go hiking somewhere around Denver. My mother suggested before Evan had to move into the dorms at Colorado State that it would be nice if Evan attended Sunday dinner. I wasn’t sure about it. We would have to be there during the music hour and I would have to watch him see my mom singing Jolene to me. To make matters worse, then my family would probably attack him during the discussion after dinner. Evan brought it up first, “My mom said your mom called her to ask if I would like to come to dinner tomorrow. Why didn’t you ask me?” He was a little annoyed that my mom asked him. “Evan, you don’t know what coming to dinner entails. First, we all have to sit around and listen to my mother play Dolly Parton music.” “Oh, is that where your name comes from?” The realization crossed his face. “You know Dolly Parton's music?” I was surprised he hadn’t figured it out sooner since he knew her music. He looked a little embarrassed, “Yeah, my parents love her music, really all country music.” “Yeah, but do your parents sing it to you? Then after dinner there is a discussion about some topic my father picks. Sometimes these discussions get a little heated. My dad might pick on you and I really don’t want to put you through that.” “I can handle myself. My mom wants me to go so I guess I am going.” “Do you always do what she wants?” I was curious, not accusatory though he took it that way. “You do what your mom wants!” “Hey, don’t be upset, I was really curious. My siblings always do what my parents want and I do it about half the time, maybe less if I am honest with myself. I was just wondering if I was just strange. It seems some of my friends do what their parents want them to do.” “Well, I do most of the time to keep the peace. I might sneak around and if I get caught, I ask for forgiveness. I find that easier than asking for permission.” I knew about sneaking around. I have been sneaking around after school once a week to go horseback riding. No one knew I did that. I felt so free on the back of Blacky or Velvet. I volunteered at the stables once a week too. I cleaned the stalls, brushed down the horses or my favorite thing was to walk a horse around the arena with a beginner on the horse. To see the child smile was enough to make me smile for days just remembering it. I remember when I started to ride. Dolly would sit on the bleachers and clap if I did something new. It was a wonderful memory and I still could conjure up the feeling it gave me. That Sunday Evan came to dinner. He didn’t argue any points, just agreed with my father. I was not happy. Sometimes my dad was so right wing it was hard for me to stomach. He thought we should have guns in the schools. I thought there was a place for guns out in the country but not in the city. I was having a hard time getting my thoughts together because I thought I knew Evan. Why did he agree with my dad? My father said I lost that one which pissed me off. What really pissed me off was Carolyn’s comment, “Jolene you should leave the debating to the men. They know more about these subjects than we do.” That did it, I let loose a tirade of comments that got Porter mad at me. He asked me, “Why do you think you are so smart?” “Did you get into Harvard? I did.” There was a gasp from Dolly and laughter from my brothers. “Mother tell them that you tore up my acceptance to Harvard.” I stared my mother down. Instead of answering me she asked, “How did you know I tore it up?” It was my brothers who took in some air. My father was shocked as well. “I went through the trash. I thought I didn’t want to go that far away from home but now I wish I would have asked for the interview for a scholarship.” I stood up. I looked around the room. “You do realize that I got a full ride scholarship to one of the top ranked universities for debate. I am not as stupid as you think.” I walked off leaving Evan unsure of what to do. I ran upstairs to start packing. I had two weeks until I could get into the dorm and I was going to get in the minute I could. Dolly knocked on the door, “Can I come in?” I didn’t say anything, just moved things off the section of bed where she usually sat while we talked. “I am sorry you feel like you have to run away from here. I wish you would talk to me.” “You are too busy with baby Colly. We don’t have time to sit and talk. Besides, I didn’t pick Harvard because it was too far away from you.” “Jolene, it is huge getting into Harvard. I am sorry you felt like you couldn’t share your frustrations about Mother with me. You know I will always be here for you.” I stopped packing and looked at her, “Dolly, I wish that were true.” I knew saying it might hurt but I felt like I was alone in the world and had been for a long time. “You and I can’t talk openly around Betty or Harold and now that Harry is being a little parrot we have to be very careful.” Dolly stood up and came over to me and gave me a hug. I accepted it gratefully. She stood back, “Jolene, I am sorry you feel like I have let you fall to the wayside and maybe it seems like it. You are my first joy, Jolly.” That made me smile. “Listen, you are such a good writer and I think I can write well enough. How about if we write to each other?” “I would like that.” It was my turn to give her a hug. I probably hung on her too long but it had been so long since I felt like someone was on my side. We were interrupted by a knock at my door. It was Evan. Dolly left me and told me that I was to come to lunch on Tuesday. Evan walked around my room until he was sure that Dolly was out of ear shot. “So, you were accepted to Harvard, that is huge,” he said without looking at me. “Why didn’t you tell me that?” He finally looked at me. “It would have sounded like I was bragging.” “For what it is worth I know you are smart. I think your family just thinks of you as a little girl. You should know that your dad wasn’t happy with your mom. He told her they would discuss it later. Your mom looked a little nervous when he said that.” “Thanks for letting me know.” I just kept busy pulling stuff out that I wanted to take with me. I would have to be selective when it came to my books. I was sure my roommate wouldn’t like to have a room full of books. I knew she was smart but that didn’t mean she held onto every book she bought or got as a gift. “I think like you do about guns. It scares me to think they want to put guns into the classroom.” That statement stopped me in my tracks. He sat down on the little space left where Dolly had been sitting. I shove stuff over and flop down next to him. “Why didn’t you say so?” I was a little too exasperated. “I didn’t want to upset your dad.” Well, that told me all I needed to know about Evan. I was not going to let our relationship go any further than it had already. We kissed and touched and he had been asking for more. I told him soon but I wasn’t ready yet. I will never be ready with Evan. Since it was our last night before he left, I did kiss him goodbye but I didn’t have the nerve to tell him it was over. I was taking the easy way out. I knew for how good-looking he was that he would have a new girlfriend when school started, probably a cheerleader. The following Sunday dinner I was not going to attend. I was going to break the cycle of everyone being there. Vivian and Joshua came over around noon and Vivian came up to my room just as I was getting some stuff ready to put into my car. I had been taking an armload down every time I was leaving the house. I knew my parents would not be helping me pack my car. I was just glad they were letting me take my car to school. For no other reason than to be able to come home every weekend. I didn’t care what the reason was I was just happy to have a car at my disposal. “Jolene, may I talk to you for a minute?” With my arms full I stood there, “sure.” “Please can you put your stuff down.” I went to put the armload down on my desk. Vivian patted the bed. I wasn’t sure about sitting on my bed with anyone else but Dolly. “Please come sit with me.” She patted the bed again. I walked over and sat on the bed. “Joshua and I were talking and we are sorry if we made you feel like you weren’t smart. I hope you will join us for dinner tonight. It looked to me that you weren’t going to come back again the way you left last week.” Vivian was showing her true self, she cared about me and my family. She understood me. It shocked me that there would be someone else in my house that got me. “I don’t know if I can.” “Please, Joshua is downstairs waiting for you in the game room to apologize. I made sure he realized he was in the wrong last week and he finally came around to my way of thinking.” I saw a twinkle in her eye that I would learn later on when I got married. “Jolene, I was accepted to Princeton but my parents wanted me to go to an all-girls college. I did what they wanted me to do. Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing. You are not the only smart woman in that room. I let them think what they want but I have my ways of showing your brother that I am just as smart as him. I pick my battles. You have shown me that I need to speak up at these dinners. There, that is the end of my little speech.” For some reason I hugged Vivian and she actually hugged me back. “Thanks, Vivian. We need to show those guys that we are smart. You know Dolly is smart or she was before she had all those kids. Now she has what we call baby fog. She gets so frustrated that she can’t think of things when we talk. Dolly is a little afraid to speak her mind which makes me so upset sometimes.” We went downstairs to the game room and Joshua was there with the pool table all set for a game. I was thrilled that I beat him. He realized that I was practicing without him around. He apologized every time I sunk a ball in a pocket. I told him I appreciated him being so humble. He did beat me at darts by one point. I asked him if he wanted to challenge me in a game of chess.

< Back Hazelnut Truffles Prep Time: Several hours Cook Time: four or five hours but the more you do it the faster you can make them. Serves: depending on the size you make them around 80 to 90 Level: medium About the Recipe These semi-sweet chocolate Hazelnut Truffles will impress everyone who eats them if they love chocolate chips. They can be a little time consuming until you get the hang of it but they are worth it. I hope you, family and friends enjoy them. Ingredients 8 oz. semisweet chocolate, coarsely chopped 4 ox. Bittersweet chocolate , chopped ¼ cup half and half 1 cup unsalted butter, chilled ¼ cup hazelnut liqueur 1 cup toasted, skinned, finely chopped hazelnuts Preparation In a heavy medium saucepan combine the semisweet chocolate, bittersweet chocolate and half and half. Cook over low heat until chocolate is melted, stirring constantly; beat with whisk or mixer until mixture is smooth and has cooled to room temperature. Beat in butter 1 tbs. at a time. Beat in hazelnut liqueur 1 tbs at a time. Cover; refrigerate about 2 hours or until mixture is stiff and thick, stirring once or twice. Spread chopped nuts in a pie pan; drop chocolate mixture by tsp. onto nuts. Lightly roll mixture to cover with nuts. Balls may be slightly rough and irregular in shape. If you choice to dip them in semi-sweet chocolate. You can temper the chocolate or melt a bag of chocolate chip in a double boiler with a ¼ of a block of wax. If you put too much wax/paraffin the chocolate will be too thin and you will feel the wax. Otherwise it is harmless and you can’t taste it. It is easier than tempering the chocolate. If you dip, spread wax paper over a cookie sheet. Using a teaspoon or a small scooper and drop on the wax paper and repeat. When you have them all scooped roll them into a ball. You might have to put them in the refrigerator if they get to warm. When they are all formed refrigerator for a couple of hours to make it easier to dip. When you dip them I use a toothpick and stick it in the middle of the ball and dip, shaking off the excess back into the melted chocolate. Place them onto a clean cookie sheet lined with wax paper. Twist the toothpick as you pull it out. Dip the toothpick bake in the chocolate and dab on the top where the toothpick hole is. You can sprinkle the chopped hazelnuts at this time. Sometimes I put a whole roasted hazelnut in the inside of the chocolate ball. Store in airtight container in refrigerator up to 1 month or in freezer up to 6 months. 7 ½ dozen candies. Previous Next

< Back Pane Pugliese Bread of Puglia Prep Time: 15 minutes to make but four hours for both rising times Cook Time: 35 minutes Serves: makes 2 large loaves, 3 bread loaves and 4 small loaves pictured here Level: About the Recipe Ingredients 1 ¼ teaspoons active dry yeast or ½ small cake (9 grams) fresh yeast 1/3 cup warm water 3 cups water, room temperature 4/5 cup (200 grams) Biga 7 ½ cups (1000 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon (20 grams) salt Preparation By mixer Stir the yeast into the warm water in a large mixer bowl; let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes. Add 3 cups water and the starter (biga) and mix with the paddle until well blended. Add the flour and salt and mix until the dough comes together and pulls away from the side of the bowl, 1 to 2 minutes. You may need to add another 1 to 2 tablespoons flour. Change to the dough hook and knead at medium speed for 3 to 5 minutes. The dough will be very soft and elastic but will never pull entirely away from the bottom of the bowl. If you want, finish kneading by hand on a floured surface with floured hands until the dough loses it stickiness and is soft and velvety, about 1 minute. First Rise Place the dough in a lightly oiled large bowl or plastic tub cover tightly with plastic wrap, and let rise until tripled, about 3 hours. Do not punch down. Shaping and second rise Flour your work surface generously, flour a dough scraper and have a mound of flour nearby for your hands. Pour the dough out of the bowl, flour the top, and cut into 2 or 3 equal pieces, depending on how many loaves you are planning. Flatten each piece of dough and roll it up lengthwise, using your thumbs as a guide for how tight the roll should be. Turn the dough 90 degrees, pat it flat, then roll up again still using your thumbs as a guide. Shape each piece into a ball by rolling the dough between your cupped hands and using the surface of the work table to generate tension and pull the dough taut across the skin of the dough. Place the loaves on a floured parchment paper set on baking sheets or peels cover with a heavy towel or cloth and let rise until doubled, about 1 hour. Baking Thirty minutes before baking, heat the oven with baking stones in it to 450 degrees F. Five to ten minutes before baking, flour the tops of the loaves and dimple them all over with your fingertips. The imprints will disappear but will keep the bread from rising crazily in the oven. Let stand 5 to 10 minutes. The loaves will feel as soft as a baby’s bottom when ready to bake, although you will notice a bit of resistance in the dough. Sprinkle the stones with cornmeal. Italian bakers turn the dough over into the oven very carefully with a swooping motion that scoops up some of the flour on the peel. You may prefer to slide the loaves onto the baking stones without turning them over, or, if they are on baking sheets, the loaves can be baked directly on the pans. Bake until golden brown and crusty, about 50 to 60 minutes for the larger loaves, 30 to 35 minutes for the smaller ones. Check by knocking on the bottom of each loaf and listening for the hollow ring that indicates it is cooked through, but if you’re in doubt, bake for the longer time indicated. Cool on racks. Variation To make puccia, the traditional olive-studded bread of Puglia, knead a scant 8 ounces pitted small salty black olives into the dough after it has been mixed. Let the dough rise until triples. Divide into pieces the size of a lemon (7 ounces or 200 grams) and roll each piece into a ball. Let rise again covered until doubled and bake at 425 degrees F for 20 to 30 minutes. Or I mix in 25 grams each of wheat bran and wheat germ, 75 grams of ground flax seed and 200 grams of whole wheat flour then enough of all purpose flour to equal 1000 grams. I am not real picky on being exact except I want at least 600 grams of all purpose flour. Previous Next

< Back December 2025 Kimberly Caristi Dec 15, 2025 This Christmas party table is just a small part of our party celebration. We got into having a Christmas party when we were dating. When we were in college we took ashtrays from Arby’s to make ornaments. We bought store bought cookies and I made a couple of cookies that I knew by heart. We gathered our friends the first Saturday after the Thanksgiving weekend. Had a few friends bring their guitars and we say sang Christmas songs. We continued having it on that first Saturday after we got married until my body gave out. I miss making as many candies, cookies, dips and appetizers in one week as I could. The only item I started before that week was I soaked my stemmed cherries in rum for a couple of weeks. People couldn’t believe I did everything in a week. I couldn’t have done it without my kids and husband taking up the slack and helping me or doing my duties around the house. We would get our Christmas tree the weekend after Thanksgiving and started decorating our tree and home. We cut down a tree if we could find a tree farm; if not it was a non-profit place. The last thirteen years we have decorated an artificial tree. I always was sick when we had our party and it took forever for me to realize it was the Christmas tree making me sick. I would get a sinus infection that always turned into bronchitis or worse. Previous Next

The site is about Kimberly Caristi's books, travel, recipes and photography. Welcome to my heart. Let me open the door. “Cooking is a caring and nurturing act. It’s the kind of the ultimate gift for someone to cook for them.” -Curtis Stone “Traveling – it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.” – Ibn Battuta “So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.” – Paulo Coelho Kimberly's Bio