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

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. Written by Kimberly Caristi 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. Italy The flight to Milan was not as bad as expected. I thought I would be crying the whole way or whining that I didn’t want to be going to Italy. Jane was good at keeping me distracted and made sure I did everything I was supposed to do to ensure a good flight. I had only flown a few times and wasn’t a fan. Getting through the airport was a team effort, I read the Italian then Jane directed us. Renting a car in a foreign country was easier than I expected. Jane was elected to do all the driving by default. Being an inexperience driver had its advantages. The scenery kept changing and I took picture after picture through the bug splattered windshield. Seeing the difference in homes, manufacturing complexes and even the trees changed. We saw some of the most beautiful cars I have ever seen. I wanted to know why we didn’t rent one of them. Jane laughed at me saying if we could afford to rent them would we be able to pay for the tickets for speeding we would get? I was happy just taking a picture of them. The excitement built as we traveled further south. When the Adriatic came into view it was hard not to tell Jane to pull off the road so I could take a picture. Jane offered several times to pull off so I could take a nice picture. I declined the offer though secretly I wished she would stop every ten minutes. The colors of the sea against the sky made it challenging to see where the water ended and the sky began with all the different colors of blue melding together. The view was intoxicating. We decided that tomorrow we were definitely going to get our feet wet in the sea. We talked nonstop for the five and half hours of driving. We stopped once at an Autogrill for lunch and some coffee. The variety of items we could buy made it hard to say no to anything. The look we got from the cashier was very telling. We should have stopped when our arms were full. We kept dropping off items at the checkout stand and telling the clerk that we were not ready yet. We bought so much I didn’t know when we would eat or drink it all. Both of us were excited when we started climbing up the large hill where Macerata sat. That was our destination. Neither of us had ever been to Italy. What made it more intriguing was that we were staying in a medieval walled city. It was a little more exciting than I thought it would be. You could see the well-crafted walls and the city that had sprawled out from them. We were zig zagging our way up the hill and when my ears popped, I decided to tell my parents that I was living on a mountain. I could see real mountains that were alluring, large and looming in the distance. We decided that we would have to drive up those mountains another day. I started thinking that everything we said we would leave for another day was piling up. So many walled cities, castles, churches, we even saw we could easily go to another country on the way to Macerata. Now we added mountains. How were we going to get all these places visited before we leave in two weeks? Macerata day one I couldn’t keep my mouth closed anymore. “Okay, we have driven around the outside of the walls three times. This is the only entrance that we have seen someone go into the town. I say take it.” I had sat quietly as Jane drove up the little mountain to the beautiful town of Macerata and while she traversed the town. The walls that surround the historic center of town were stunning and it looked like it was new construction though it was built in the fifteenth and sixteenth century. Jane was great at research and told me so many things that I didn’t absorb. My excuse was, well, because I didn’t want to. My mind was elsewhere and I knew she was trying to distract me. The tidbit of information that stuck was about the walls. It was impressive that the town’s people kept maintaining the walls and finally settled on a permanent location for an opera house. “Let me go around one more time. This angle and the hill make me a little nervous. Even the hills where you are from don’t have turns like this.” “You fly fighter planes and this makes you nervous?” She was right about where I was from though a little farther south, the mountains did get a little higher. There they had a few of these kinds of hairpin turns. “I don’t see you driving.” I instantly backed off. She was getting testy. “Sorry. Maybe we can find someone willing to drive us into the town.” I really didn’t think it would be a big deal driving in a foreign country. I was so wrong when it came to hill towns. I felt a little relieved that we weren’t driving in the United Kingdom where they drive on the other side of the road. I was glad I had the excuse that I don’t drive a manual. “No, I am going to figure this out.” Jane was leaning forward with her facial features all pinched. Jane was gorgeous though at that moment I thought I might be the prettier one. Again, we came to one of three openings, Jane turned and drove up the hill without stalling. I clapped, “Yea! You did it.” “Now I have to find the apartment. The GPS seems happier that we took that turn.” I was a little tired of the woman saying, recalculating. Jane was not pleased with me when I said wee as we went down the hill, she back slapped my arm. Dean and I didn’t grow up shoving, back slapping or fighting. We never felt the need to do that. I have learned that was not normal brother sister behavior. Dean is my best friend. I texted him almost daily and we talked if we had more than a one- or two-line text. Jane, Adam, Pete and Bruce fought, wrestled and teased each other. That said they were all the best of friends and very protective of each other. I saw a faint number, “Oh, I think that was it. Can you back up?” The numbers were sparse on this road and that didn’t help matters when you were trying to find a place. “NO!” We definitely needed some wine when we parked this car. “There is a car behind us. I will just turn around.” It was my turn to yell, “Where?” “I am sure there will be a place.” I felt like the walls were closing in on us. Both of us were leaning into the middle of the car thinking that would help like when you go around sharp corners. Jane stopped the car, “Pull in the side mirrors.” Man can she bark orders. There was a reason why she was a Major in the Army. Well, there was no place for Jane to turn around and we were pushed out of the walls. Another turn around the outside of the walls. “Oh, I missed this road.” Jane back smacked me again. “Hey, I did. There is space here to drive. I am glad you are driving because otherwise we would have been playing bumper cars with the walls if I drove.” Well, that got a chuckle out of Jane. The second time she drove up the hill like a champ. I reached out both of my hands and gripped her arms. I laid my head on her shoulder. “Dart, get off, I need to shift.” “But you are my hero.” “Stop it. I don’t know why Adam.” She stopped abruptly. She promised me she would not bring up Adam until we were drinking a glass of wine in our apartment. We were really fools thinking I and probably Jane hadn’t been thinking of anything else but him since we got on the plane to come to Italy. “Sorry.” Well at least she said it nicely. “That’s okay. Oh, look, that must be the landlady. She opened the garage for you. Can you pull the car in?” Jane gave me a dirty look, “Please.” “Sorry.” “Stop saying sorry so much.” I looked at her. What is wrong with saying sorry? I was sorry. It must be a military thing. “Okay.” I couldn’t believe that we were staying inside the walls of the town. More importantly, I couldn’t believe the ease that Jane drove through those narrow streets. She looked calm until I said something. She easily maneuvered the car into the garage of the apartment. She took a deep breath and said, “I can’t believe I just did that.” She turned to me, “Did you see how narrow those streets were? The angle of which I had to turn to get into the garage? This car is staying here for a few days until I recover from the drive.” Again, I thought about her being in the military. You always put on a brave face and act like your job was easy. Our landlady was standing outside of the garage as we got out. She started rattling off information about the apartment and the garage. I tried to answer her when she was asking questions. I wasn’t sure she even heard me. I was glad I could understand most of her dialect. Then I translated to Jane “Yes, we were in the right place though parking will be an extra cost. If we want to park in the city garage it would cost a little less.” Jane’s quick response was, “I will pay the extra!” Our apartment was on the top floor, which was the third floor or what the Italians call the second floor. It was small, but I thought it was perfect for two. In some respects, it was bigger than our place in New York. It had two bedrooms which surprised us both. We had already said that we would share a bed while Jane was here. I couldn’t believe Adam had rented this place for a month. I walked around touching everything as the landlady told us about the air-conditioner, washer, internet and cable. The maid will come in once a week to do the laundry, floors and dust. Wow, I couldn’t believe we have a maid. I probably could clean the whole place in no time. Jane reminded me that Adam didn’t want me to have to work so that was why the extra attention. After Jane and I unpacked, we met in the kitchen to go through the welcome basket the landlady left for us. We had a local bottle of wine, some pasta and a jar of sauce, biscotti and crackers and a box of chocolates from a local candy store. There were a couple liters of water and a wedge of cheese in the little refrigerator. We had coffee, tea and local honey in the cabinet next to the stove. I was happy we had an espresso machine that we could make a cappuccino if we wanted. The kitchen was well stocked with everything we needed to cook and more. I didn’t know what a couple of gadgets were, of course, Jane knew what each item's purpose was. She would be considered a gourmet cook compared to me. I cooked very simple, though Jane could take the simplest of ingredients and make them taste like a seasoned chef spent all day on the dish. When she would visit, Adam and I would stock the house with all kinds of stuff and she would go nuts planning meals out of everything we purchased. We loved her visits. I was pretty good at picking out the wine for the meal she had planned but that was because I had a very good wine shop around the corner with a guy who knew what he was selling and what wine pairs well with the food his clients were having. I was planning on doing the same here. I knew there had to be someone here to help us with local wines. Our living room had a couch that was okay. A little too firm for my taste. I wanted a couch that I could sink into and relax. The one chair was a little better than okay though still not soft enough for me. We had a tv that probably wouldn’t be turned on and a dining table with six chairs. I thought the two of us would fit just fine in the kitchen with the table for two. The bedrooms were sufficient for our needs. We each had a full bed, a cabinet for clothes and a night stand. We each had a bathroom that was small but mine had a washer in it so instead of a bathtub shower combo I just had a shower. I did have a little balcony off of my room. It was big enough to have a chair and that was it. The bigger balcony off of the living room was enough for a little table and two chairs. I was pretty sure that we would be sitting out there all the time when we were here. The view from the large balcony was of the mountains while my bedroom view, I could see the Adriatic Sea between a couple other buildings. Jane said we were about seventeen miles from the sea. I have no idea how to convert kilometers so I trusted her figures. We had a couple of weeks before Jane had to report to her base so we were going to make the best of the time we had together. We decided that most of the time we would talk about Adam and our lives growing up while Jane was still in Macerata. We needed to heal together. I thought I needed to learn as much as I could about Adam. I had no idea if it was healthy or not. I just needed to know more. I craved more. I thought if I knew everything about Adam I wouldn’t hurt so much. That might have been a silly thing but that was what I thought. So far, I knew we had such different experiences growing up. They moved often and I never left my small community. I had friends from when I was little and she didn’t remember having a good friend ever. Her brother, Adam, was her best friend growing up. They just had this tremendous bond like my brother Dean and me. Their family could not have been closer. That was one of the things that Adam and I had in common…a close-knit family. “First things first. I need to stretch my legs.” Jane said as she locked arms with me and we headed out the door. “Let’s start by walking through town to see what is what.” The narrow roads, more like paths, that people shared with the cars took some time getting used to. The first time a car drove by I threw myself up against the wall. Jane laughed so hard she was crying. I thought she was going to pee in her pants. She imitated me by jumping and pressing herself against the wall of a garage several times until I started laughing too. Seriously, some of the cars drove so fast it scared me. Jane kept reminding me that they are only going about twenty miles an hour, but still. I thought when people were walking on the road, cars should drive at a snail’s pace. Once I almost started to cry then Jane realized that some of my shakiness came from the memory of how Adam... She came over and put her arm around me. “Dart, just because Adam was killed by a car doesn’t make all drivers crazy. These people have been driving through these streets for many years and they have great spatial reasoning. The only way they will hit you is if you jump in front of them. We have to pay attention but not freak out every time a car passes us.” She looked me in the eyes, “Okay?” “Okay” I said, shakier than I wanted. I didn’t want to be scared, nevertheless when I heard a car coming it reminded me of Adam and how he died. I got better at not reacting to cars passing me the farther we walked. Jane would say, car coming, and step to the side. Once we got to the big piazza, I was calmer. I didn't care, I still needed a drink even if it was only lunch time. Jane suggested that we have a sit-down lunch at the outdoor café and people watch. When I gave her a look she added, “and have a glass of wine.” Lunch was wonderful and the waitress practiced her English on us and I practiced my Italian. She knew I wasn’t from Le Marche and wanted to know what city I was from. She guessed I had to be from Tuscany. She was impressed with my language skills. I was honored. Jane was annoyed. She wished she could speak Italian. She had only understood a couple of words the waitress and I spoke. I would have to remember to translate the conversations better from here on out. Claudia, our waitress, pointed the way to a little grocery store where we could find the supplies we needed plus a few more treats. She also had given us directions to the local cheese shop, telling us this was the only place to buy cheese unless we found a local farmer to buy it from directly. The cheese shop would have some local sausages and salami that we should try. Claudia especially wanted us to try the Ciauscolo, it was a Macerata special salume that was spreadable like pate. It sounded interesting so I put it in my phone so I could remember the name. More maze-like roads to walk on our way to the grocery store. We saw a sign in a passageway directing us to the grocery store. Once our eyes got adjusted to the darkness, we saw another sign that directed us down the stairs to the grocery store. We were surprised when we walked down the stairs to the store, there we could see the street that we had driven on a couple of hours before. It was like a two-story house built on the side of a hill. We walked in the top floor and out the bottom level. It was fun at the grocery store looking at all the things we could buy. Jane said she would cook as we walked around the store. I could tell she was excited and obviously remembered the last time I cooked for her when I burnt the whole meal. In recent years we took her out to dinner more often. She loved to be out with us and have someone recognize me or Adam. She loved the celebrity part of our careers. I really loved performing but was always surprised that someone wanted my autograph. I was flattered that someone recognized me and wanted my picture taken with them. I was not happy when a fan would catch me with no makeup on and wasn’t dressed the best. I learned quickly when I was becoming a celebrity that I had to go out with a base of makeup on and clean clothes. No more wearing stained clothes to go to the grocery store or running into the drug store. Dinner was simple and delicious. Jane made a marinara and pasta with baked chicken. She taught me a new way of cutting a chicken and cooking it. I didn’t think I would forget her cutting off the head and the feet. I probably would forget the word spatchcock. It was cool how she cut it and put another cast iron skillet over it to flatten it. It made it cook faster, she said. She put me in charge of making a salad of lettuce, peppers, tomatoes, olives. I made a light vinaigrette dressing. This dressing has been handed down in my dad’s family for ages. It was Jane’s favorite and I was sure it would be handed down in her family from now on. For dessert we picked up a crostata filled with an apricot filling. It’s like a flat pie filled with jam. What’s not to like? We drank the local wine which I loved. I would have to look to see if we can find a Verdicchio wine from Matelica when I get home. I have had it from Jesi but it was a whole different level of white wine that I would like to explore. Jane looked around the kitchen and seemed satisfied that everything was cleaned and put back in its right place. “Okay dinner is over, let's finish the wine on our balcony. We can watch the sunset over the mountains.” “Good idea, Jane. We make a good team. Adam and I took turns making dinner and doing dishes. I like how we did it together. You are so fast and efficient I wanted to work just as fast. I couldn’t let you beat me by putting everything away while I did the few dishes.” “Ha, that was how our dad taught us. He would stand there and watch us do the dishes while someone was putting the food away and cleaning the counters and table. He would say “Pete is winning, Bruce is catching up.” It was a play by play of us cleaning up the kitchen. It was one of my early memories of him trying to get us to move fast at picking up toys to climbing walls at the gym.” “My first memory was just flashes of me under tables in a dark room. I remember looking at my bare feet and wiggling my toes. When I got older, I asked my mom, “Do you remember any reason why and what I was doing? My dad overheard and busted out laughing, he said ‘you my dear were an escape artist in your earlier life.’” Jane laughed at that. I ignored her and continued. I wanted and needed to tell her my memory because she hadn’t heard how I got my name. “My mom interrupted his laughter and gave more of an explanation, she said, yes, because your dad and I were on stage and your babysitters were all the people behind the scenes. We had taken off your shoes because we never thought about how loud they would sound while we were singing or dancing…she said it was their bad. My mom was upset that they hadn’t thought about the hard soles before buying my shoes. When they heard my shoes making such a clatter backstage, it would distract them because they knew someone was chasing me.” “My dad intervened; little did they think that taking off my new shoes would make it harder for people to keep track of me. I was so little and quick that I would dart off faster than they could say do-re-me. My dad sang it as if he were about to start a song. He will never stop singing until he dies, he says. That was when I got my nickname Dart.” Jane made a snorting sound and about choked on her wine. “You know that really fits you. I remember walking with you in New York and asking you where the fire was. You had no idea what I was talking about. I never met anyone who could walk so fast and change direction in a flash.” I sat there sipping my wine thinking of the day when they told me that story. Every time since when they would tell other people or more likely my dad would tell my story, I always knew what was coming next. I would never know if it was because he was proud of me or if it amused him. He said, “You would dart all over the grounds. We would hear stories of you showing up at a demonstration and you would dart in and around people to get the best view. Mind you no one ever minded a sweet little girl with curly black hair and sparkly blue eyes maneuvering around them to get a better look. It was the person who was in charge of watching you that people would get annoyed at.” He would always shake his finger at me when he told me this story. “Finally, the demonstrator and the babysitter would give signals that they had eyes on you.” When he told that story when I was young, he would tap me on the nose. As I got older, he would reframe because he knew I thought I was too old for that kind of attention. One of the stage hands wanted to name me Eel because I was as slippery as an eel. I was so glad that nickname didn’t stick. I realized I hadn’t finished my story, “Other people had other nicknames for me but I kind have gotten so used to Dart I don’t mind it. It’s better than my real name…Dorothy.” “You are a star. You can change it.” “I am not a star.” “I beg to differ. I have been with you when people come up and ask for your autograph. In my book that is a star.” “I am just an actress. I think a star is reserved for the movies.” We sat and drank our wine. Finally, I said, “My mom named me after Dorothy of the “Wizard of Oz.” The first time she saw the movie she knew that was what she wanted to do.” “Find the Wizard?” I gave her a dirty look even though she couldn’t see me. The sun rays behind the mountains had gone away. “I am not answering that question. When my mom made it to New York she thought it was her lucky movie that got her there. She vowed if she ever had a little girl, she was going to name her Dorothy.” “How did Dean get his name?” “My dad’s favorite singer, Dean Martin.” “Your parents are old.” “Hey, not that old, it's just that my grandpa Moretti was a huge fan and they listened to Dean Martin all the time. That was when my dad started his singing career trying to imitate Dean Martin. You should hear my dad’s impression of him. He is dead on. Do you guys have stories on how you got your names?” “Not as good as yours. I am named after my mom’s best friend. Pete is named after our grandfather. Bruce and Adam don’t have stories that my parents talk about. I think they were named after some characters in a book. My mom is always reading. I know your family has so many stories but we don’t. More likely we don’t have a storyteller like your dad. When one of us tells a story of what happened when we were kids we get into a big argument. No one remembers them the same way. Every family should have a storyteller so we can remember the truth of what happened.” “Oh, my dad can get carried away telling what happened so don’t take what my dad says as the truth until my mom agrees. Anyway, I don’t know about your family not having a storyteller, Adam told me stories about the musicals that he choreographed in your living room.” “Oh, those were fun nights. You know, even my dad, who is this big military man who knew the ins and outs of a Bradley, loved musicals. That was the only night we ate dinner in front of the tv. We would watch a musical and afterwards Adam would perform part of it. Sometimes the rest of us kids would do it with him. I guess he was our storyteller.” She paused for a moment, “Do you think drinking soda through red licorice is as good as you remember it?” I could tell Jane had gone mournful thinking that Adam was their family’s storyteller and he was gone. I was feeling emotionally strong enough to try to help her feel better. The only thing I thought about was her last statement. “Yick, I never tried it. Soda is not good for singers. Besides, I never got used to the bubbles. I do remember someone giving a bloody nose to a fourth grader.” “Hey, nobody makes fun of my brother and gets away with it. My dad made sure that we were all combat ready at an early age. We might fight with each other but we were to protect our siblings. When you move as much as we did you learn very fast who your friends are…they are your siblings. I was a girl in a house filled with boys and I never got to use the girl excuse.” “What are you talking about, girl excuse?” “You don’t know what it means? It’s, ‘I can’t do that because I am a girl.’” She said it in a very flamboyant voice. “I changed tires, mowed lawns and anything that a boy scout could do, I could do. We moved to a place that didn’t have girl scouts and my dad went to the boy scout meeting with all of us. They happened to be in a gym. My dad had me climb the rope, do pushups and pull ups then dared them to do the same. They accepted me into the group though I quit when I got my period. That was my mom’s rule. She knew that I could handle myself around a bunch of boys though when you have your period you get emotional and she knew I wouldn’t want to cry in front of anyone.” Jane leaned back in her chair. “I had great parents.” “I did too.” George and Brenda Moretti’s Story I went to bed thinking about my parents’ stories. My father was the best story teller I knew and growing up where I did, we had a lot of storytellers. He always had Dean and me mesmerized when he told our family stories. He would tell us it was hard for him to pick his favorite story to tell. He rather we pick our favorite story. The truth be told we knew his favorite one to tell was their story, my mom and dad’s story. He always got this look in his eyes like he was seeing it for the first time. The time he first saw my mom he knew he was going to marry her. When he told us their story, he would call out to my mom, “when did you know you loved me, Brenda?” She always replied, “the second after you did, George.” We didn’t seem to be the normal family, my parents had Dean and me late in their lives. Having parents that were in their forties made for Dean and me to have to say over and over, no, they are not my grandparents. When I went to kindergarten my mom was almost forty-seven and my dad was fifty-one. I didn’t know I had older parents. They were more active than most parents. They were still singing and dancing in shows at the park every day. They played games on the floor with Dean and me while not complaining about any aches or pains. I didn’t care about their ages because we were all so happy. I knew my parents' love story backwards and forwards from all the times we asked my father to tell us their story. My mom grew up in a small town in Kansas. She couldn’t wait until she could get out of her dinky town as she called it. My dad would make a face when he talked about the town she grew up in. She had started college hoping that would get her on her way out of town. One day she went to a musical that was traveling through the university system. She went backstage after it was over and asked how she could get a part in the show. The director laughed at her. My mother was not happy with the guy and told the director she could sing better than anyone in the show. The director stepped back and folded his arms and said alright, prove it. My dad always told this part with so much pride. He said my mother looked around and straightened her blazer then started to belt out this song that was so exquisite everyone stopped what they were doing and came to watch her. When my mother was finished, she turned around and started to walk off. The director said hey, aren’t you curious about what I think? My mother said no, I know I sang it perfectly and continued to walk. The director started after her, trying to get her to stop. He yelled after her I will hire you. My mother said I am not interested in working for you because you laughed at me. Dad would again puff out his chest at that point. He would say the director sent me after her to try to get her to come back and the rest was history. My dad has so much charm my mom said he could wrap anyone around his little finger. They eventually got jobs in New York City off Broadway. It took them a little longer to get there and longer to get bit parts in shows on Broadway. That was when my mom felt her dreams of being the next Judy Garland might come true. Her mother always thought that was her destiny. Grandma Berg always had my mom in dance and singing classes since she was very little. Grandma knew that her little girl had lots of talent when she would play her records. My mom could sing along and sound just as good as the record. Grandma Berg wished her little girl would not get stuck in a small town like she did. My mom invariably laughed at that part; she would say look at where we ended up. After they had been in New York for a while and the parts that mom and dad were getting weren’t the headliners they were just the second lead a couple of times. My mom was getting frustrated to the point of wanting something different. One day mom told dad that they should look for a place where they could still sing and start having a family. Dad said they were moving to Branson, Missouri faster than she could blink. For a while, he wanted a family and had been looking for a place for them to live where they could make a living and have a family. My dad’s favorite line was “the rest is history.” My father loved telling our stories. He would ask us if we were tired of hearing them but to Dean and me, they never got old. My father was such a great storyteller he could have made a living at it if he weren’t such a wonderful singer. I knew I was biased but he always had people asking him to tell a story when we had parties at the park. Sometimes if my father got carried away and was telling more lives than truths my mother would interrupt him and tell him “Hey, Pinocchio you are stretching the truth a little too much there aren’t you.” My dad would cough and he would adjust the story or say my mother didn’t know what she was talking about. Whoever was listening would just laugh at the two of them. They say you marry your father and I kind of did. My father's story was that he grew up everywhere. He was a military brat just like Adam. His father had a successful career in the Army too. I never met my grandpa and grandma Moretti; they died soon after I was born. Dad was one of three sons and he was the baby. He said he was an accident because his brothers were all so much older than him. Uncle Douglas married Aunt Martha and they have four daughters. Dad said the girls were payback because Uncle Douglas always wished that Uncle Theodore and dad were girls so he wouldn’t have to share his bedroom with them. They all live in Washington D.C.. Uncle Douglas took after my grandpa Moretti. He graduated from West Point and has a long career in the military. Uncle Theodore married Aunt Kay and they have one child Teddy. We saw them once when they traveled across the country to move from New York to L.A.. Teddy was adopted and was the biggest brat as far as I remember. He was a few years older than Dean and it seemed to us that he loved to torment us. Uncle Theodore and Aunt Kay seemed so much older than mom and dad but I think it was because they were tired of having to deal with Teddy. I didn’t feel like I was missing out on not having my aunts and uncles around because I had so many people who cared about me in the park. I was watched and cared for by so many of them that it felt like I lived in a place that was a commune of my extended family. We lived more in the park than at our own home. Our home was very small but my parents made it feel like we had the best home. We had one room for our living room and kitchen. The kitchen was set up in one corner and in the other corner was a table we used for everything from eating our meals, to doing homework, writing music, or cutting out patterns of our costumes. Our small living room housed the sewing machine, a ratty couch, two overstuffed arm chairs that had seen better days. Where most people had a television set, we had a piano. On the walls were a couple guitars and a banjo. In its case was my mother’s violin which rested on the piano. If someone played the piano it was gingerly placed on the table along with the bow case. My dad played them all except my mother’s violin. Oh, he could play it but my mom wouldn’t let him. She didn’t know that when she wasn’t around Dean and I would beg him to play one of our favorite songs. He played it with so much vim and vigor it even made Dean dance with me. Dean didn’t sing though he was a pretty good dancer. He was pretty good on his feet. My mom played the violin while she sang for her talent in a beauty contest that grandma entered her in. She would sing the most bewitching ballads and when she played, you felt like you were floating along in a lazy river. My mom could play the piano and a little guitar. Dad taught Dean and me to play the guitar and my mom taught us to play the piano. Dean could pick at the banjo but my dad made it come alive when he played it. Later I picked up the violin though I played it more like my mom than my dad. My dad built a partition in Dean’s and my room so we had our own space. My parents had given us the larger of the two bedrooms. I got the closet side and Dean’s clothes were in a dresser except for a couple of dress shirts. We were happy that we had one bathroom indoors. If anyone were desperate, they could use the outhouse in the back corner of the yard. I was not a fan of spiders or taking a chance on seeing a snake along the way out there. If I had to go to the bathroom when someone was using the inside toilet, I would just do a dance outside the door until they came out. The property was thick with trees of all varieties. I loved looking out at the trees as they blossomed in the spring. The redbuds bloomed first, which I really thought should have been called purple buds because the flowers were purple. Soon after the dogwood trees bloomed, they would fill the house with their beautiful scent. I loved honeysuckle and thought the dogwood kind of smelled like them. When the lilacs were in bloom, every day my mom would bring a new bouquet into the house. Macerata Day two: It was wonderful waking up in a bright airy room. The sheets on the bed were nice and it was hard to pull myself out of bed. I could smell coffee so I knew Jane was up. Jane said a little chipper, “Good morning sleepy head.” I looked at the clock, “It’s nine o’clock.” I said with disgust. She was acting like I slept the day away. “When did you get up?” “I was up at seven. I have already taken my shower. Wrote to my parents a letter telling them how our trip went and what we have seen so far. Go get ready so we can go for another walk.” “I need coffee and something to eat first.” As I poured a cup of coffee I eyed the crostata and decided I would have a slice of it with my coffee. I saw the look she gave me. “Tell me a story of you and Adam.” I saw it on her face that she wasn’t ready to talk about Adam. “Come on, something that made you laugh. I need a good laugh.” I made a pouty face. “I know that pouty face. Adam couldn’t resist that face. I, on the other hand, can.” Jane sighed. “Okay, you are not getting your way. I just know you need coffee before you do anything. I know you are stubborn enough that you aren’t going anywhere until you have it.” She stood there for a minute then sat down with me. “Have you heard about the time that Adam wanted to go skating?” I took a sip of my coffee and smiled. “No.” “Once Adam wanted to go ice skating when we lived in Minnesota. Both of my parents said they didn’t have time to take us to the skating rink. They thought maybe we could go next week. Well, Adam didn’t like ‘the maybe’ so he decided to flood our backyard to make our own skating rink.” I chuckled at that. If he got it in his head, he was bound and determined to get what he wanted. “That sounds about right.” “Yeah, I know. Well, while my parents were gone, he hooked up the hose to the kitchen faucet and ran it out the door to the backyard and let the hose run for a couple of hours. Bruce and Pete said they were not taking responsibility for this and went to the park to go sledding there.” “Knowing Bruce and Pete, they didn’t want to stop him because they wanted it but didn’t want to get in trouble.” I gave her a slice of the crostata. Seeing her take it made me smile bigger. She said that she was going to watch what she ate. I was corrupting her. “You are so right. Anyway, we had had snow that had been trampled down in the backyard so in those areas the water stayed on top. Adam worked the broom over the other areas. If he stopped, the broom would freeze to the ground. It was so cold. Adam wondered if he stood still would his boots freeze to the ground. If you are wondering, they did. It was so cold it didn’t take long. He couldn’t get them loose. He pulled his feet out of the boots and tried to pull them up.” “Oh, no.” “Well, his socks got stuck.” That made me giggle. “The water was still pouring out around him, mind you. Thank goodness that he had on thick socks with such exaggeration and silliness he was able to pull his feet out of the socks. I was laughing so hard I almost peed in my pants. I made him come in because I was afraid he would get frostbite. I had him wrap his feet in blankets until they felt warm.” “What about the hose?” She tapped her nose then pointed to me. “We had forgotten about the water running until we went to get lunch. Adam had to go out and chip out the hose and boots. His socks were too hard and he thought they looked cool under the ice. We had a pretty good ice-skating rink with socks in the middle of it for almost a month. Adam had to work off the hose that he ruined and some of the water bill. My parents were mad for a day then they had fun skating with their boots on. The next year my parents made a way better one. Of course, the following year we moved to Texas so no ice-skating rink there.” “You do have cool parents. Okay you did your job. I laughed a little. I knew Adam was strong willed. I guess he was always that way.” “It was obvious that he wanted you from day one and he worked his magic on you in a very short time.” I got up to give Jane a hug. I needed to hear things like that. I felt it but it was nice to hear it from someone else. I wiped away a tear. “Okay, I am off to take a shower. I am not going to wear any makeup and I am just pulling back my hair into a ponytail. I doubt if there are any paparazzi around here.” “I don’t know what you worry about, you look just as beautiful with or without makeup…and I hate you for it.” She shoved me in the shoulder. I ignored her comment. She was just as good looking as Adam. You could tell everyone took after Mr. Bailey. I could never call him Arthur or dad. It felt too weird to me. I did my best to not call him anything while Adam and I were married. They only came once to see one of our plays and it was the last one. I think it was our best play. Great, now I was crying. It was hard for me to think of what could have been. It makes me so sad. I tried to give myself a pep talk. ‘You are only thirty-two. You still look pretty good when you aren’t crying. Look at this lovely last gift your husband gave you. Walk with your head held high and enjoy it.’ I pulled the massive amount of hair back into a ponytail. My hair was starting to dry around the edges framing my face with wisps of fine curls. “You really don’t look that bad.” I really had to work on my verbiage. I needed to be more positive. It was hard to keep focused on what we were doing because everything was catching our eyes. I really wanted to get a drawing pad and draw this stunning city. We were so distracted walking that Jane literally ran into a man as he was coming out of a store. He was a handsome man dressed immaculately and Jane was speechless. He was flirting with her and she was acting shy for once. At first, I did the talking but when he realized that she didn’t speak Italian he switched to English. He gave her his card and asked her to call him. He would like to show us a little bit of his community. Jane took the card and thanked Gianluca. Gianluca turned his attention to me, “Please make sure she calls me,” then he winked at Jane. After Gianluca left Jane just shook her head, “Boy, is he pushy and a big flirt.” “I thought he was nice.” “Here, you call him then.” Jane handed me Gianluca’s business card. “You have to be nuts if you think I will call him.” I looked at the nicely designed card. I handed her the card back. “This is kismet.” “What?” “Look at what he does for a living.” I watched her face change as she read the card. “This doesn’t mean anything.” “Oh, I think it does. Jane, you have to call him to see who is right.” “Just because he is a pilot and teaches flying you think it’s meant to be?” “You’d better believe it.” Jane pocketed the card and we continued on. It took almost the whole day before she brought up Gianluca again. We bantered back and forth until she finally called him. We will meet him in the upper piazza at noon tomorrow. For dinner we had picked up a few salami, sausages, cheeses, a loaf of bread and another bottle of wine. With the fruit and vegetables that we had we made another delicious dinner. I loved eating that way because I knew there would be leftovers. Sitting out on the balcony, Jane asked when I knew I was going to be a singer. The First memories that stay with you, they become your story. My earliest memory that was more than just a snippet of time was when I was three, almost four years old. My parents were on stage and my guard lost track of me and I came out dancing a silly ballet dance that would make my family laugh. I got to the upstage left and stopped, then I curtsied in front of the audience, they started clapping. My parents were dumbfounded and stood there for a minute and my mom started coming after me and my dad stopped her. “Let her take her bow.” Then I started to sing the song that my parents were to start singing after they were done with their banter, they did half way through their set. My parents were shocked that I knew the song. Again, my mom started for me and again my dad stopped her and took the mic over for me. My dad bent down on one knee to hold the mic for me to sing into. I did a bunch of their gestures and when there was a pause in the singing the piano player, who was the music director, started playing softly while I did a not-so-great soft step that my parents did. I got a standing ovation. That memory stands out as my favorite memory of all time. I ate it up as they say. I curtsied so much that I started to get dizzy. My parents pretended it was part of the act and sang the last part with me on my dad’s hip singing along. The guard, as I named him, who was supposed to be babysitting me while my parents worked, stepped onto stage when the song ended and took me from my dad. I gave my guard a kiss in front of everyone hoping that he wouldn’t be too mad at me for running off and getting on stage. The audience made the awe sound which I thought helped my guard not scold me. The rest of the show he had me sit on his lap and wouldn’t let me down. Before my parents were finished with their set, I had all the performers coming up to tell me I did a fantastic job. When their act was finished, my parents ran off stage, my father swept me up into his arms. He was so proud of me. My mother on the other hand started to lecture me one why I was to stay with my babysitter. I think in my head there were so many things to explore I really didn’t think I was running away. I just wanted to see what was next. Going on stage was planned. I had been practicing my parents’ routine in my head all summer long. I knew that song but nobody had time for me to hear me sing. I thought I would make them all have time if I went on stage during a performance. It worked and everyone heard me. The music director came up behind them cutting off my mother who was still chastising me for running away again. Since the show was over the music director brought me over to the piano. “Sweet Dart, can you make this sound?” As he hit a key. I stepped up to the piano and hit the key he had, “There.” I backed up very proud of myself. My dad said he knew what the director was trying to do. “Dorothy,” I knew he was serious when he used my name and not my cool nickname. At least, I thought it was cool when I was young now, I just thought it was a part of who I was. Dean hated his name because some people thought he was named after sour cream. My dad said my mom should have named me after Judy Garland because I had such a magnificent voice just like her. “You know how daddy warms up his throat by singing la, la la? Do you think you can do it with me? We are going to sound like the piano, okay?” “Okay, but then can I play the piano?” Daddy looked at the director and he shook his head yes. “You have a deal though you have to sing with me as long as I say, first.” He stuck out his hand and I knew we had a deal. I sang along with my dad. I had no idea what I was doing at the time but everyone was standing around us as we sang la, la, la then we progressed to do-re-me. We ended with the song that I sang on stage. I remember all that happened that day though the faces I saw were the faces that I brought up in my memory when I was nervous about something or wondered if I could do it. It was like I was their child learning to walk for the first time or say my first word. When I finished everyone cheered and clapped. I did too, though I had no idea why they were clapping. My dad picked me up and tossed me in the air then set me back down, “My darling Dart you are more like your mother every day.” He reached down to tousle my hair. I smiled because I loved my mommy more than anything. “You not only have her gorgeous black curly hair and smile; you have inherited her perfect pitch.” He surmised that I had no idea what perfect pitch meant. “You sing as beautifully as mommy,” tapping my nose. “I sing as good as mommy?” I cocked my head, “Does that mean I can sing in the show?” Everyone laughed at this conniving little three-year-old. I was sure they thought if I were in the show, they wouldn’t have to keep an eye on me. They had been holding their breath until the director answered yes, and everyone exhaled with relief. Stan, the music director, was extremely tall and I used to call him my gentle giant. He wore black pants, a blue pinstripe shirt with black garters on his upper arms, a blue vest, a black string tie and to top off his costume, a black bowler hat. That day he knelt down trying to get to my height though he was more my mommy’s height. He tapped me on the nose, “Would you like to sing that song with your mommy and daddy?” I ran and hugged him around his upper thighs. He picked me up and I kissed him on the cheek. “Please,” again, I cocked my head, “Do I get to wear pretty dresses like mommy?” My mom stopped the laughter, “Okay little one, that is enough asking for things. I think you should take your curtain call and come take a nap.” I guessed she forgot about the deal with the piano. I knew my mom made the rules so I knew it was naptime. I was too old for a nap but every time I would lay down for a little bit, I fell asleep. If I was up, I was up and very active. If I lay down for a few minutes I would fall asleep. It didn’t have to be quiet. I could sleep through anything. That habit would prove to be useful the rest of my life. I loved singing with my parents. I got to wear the prettiest dresses with lots of ruffles and lace. I wasn’t a fan of the stuff under the dress that made my waist and legs itch. The ruffles were stiff and made my skirt stick almost straight out. When the weather was cooler, I wore tights and didn’t mind the itchy stuff underneath. I only got to sing once a week at first then gradually I got to sing more. They didn’t want to ruin my voice so I never sang anything that would strain it. Stan made sure I didn’t do anything that was too high. If I was goofing off during practice and hit a C5, he yelled at me. I wasn’t a fan of yelling. My parents never yelled at me…ever Macerata Day Three Gianluca took us to an adorable mom and pop restaurant. The husband was a character who put on a show for Jane and me. He asked us “Why are two beautiful women being entertained by the likes of this scoundrel.” He put his hands on Gianluca’s shoulders and shook them. Gianluca just smiled a bashful smile. You could see that he had been teased by the proprietor before. It took maybe an hour for me to realize I was a witness to the beginning of a love story. It was obvious that Gianluca was smitten when Jane ran into him. It took about a half hour at lunch for Jane to fall for Gianluca. I was a third wheel but the proprietor kept me company while they totally fell deeply in love. As it turned out, the restaurant owner was Gianluca’s grandparents. The meal was utterly delectable as was the wine. Nonno (he insisted that we call him the Italian word for grandpa) started teaching me all about the food from the area and the wine. During lunch when Gianluca found out that Jane was a pilot, he knew what we were doing next. He wanted to fly us all around the Marche with Jane as his co-pilot. After we had seen the charming countryside from the air, I begged that they let me go back to our apartment to rest. I said I was still jet lagged. After talking to Nonno about Gianluca I felt comfortable letting the two of them have time alone. These two were almost a better fit than Adam and me. It was hard to think about how perfect Adam and I were together. I could count on one hand the fights we had over the years and they weren’t big fights, usually misunderstandings. We helped each other be better at our craft and supported each other in our endeavors. After they dropped me off at the apartment, I waited a couple minutes inside the door. Just enough time for them to get out of sight so I could go for a walk. I knew if I climbed the stairs to our apartment that I would climb into bed and sleep. I needed to get on Macerata time so I was determined to stay up. I didn’t want to miss a second of this glorious city. I decided to walk back to the gate near the grocery store because I saw some statues down that street that I wanted to investigate. I could see five figures with columns in the background and I knew they had to be important. They were outside the walls about a couple city blocks away from the gate. I knew I wouldn’t get lost so I thought they were a safe place to explore by myself. The streets were crowded. I felt like everyone was out for a walk. I noticed an elderly couple ahead about twenty feet away being greeted by everyone like they were the most important couple. My guess was they had a new grandchild because he kept taking out his wallet to show people then they would rush off. They were on a mission to get somewhere but friends kept stopping them. I was almost caught up to them when I saw him drop his wallet. I was about to pick up the wallet when a very sleazy person started to pick it up. I had seen his type in New York and I was pretty sure that he was going to pocket the wallet. I stepped on the wallet to prevent him from getting it. We had a little argument on who was going to finally pick it up. When I threatened to call for the police, he ran like a jack rabbit into the crowd. I picked up the wallet and looked for the couple. Where had they gone? It was like they disappeared. Finally, I saw them emerge from underground across the busy street. I tried yelling for them but with all the traffic they couldn’t hear me. Damn the traffic, I wasn’t going to get across the street without being hit. I went back inside the gate of the city and asked how I could get to the other street underground. Finally, someone took pity on me and pointed out the route. I ran down the stairs and there were tunnels going everywhere. I guessed correctly. I only knew it was correct when I came up the stairs. Why were all these people out walking? Seriously, it was crazy. Everyone was window shopping and it was hard to get around them. My nickname was being validated for sure this afternoon. I was darting in and out of the crowds. I wasn’t seeing the couple though I knew they went this direction. I was checking out all the places that were open to see if they stepped into one of the stores or the enticing church on the street. It was difficult not to step in and take it all in. I was going to have to bring Jane back down here to see this colorful church. Right now, I was on a mission to return this wallet. When I got to a cross street, I thought I saw the couple going up the next street. I was having a hard time crossing that street too and looked for another underground sidewalk. Found it. I was getting tired of chasing this couple and was about to give up. I was thrilled to see them walking up the street heading for a church. I was praying that was their destination. Yes, they were walking into the church. I was thrilled I was going to be able to give back the man’s wallet. I never opened it to see if there was an address and name in it. I just thought he would want it back as soon as possible. I walked into the dark dank church. I witnessed the man’s realization that he lost his wallet. He was holding court with a group of people and I saw him reaching for his wallet then searching his other pockets. I quickly walked up to him and handed him his wallet. I was totally out of breath and first talked to them in English then realized that I needed to switch to Italian. He wanted to repay me with some of the money in his wallet. Of course, I declined. Everyone invited me to watch their rehearsal that they would be performing in a few weeks. It was not something I would have sought out but I was warm from the chase and it was a long time since I listened to a choir. I sat in the back while the group went up to the front of the church. I definitely didn’t want to be a distraction. In walked a man with a little girl from behind the altar. He said something to the little girl and pointed to the pews. Off she bounced down the aisle about five rows ahead of me. She started to go into the pew when she noticed me. I was staring at this cute little girl with a huge head of curly hair like my own. I knew I startled her because I didn’t avert my eyes. Then all of a sudden, she smiled and gave me a little wave and climbed into the pew. My attention was pulled away from the darling girl for a little bit when the choir started to warm up. I guess the little girl’s dad was the director. He had them do warm ups like I did in choir eighteen years ago. Was it eighteen years!? Time really does fly as my dad would say. The first song the choir sang was pretty good. It wasn’t too difficult though I don’t think the director was getting everything out of them as he could. The second song was a little rough. I wasn’t sure if I would sit through the whole choir practice because it might be torture by the end of rehearsal. The third song they didn’t make it through the whole song and the director was stopping them. I slipped out of the pew and thought I would tell the little girl to give the couple a message from me. I slipped into the pew behind her and I saw that she was drawing. I couldn’t help it, I made a couple of suggestions and soon realized that she wasn’t as little as I thought. She might be ten or eleven, the way she spoked made her seem older than she looked. Well, my attention was on her drawings. She was good, very good for her age. We started chatting and I moved up with her. We were in our own little world just having a wonderful conversation about drawing then life. Finally, I had to ask. “How old are you?” “Nine.” The way I said wow made her excited. “You are an American?” “Yes.” Then the questions came flying out, one after the other. Did I know this famous person or that famous person? Much to her dismay, I didn’t know anyone she wanted me to know. She didn’t know any famous people I knew. This was frustrating for me because she desperately wanted me to know someone who she thought was famous. I got off the subject of famous people and back to art. I showed her how to do a caricature of her father. I had exaggerated him with the baton in front of a suggestion of a choir. She laughed and wanted me to do one of her. I looked at her and drew one that I thought she would appreciate. In the drawing I had her sketching the five statues at the end of the road. She loved the expression on her face and the five guys even though I didn’t have the figures down right. The couple were standing at the end of the pew when I looked up. I hadn’t even noticed that the singing had stopped. Eduardo and Rosaria had come to take Francesca to the bar while her dad worked on a couple things. Francesca begged me to come with them. I was wondering why you would take a child to a bar when Eduardo insisted since I didn’t take any money from them that I at least had to let them buy me a cup of coffee or a glass of wine. I was pleasantly surprised that bars are not like bars in America. There were all kinds of pastries, ice cream, snacky items as well as a full bar and someone whose job it was to make coffee. It was a cute little bar and everyone but me was a regular. Everyone was called by name by the proprietor except me. He called me beautiful. My little group decided that they liked that idea and that was what they decided to call me, Bella instead of Dart. I didn’t think they were fans of my nickname. I was a little embarrassed though pleased that it was easier for them to pronounce. My name got caught in their throat one could say. I thought I would have one drink and leave. I loved speaking Italian to Italians. Only a couple times did I have to ask what a certain word was. Rosaria said, “You have to forgive Eduardo, not only is he an old man but he uses old words.” She saw that she had upset him and reached across the table to grab his hand. “I am older than you, my dear, by three days.” He smiled at her. “Now, please stop slipping into dialect. You are making it difficult for Bella to follow your conversation.” Rosaria patted his hand and brought her hand back to our side of the table. Eduardo cleared his throat and waved his hand a little. I didn’t have a chance to turn around to see who was coming because Francesca flew out of her chair, almost knocking it to the ground. She ran past me yelling for her papa while I got up to help Eduardo with the chair that he was awkwardly holding onto. I turned around to face papa. Papa was nice looking but older than I thought he looked from a distance. His Italian good looks had some wrinkles around the eyes and mouth which was stammering. “Are you?” was said over and over finally he got out “Are you Dorothy Bailey?” Everyone was surprised that papa knew my name though no one more than me. I was in a small town in the middle of nowhere and this man knew who I was. “How do you know me?” “It is you!” He reached out and shook my hand and shook it rather hard. He had a strong grip for a tall thin man. Under his baggy blazer must be some muscles. He pulled my arm up and almost twirled me around. “Everyone, attention, everyone this is the famous woman I was telling you about. The one who sang like an angel sent from heaven.” The whole bar started to clap. I had to say I didn’t get embarrassed easily though I knew I was probably red as a tomato. Now it seemed everyone was wanting to shake my hand. I was dumbfounded. I didn’t know what to say or do but shake hands telling everyone that it was my pleasure to meet them. I had so many questions being thrown at me I was at a loss for words. Finally, Rosaria interrupted, “Listen everyone let the poor girl breathe. She will answer all our questions in due time for now let us have a drink with Romeo.” I looked at her with such gratitude then I realized what she said. Romeo? Like Romeo where art thou? Papa’s name couldn’t be Romeo. Yes, the director’s name was indeed Romeo. I was worried I wouldn’t be able to say Romeo without laughing. I thought that it was a cruel thing to do that to a child, name them after someone like that. I had seen where people named their son Jesus. Isn’t that a hard name to live up to? Romeo and Casanova would be almost as difficult. Romeo was good looking enough but the way he looked at me with that smile made him more attractive. I’d better pay attention to what he was saying because he was so animated. “I had to go back to the play the next night because you were so good. The play was so good. Good doesn’t describe your performance. You were magnificent.” I had to stop him from going on and on. “Did you go see any other shows while you were in New York?” “The group of friends I was with weren’t really into musicals and wanted to go to clubs. I talked one of them into going to your show the first night and I went by myself the next night.” “Oh, I am sorry. There are so many plays on any given night. You should have picked another play.” I saw him disagreeing. I just had to change the subject. “Did you like New York?” “It was too loud for my taste. I have a group of friends I travel with every year and we usually go to a place where we can go hiking. One of our friends moved to New York for work so we went to see him.” I could tell by how he responded he wasn’t a fan. Maybe that was why he loved my play. I took a deep breath. It was our play. Adam’s name was under my name on the marquee. Moments like those are the times I want to crawl into my bed and forget about life for a while. Rosaria touched my arm, “Are you alright dear? Do you need to go outside to get some fresh air?” “I am fine. It must be jetlag catching up on me at the moment.” Well, that got the conversation going in the direction of why I was here and how long I was staying. We had been talking about them, not me. I was the one leading the conversation. When Romeo appeared, he directed the conversation. Seeing my play must have been a big deal for him as he told the bar all about me and the play for months after seeing it. Everyone wanted to see more of me. I didn’t know if I could handle all the attention. I thought I was going on a real vacation where I would be unknown. I didn’t think that would be the case anymore. Francesca came over to me and tried out her English. “Please, please Bella help me in my English. I want to speak English like you speak Italian. Plus, you help me with my art?” She batted those big eyes at me with those long thick eyelashes. How could I resist? “Okay, if it is okay with your papa.” We directed our attention to Romeo who was smiling this flawless smile. There was no doubt in my mind that Francesca was his daughter though her edges were softened while his face seemed chiseled by Michelangelo. Cheek bones that any woman would love to have. A square jaw, had perfectly shaped lips set above with two dimples on each side that appeared when he smiled. Any artist would love to sketch him. I knew I would. The realization that I was looking at him too much and Romeo might have a Juliet I added. “And your mamma too.” The smile disappeared on both of their faces and Francesca's head dropped. Romeo placed his arm around her and pulled her to him. “Francesca’s mom died a couple of years ago.” I started to apologize but I was cut off by Francesca, “It’s okay mamma is my guardian angel now.” She was smiling then her expression changed to a thoughtful one. “I like that she is not hurting anymore.” Everyone agreed at the table. Romeo sat back with an expression on his face that said I have an idea. “Would you be interested in helping me with the choir? I know I don’t have any right to ask you to help me. I have no money to pay you. I just thought you would be able to help them reach their potential. He put his rough hand on mine and I looked at it. Conducting a choir was not his full-time job. Romeo worked with his hands. Everyone was looking at me with such eagerness, how could I say no? “I have to check with my sister-in-law. If the rehearsals don’t conflict with our time together then I would be happy to help.” We exchanged phone numbers and I was off to see if Jane and Gianluca were anywhere to be found. No such luck. I hoped Jane was having a good time. I picked up a piadina at a hole-in-the-wall shop around the corner. The flat bread was delicious and the sparse amount of meat was perfect. In New York if you got a sandwich that was filled with as little meat as that one the customer would be yelling that he got ripped off. I thought it was just the right amount and most of all it was scrumptious. I drank quite a bit of the bottled water to help with the jetlag. I didn’t think I wanted to start drinking wine by myself though the wine I have had here, it will be hard to resist. I just got my nightshirt on when Jane came floating in. She didn’t even notice me when I came into the room. “Oh, hi.” She was blushing. How cute! Jane was usually in control of her emotions. It was nice to see she was human. “Sorry I didn’t call to let you know I would be late.” “No worries. I know when two people are falling in love they lose themselves and forget about time.” “We aren’t falling in love.” She was indignant. “Is that why you can’t stop smiling from ear to ear. If Adam were here, he would be teasing you relentlessly. You didn’t even notice I was sitting with you at lunch. At one-point Nonno took me into the kitchen to show me around and introduce me to Nonna. Did you know she was the chef? When I finally came back you two didn’t even know I was gone.” I saw her blushing again. “Nonno said right in front of you two that it was nice to watch love happening and neither of you heard him or acknowledged him.” “Well, maybe I was listening to what Gianluca was saying. Have you ever thought of that?” “Sweet Jane, why are you fighting this? It is so obvious.” Jane looked down, “Because I am afraid of admitting it because…because.” I walked over to Jane and hugged her. “Jane, go ahead and allow what you are feeling to rise to the surface. I am a pretty good judge of romance and most men. I talked to Nonna and Nonno, both of them told me that Gianluca was a very good man who had put his career ahead of love until now. Both of them saw a difference in him when he talked to you. I know I have only known him for a few hours but sweetheart he is head over heels infatuated with you. It was like watching a replay of my life and how fast I fell in love with your brother.” I took both of Jane’s hands in mine. “Love at first sight is a thing…enjoy it.” I talked her into going on the balcony to talk for a little bit about her day but I really wanted to get down to why she won’t let herself fall in love. Finally, Jane opened up to me explaining why she was reluctant. She had had a serious boyfriend…more like a fiancée. They had talked about getting married when Jane finished her schooling. They had a date picked out and the place. He just hadn’t given her a ring. One day out of the blue he said that he wouldn’t be following her to her next post. He didn’t think he could move every few years. He wanted her to quit. Jane was taken aback. She got all hotheaded talking about it. I was hoping no one could hear her. “Can you believe that he wanted me to quit? I would have to pay back all the money that the Army had invested in me the past four years of college.” She took a breath. “Come on, that was how many years ago and you are still this upset talking about it. Maybe that is what you have to work on. Trusting that not everyone you love will leave you. Maybe losing Adam brought this all back.” I could see that Jane had turned her head to look in my direction and I could hear her exhale deeply. “I am sorry. I overstepped. I have been given a lot of advice over these last few months. Maybe I like analyzing you instead of figuring out what I am supposed to do for the rest of my life.” I was glad I suggested bringing out some wine, maybe it would calm her down. Taking a sip of that crisp and refreshing pecorino wine let us both relax a little. “Okay, you might have something there. My mom said the same thing when I visited her. She was wondering if that is why I haven’t dated. I told her that I had my career that I was working on. She asked me if I didn’t want a family.” It was my turn to sigh heavily. Jane grabbed my hand. “I’m sorry. I am a terrible person.” She shook my hand until I looked at her. “That’s okay.” “No, it’s not. I know that is something you wanted with Adam. Dart, maybe love is not in the cards for me. Who wants to follow me around the world?” It was my turn to shake her hand until she turned back to me. “You my dearest Jane are a striking woman who has a lot of love to give. Any man would be lucky to have you and he would be nuts if he didn’t follow you.” I meant it. Jane was a catch…attractive, smart and a great cook. Who wouldn’t find her interesting? She could fly anything to boot…very cool. “I think Gianluca could be the man. “Do you think he would follow me?” “Jane, don't worry about that now. Just enjoy the time you have together and stop worrying about what is next for you two.” “Enough about me, what did you do after we dropped you filled her in on my afternoon and then we went to bed. I heard her texting for a little while until I fell into a deep sleep.

< Back Lemon Artichoke Risotto Prep Time: 40 minutes Cook Time: about 30 minutes Serves: 6 Level: easy About the Recipe Lemon Artichoke risotto goes well with seafood. Pictured here is grilled Tuna steaks but grill shrimp is delicious too. It is easy to make it just takes a bit of time and stirring to make it wonderful. Ingredients 8 cups canned low-salt chicken or veggie stock olive oil about 3 to 4 tablespoons 2 cups finely chopped onions, finely chopped 2 garlic cloves, minced 1 1/2 cups Arborio rice 2/3 cup dry white wine one lemon, zested and juiced one can artichokes, quartered then third 2/3 cup grated Romano Salt and freshly ground black pepper, optional Preparation In a heavy large saucepan add olive oil over medium heat. Add the onions and sauté until tender, about 8 minutes. (In the picture I didn’t have shallots which is my preferred onion in making risotto.) Stir in the rice and let it toast for a few minutes. Push the rice out the edge making a two-inch hole add the garlic, sauté for a minute. Add the wine; cook until the liquid is absorbed, stirring continuously, about 2 minutes. Add a couple of ladles of hot stock; simmer over medium-low heat until the liquid is absorbed, stirring often, about 3 minutes. Continue to cook until the rice is just tender and the mixture is creamy, adding more stock by the ladle full and stirring often, about 28 minutes (the rice will absorb 6 to 8 cups of stock plus you don’t want to overcook the rice. You want it al’ dente but not chalky.) Mix in the Romano cheese, artichoke, lemon zest and juice. Season with salt and pepper, to taste. Previous Next

A shy 15-year-old girl finds an unwanted visitor in her tree house.  The stranger opens her eyes to see that she is lucky to have her family. Written by Kimberly Caristi 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 over 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. Dear Mrs. Ida: I hope you and Mr. D are doing well. First, you might notice that my penmanship has gotten bad, though I can explain it. Second, I know it has been a long time since I wrote to you, I can explain that too. Lastly, it has been a very unusual summer, and I can’t wait to tell you all about it. I set my pen down and I started to think where to begin to tell Mrs. Ida what happened to me. In the past couple of months many bad and good things have transpired. Thinking back I realized that there have been so many good and terrible things that have happened to my family in the last couple of years. Starting with the last of my family moved to the country two years ago. My mother gave my dad an ultimatum: either he had to sell the farm or the house in St. Louis. Mom was tired of being a weekend widow. Dad and I went to the farm every weekend. We left Friday night after dinner and came home just before Sunday dinner. My mom underestimated my dad’s interest in moving away from St. Louis. She knew he worked downtown and would not retire for at least fifteen years. Mom was shocked and upset the next day when a for-sale sign went up in our front yard. My parents had a huge fight that night. My bedroom was next to theirs and the screaming, shouting and door slamming was a little more than any thirteen-year-old’s mind could swallow. My dad left without saying a word to me. I was his right hand. I went wherever he went. I knew this move was going to put a strain on our family dynamics. I felt like our family was always changing. I had one brother; he was the oldest. Two sisters followed him, then me then came the cherished baby sister. From start to finish there were sixteen years that separated us. My parents both worked at jobs they loved but us kids kept popping up as accidents. When my mom went back to work full-time my brother oversaw my care. My baby sister was under the care of my oldest sister. The number two sister loved dressing my baby sister up as a doll and saw me as more of a nuisance. My brother taught me how to wrestle and get dirty. The two older sisters did not like to get messy or anything that had to do with dirt, so they made sure the baby sister was a little prissy as far as I was concerned. I was not sure if I was a handful but when my brother left for Vietnam my charge became my dad when he wasn’t working. Though I do remember going to my dad’s work when school was out. Not every day, I would guess it was when the complaints of my oldest sister about me got too much for my parents. My dad could have used another son so that was what he turned me into. I went to work on the farm every weekend. In the summer, when we were baling hay, I was right there with the other boys doing my part. First, I pulled the bales on the flatbed truck to someone big enough to stack them in a crisscross pattern so they would stay on the truck as it moved. When it was time to put them in the hayloft I pushed them in the loft to someone who would stack them there. When I wasn’t needed to push, I had to follow along behind the people throwing the bales up on the truck trying to stay out of the way. I liked this time because I could look for arrowheads. I knew it was a lucky day when I found one. When the truck was full, I had to run up to the barn through the lower pasture and follow the cow path through the woods to the barn. Once my dad gave me a look when I wasn’t there waiting when the truck came down the road. It only took that one time and after that I made sure I was there. I never wanted to disappoint my dad. As I got older, I was the one carrying the bales of hay to be stacked then I started to throw the bales up to be stacked. I did not let any boy my age beat me at anything. Of course, my dad would have me make sandwiches for the workers because you know I was a girl. I was only a girl when he needed me to be one. I was as dirty and stinky as any boy. I helped everywhere on the farm from watching for birthing calves, with castrating, feeding the animals in the morning and night, mucking the stalls, moving the cows to the different pastures, walking the fence line checking to make sure they were intact, catching fish, cleaning and cooking them for dinner. In my mind, I did it all. From five until I was ten years old, in the summertime, we stayed in the treehouse my dad and brother built. It was cool because it had hot and cold running water, a hot plate, an under the counter refrigerator, a full bed, a camping cot, table with four chairs, tv and stereo. I was the only person I knew who had electricity in their own treehouse. This sizable treehouse was built into two trees. Ben and Dad poured a concrete floor underneath the treehouse essentially giving us a porch. On the west side of the porch, they had to build a foot-and-a-half wall and on the east side there was a two-and-a-half-foot drop. This was necessary because of how steep the hill was where the trees were living. The gravel driveway was alongside the drop edge of the porch. Dad made a concrete sidewalk around one of the trees then across the front of the treehouse. The stairs that lead up to the treehouse were set in concrete. This way you didn’t have to walk in dirt to go from the porch to the stairs. This created a flat area for walking and sitting. I was surprised that my mom hadn’t made him pour a sidewalk out to the outhouse. My dad had put an open-air shower underneath the treehouse, too. The treehouse was located just inside our property about thirty feet from the edge of a cliff. At the base of the cliff was a creek with a road that ran alongside it. The creek was our water source until my dad dug a well. In the early years, the three youngest girls would go out to the farm with my mom and dad each weekend. Once or twice, we would stay a whole week. The sleeping arrangement was an orchestrated event. We all stood outside the outhouse waiting for our turn to go and my dad was the last one. He had to walk back without a flashlight. We would finish brushing our teeth by the time he got back to the treehouse. My dad would climb into bed first. My mom would get my little sister tucked in her sleeping bag at the foot of my parent’s bed, then she would climb into bed with my dad. Laurie would be reading on her cot waiting for me to turn off the light. I would stand at the corner of my parents’ bed waiting until everyone was situated. It was my job to pull the string hanging from the fluorescent light in the middle of the ceiling. All I had to do was take one step and I would be on my sleeping bag. I was sandwiched between my older sister on the cot and my parents’ bed. My mom was thrilled when my dad put in the shower because she couldn’t stand another weekend with a bunch of stinky people. My sisters and I would stay upstairs while my dad showered, and he would stay upstairs when we showered. If us girls were taking a shower and a car came along, we would yell ‘hit the deck.’ I had scraped a knee or two during that exercise and sometimes my toes. The truth was it would have been exceedingly difficult for anyone in a car to see us up on the hill. We could only see about five feet of road from where we stood under the shower. We were girls who desperately didn't want to be spotted showering outdoors. When the weather was perfect, we would sit downstairs as we called it. My dad hung a porch swing and made a table out of a third tree using it as the table pedestal and cut off part of a spool used for cables for the top. To cover the holes my mom made a tablecloth out of army green vinyl. My dad was an electrical contractor, though in his spare time he made us all kinds of trash as my mom called it. Mom wasn’t happy with dad when he said he was going to get a warehouse in St. Louis. Not one to use in St. Louis but to be transported to the farm. The warehouse was in his way for an intersection he was putting in for the city. Dad said he was going to take it out to the farm and build a barn out of it. He would make part of it into living quarters for us. I overheard my mom telling our neighbor that he was nuts. Dad painstakingly took apart the warehouse labeling everything and took it out to our farm and rebuilt it. My mom was impressed…sort of. She complained that half of the warehouse was a barn, and he took the other half and divided it. A fourth of the space was a living room, kitchen area, one bedroom and a bathroom. The other fourth he made into a garage that he used as his workshop. When it was completed, my dad was excited to take us all out to the farm to see it. Well, they had to drag Laurie out there because she had a boyfriend. Truthfully, that really didn’t have any influence, she never wanted to go to the farm. We brought two vehicles because dad and I were spending the week. My mom and my sisters were going back on Sunday. My dad and I were the first to cross the dam to see that big gray monster standing there against the green of the trees that was its backdrop. You could see the reflection of the building in the lake. It was a pretty picture. My dad was happy about my reaction. I was there when they poured the concrete for the garage and the apartment. The last thing I saw was the frame put up. I guess I should have looked out the back window when we left so I would realize how big the barn really was. I was excited about everything until bedtime came. My youngest sister and I were still sleeping on the floor, and my older sister got the couch. Even at eleven I thought why didn’t he make two bedrooms, and he would still have space for a workshop. When dad decided to move to the farm it was just going to be my little sister and me living there. The number three child, Laurie, was going to college and when she came “home” she lived with my oldest sister Sara in St. Louis. I was the only one excited about moving to the farm besides my dad. I loved it there and I was the happiest when out on the farm. I explored all eighty acres and more. I found so many cool places off our property as well. Since I was excited about the move my dad had me pick which house to build. He had brought home a half dozen plans and had me pick which one I liked best. I picked the red and black brick ranch with a black and white trim. When you would drive up our driveway you would see a porch that was the length of the house with two sets of French doors one for the family room and one for the dining room. A large kitchen window was between the two doors. The large garage was on the left. It reminded me of a Spanish home. It ended up being the one my dad liked best. He told me that great minds think alike. My dad was the best dad at making you feel special. When time was getting close to moving, I asked my dad where my little sister Missy and I were going to stay while he built our house. I was hoping he didn’t intend for us to sleep on the floor until we moved into the big house. He said he had already figured that out, he was going to build a little room off the living quarters (a.k.a. in the garage) for us. He was putting in a skylight so we would have a small amount of light come in from the garage light. He promised it would be for three or four months at most. We would be sleeping on a pullout couch. We had a little bookshelf, a console television and a piano. Missy and I had started to play the piano a couple of years before we moved. She was exceptionally good, but I would never tell her that. I was an okay player. When the bed was open you couldn’t walk around the room. Missy slept next to the door because my mom still tucked her in. When I went to bed, I carefully stepped over the corner between the tv and the bed. The TV, bed, closet, and piano formed a three-foot square area. That was where we dressed and where I climbed up the bed to get in it. I hated it when I would get under the covers, look up at the skylight, and see that I forgot to turn off the garage light. I would have to reverse my actions to turn it off. I became rather cat-like, as I got quite good at seeing in the dark when I refused to turn on the garage light and not have the closet light on. Our closet was the length of the room. The sizes of our clothes were so different I thought they looked silly next to each other. Missy insisted that half the closet was hers, so we put tape down the back of the closet wall. She shoved my clothes off her side, and I kicked her toys back over onto her side. Our stay in that little room didn’t turn out like dad planned. Dad fell off the new house roof one evening when he was working late trying to finish the shingling before the rain hit. I was never so scared in my life. Mom drove dad the hour and a half to the hospital and he didn’t come home for a month. We knew our lives wouldn’t be the same. After getting out of the hospital my dad couldn’t go back to work for another four months and when he did my mom would sit looking down the driveway until he got home. This made me more nervous because I could tell she was nervous. It was never a good feeling when you didn’t feel secure. I became more glued to my dad than ever and never left him alone. I took on more jobs around the farm so he wouldn’t have to do them. That year of recovery for my dad changed all of our lives. The four of us were living in a ridiculously small place and we did everything together. We started doing fun stuff together. We went out to eat more, went to festivals around the area, played cards and games together. We never made time for these simple things before. We became a tv family, the kind you see on tv. It was wonderful. My dad and I finished building the house with some help from a hired hand. I learned how to put up drywall and mud it then sand it smooth. I helped run electrical lines and connect pipes though my dad always did the final tightening. I helped my dad look for rocks along the roads to make a retaining wall next to the house. It was rigorous work, but it was fun looking for the right size of rock and placing them in the correct spot. It was like a puzzle putting up that wall. Of course, I planted the garden under the watchful eye of my dad and mom. It surprised me that my little sister and I didn’t fight as much. We were both changed by what we referred to as the event until we moved into the big house. Living in the new house was great but we started doing our own thing again. My mom went back to work nights as a nurse in a small community hospital in Washington, about thirty miles away, and my dad was still driving to St. Louis during the week. When I got home from school, I had farm chores to do plus my homework. My freshman year in high school I took an art class. I had always drawn but taking a class really awoke my talent. It didn’t hurt having a fantastic teacher. My parents agreed that I could use the treehouse as my own art studio, but I had to get the farm chores done first. I was in heaven having my own place. My sister was back to being a pest. If I was in the big house, she would always be bugging me. She thought it was funny to put her hand in front of my face and say, “I am not touching you.” If I pushed her away, she would call mommy and said I hit her. Thank goodness that my parents told her that she could not go into the treehouse. I had to stop daydreaming about what Mrs. Ida already knew, and I got down to business writing my letter. I was a very good procrastinator, though I really had a lot of things I had to figure out how to tell her. My brother, his wife and their two little boys finally moved home. I had to tell my two cute little nephews that the treehouse was mine and they were not supposed to go in it. Of course, the little boogers wouldn’t stop trying to come in… all the time. My mom said they would get tired of it soon enough. I hoped she was right. Ben is working for my dad now. He oversees maintenance of the vehicles. That was what he did in the Navy. They are living in the barn until Ben saves enough money for a down payment on a house. I don’t think they know where they want to live. If Ben stays around here it is a long commute to St. Louis and if he lives in St. Louis, it will take a while to save for a house there. It is cool to have my brother back home. I just wish the boys were better behaved. Benny is now seven and Toby is five and a half. He reminds everyone about the half. I paused, how was I supposed to write the next part? It was so hard to try to put all of this into words to really show her what transpired. “Think Sam, think.” I knew it was hard, but I had to try. I knew this summer was going to be great. The house was complete, after I did my chores, I was free to draw or paint. When Missy and I got off the bus we began our summer break by racing up the hill to the big house. I just had to go check on the calves born these last two months and feed the chickens and pigs. Then I was off to draw. The treehouse didn’t have great lighting, being that it was in the trees, but it was my own place. I didn’t have to make dinner tonight because my mom was making burgers. My mom let us pick out the beginning and the end of the year dinners, it was Missy's turn to pick. I didn’t know why my mom even asked her what she wanted because it was always the same hamburgers and French fries. I flew through my chores and ran the mile to my place. How many fifteen-year-olds have their own place? My dad had made real stairs to the treehouse when my mom said she wouldn’t climb the ladder. This made it easy for me to run up the stairs. My dad had put a nail in the tree to hang the key on, so we didn’t have to remember the key every time. He hid it behind the tree next to the door at the top of the stairs so no one could see it. Having the key so high from the ground made it impossible to see. The tree was so large that my arm could barely reach around it. If someone was watching me get the key, you would have thought I was hugging the tree. That day changed my life as I knew it, forever. I will never forget to lock it again. I tried to open the door. I was shocked that it was locked. I didn’t remember locking it. I probably did it because I saw the boys trying to spy on me. I reached around the tree and found the key. I was thrilled I had put the key where it was supposed to be…not always the case. I unlocked the door and put the key back. I stepped into the room and before I could shut the door someone put his hand over my mouth and grabbed my left arm and pulled it up behind me. I tried to scream and pulled away from him. The harder I fought to get away the higher up he would push up my arm and it hurt. I stopped struggling. I smelled his dirty sweaty hand over my mouth. This wasn’t good. I could tell he was bigger than me, another negative. He told me he would let go of me if I wouldn’t scream. I had so many thoughts going through my head and the first one that stood out was I was a dead person. “You promise you won’t scream?” He didn’t have the sound of an older man, so I didn’t think he was a hunter who found my treehouse. He sounded like a young guy. I shook my head yes and he shoved me into the cot that was still in the place. The bed had been moved to the barn. I was lucky enough to catch myself from falling face first into the cot. I turned around and sat down, dumbfounded as to what had just happened. The fear in me rose when I saw the guy. There stood a severely beaten teenager with blood all over his ripped clothes. One of his eyes was so swollen I couldn’t imagine that he could even see out of it. His appearance scared me more than him putting his hand over my mouth. All I could think of to say was, “Who are you?” My voice sounded foreign to me; it was so low. “It doesn’t matter. Who are you?” I saw the irritability in his mannerisms as he paced back and forth. He was doing everything he could not to look at me. “This is my place, so you have to answer first.” I didn’t know where the nerve to say this came from but maybe it was years of dealing with my little sister. “I am Ned.” He said reluctantly. I couldn’t believe he told me his name. “Ned what are you doing here?” Where was this coming from? I didn’t question people, especially strangers who kept me from leaving. “I’m running away from home. My dad and I had a big fight. I found this place to hide.” He stared at the floor like it had the answers he was looking for. The statement relaxed both of us to some extent. He looked at me for the first time. He seemed relieved when he saw my fear go out of my eyes. I had never been hit, but I was scared of my mom. She was a yeller and that unnerved me. Her words could hurt more than any fist, I thought. I decided I should keep him talking. This was something I had seen on TV. “What is your name?” He asked me more like we were meeting for the first time in school than what was really happening to me: someone was holding me hostage. “Sam. I think I should go.” I looked at the door. “No, I don’t think you are going anywhere until we have a talk.” That statement scared me again. When I looked back at him, he looked more frightened than I was. “What do you want to talk about?” My voice sounded so shaky. “Are you going to tell people that I am here?” He sounded so intimidating but there was a little nervousness around the edges of the question. “Should I?” What a stupid thing to say! I should have said no. I thought, Sam, you have an attitude problem. “I was hoping you would say no.” He said with a little bit of anger, but I could tell some disappointment in it, too. “I don’t understand why you are hiding.” “I came home from school yesterday and found my dad beating my mother to a pulp. I was tired of my dad using my mom and me as punching bags.” He said it as if he were letting air out of a balloon rather quickly. He went from standing up rather straight to his shoulders slumping. He paused then I saw the anger come back. He continued, “I just went crazy punching him. We fought forever until I hit my dad so hard, he fell and hit his head on the hearth. There was so much blood.” He just looked at the floor like he could see it all over again. I felt bad for him, but I was a little scared that he could hit someone so hard they fell. “Did you call the police or someone?” “No, my mom and I had called the police before, but they said it was a family matter. I did call the neighbor and asked them to check on my mom. Then I packed a couple of things and ran. I came upon your barn, but I saw two little boys playing there. I followed the line of woods around the first dam when I saw this treehouse. This is cool.” He looked around the room. “Thanks.” was all I could think of to say. I would have liked to tell him all the things that used to be in the room because I thought it was cool, too. I just didn’t think it was the time or place to get all chatty. “Are these your drawings?” I hung them all around the place. If I liked them, I tacked them on the wall and the ceiling. If I was still working on them, I stacked them on the table. I had some hanging from clothes lines with clothespins. I knew they ruined the corners but I hung them so I could look at them longer and maybe get inspired. I might work on them again. Besides, I had run out of spaces on the walls. “Yes,” still trying to think of what I should say to this guy. “You are a very good drawer.” He was looking at them very closely now. “Thanks. Can I draw you?” He turned and looked at me like I was crazy. I was not the crazy one. I might not have gotten away but I would have a picture of what he looked like. It wasn’t until later that I thought if he hurt me, he could have just taken the drawing with him. “You want to draw me? Why?” Now he seemed a little shy. I knew shy. I never talked unless someone asked me something. Of course, I fought with my sister but at school I rarely talked. When I moved here there were a couple of girls that decided that we were friends. They started to talk to me one day and haven’t stopped. I was glad they liked me enough to approach me. I wished I had the nerve to step out of my comfort zone and talk to people. It was nice to have friends. “Well, you are in my studio. I am tired of drawing nature,” which was a lie, I would never be tired of drawing any kind of nature. I had numerous pencil and charcoal drawings all over the treehouse. “I guess you can.” He pulled a chair in front of the door. I walked around the table and took the seat opposite him. I was glad my parents left the table and chairs in here, so I had a place to work. I decided I would do a pencil drawing. I picked up my large pad and turned to a clean sheet. “What do you want me to do?” he said with so much apprehension in his voice that I felt more confident that he wasn’t going to hurt me. “You can just sit comfortably, and I will do the work,” I smiled for the first time since I walked into the place. Now I was in charge. I was in my element. I had done a few portraits in school and got all “A’s” so I knew I could do a respectable job, but I had never drawn someone with so many bruises. This would be a challenge. After I drew his silhouette. I was seeing him more clearly. It was possible that he was a cute guy underneath all the bruises. I could see he had muscles so he could have really hurt me. I bet I was the strongest girl in my school. I have muscles. Last summer I was throwing 65-pound bales of hay four bales high. I kept up with the boys. There are four families that live out in this area, and we help each other to bale hay. It was a hard and sweaty job that required more than three people to work. My poor dad only had me, but the other men have a couple of sons each. The sons were around my age and one in particular was so cute. I have had a crush on him since I was a little girl. All the guys treated me like I was one of the boys. The problem was I was not a boy. I had breasts, but if they noticed they didn’t say a word. I was pushed around like they did each other. Oh, how I wished Richard would notice that I was a girl. He interrupted my thoughts, “Do you go to Union?” “Yes, where do you go?” “Sullivan. What year are you?” “I just finished my sophomore year. I will graduate in ’79. You?” “Junior. Are you going to be an artist?” “I don’t know if I am good enough.” He moved in big gestures with his arms opened up big and wide. I saw pain in his eyes, but his voice was excited. “Oh my God, you are an amazing artist. It is unreal that you don’t think you are good enough.” “Thanks, but are you an art critic? Please hold still though you can talk.” “No but anyone with eyes could tell that you are good.” “Are you going to go to college?” I saw the sadness take over in his good eye. “I doubt it. No money.” I felt sorry for Ned. “Would you like to go to college?” Maybe if I kept talking about everyday stuff, he wouldn’t hurt me and even let me go. “Yes.” Sadness was overtaking him. He just looked down at the floor. He was still searching for something, but I was not sure what it was this time. “What would you study?” I asked. “English.” I crinkled my nose at that. I hated English. I was not particularly good with words but given a pencil I could draw you a whole story without one word. You would understand what it meant by just looking at it. It might not mean exactly what I was intending it to be, nevertheless if that was what you were taking away with it then it was your story. Ned asked, “You don’t like English?” “I know I don’t like diagraming a sentence,” I said flippantly. Ned went on like he didn’t hear me. “What I really want to do is write poetry.” “That is worse than diagraming a sentence,” I shook my head in disgust. “It is just like your pictures here.” I must have given him a look of not understanding because he continued answering the question in my head. “Take that drawing you made of the grass next to the pond. Were you trying to convey the pond or the grass? Were you really conveying what is underneath the water? I see little ripples in the water. Did a frog just jump in or did a fish poke his head out? The flat area that is next to the tuft of grass. Was there an animal lying there minutes ago? Was there someone sitting there? Is someone hiding in the tuft of grass?” I heard the excitement in his voice. He would be a good poet. “Okay, I get your drift. So, you like poetry. You write about one thing, and someone might think it’s about another thing and you are okay with that? “Yes, I made you think. I love that.” His one eye had some hope and excitement in it. Maybe I should ask him about the fight now that he didn’t look upset. I decided I needed to finish my drawing before I got to that question. “Can you make a living writing poetry? My parents keep telling me that I have to think of something else besides going to college for art. They say you can’t make money drawing for a living.” I hated that statement because it made me feel my art wasn’t good enough. I thought I was rather good, of course I couldn’t say that aloud. “Your parents are crazy. You are really good.” “Thanks again.” I couldn’t look at him when he said that. I concentrated on his clothes. They were farm clothes. My mom made the rule that we had four sets of clothes: church, school, play, and work. Some overlapped: if I wanted to wear church clothes to school it better be an important occasion. Sometimes I could wear play clothes to take care of the animals, but I better not get them dirty. Work clothes were for getting dirty and only work clothes. My mom was a fanatic about dirt or any kind of mess. She left me notes on my desk saying my desk drawers were not neat enough. Sometimes she pinned a note on my clothes that said my closet wasn't neat enough. This could mean my shoes were scattered and should be in a straight line or my clothes were not neatly hung. I knew I was going to hear about it at dinner. Every day I had to make my bed with hospital corners. My dad inspected our rooms before he left for work. If our beds didn’t look right my dad would check to see if a quarter would bounce on them. My sister, at age nine, was a perfectionist, especially at making her bed. She rarely had to remake her bed. Unlike me, I had to remake my bed, at least once a week. No matter when I got up in the morning, I was always late and, in a rush, to make my bed before the inspection. I thought my dad took pity on me on more than one occasion. We both hoped my mom wouldn’t notice when she got home from work, or all my sheets would be off my bed when I came home from school. It was not like I did it on purpose, my mind was always on something less important as she would say. The stranger pulled me out of my thoughts. “Do you come down here every day?” “Since school is out, I have plans to come down here after my chores during the week. On weekends, my dad and I work all day doing things around the farm.” “You do chores? Like what?” “You are wrong if you think because I am a girl I don’t work around here!” I took offense when guys didn’t think I could do what they did. “Feed the animals, mend fences, this summer we will be finishing the dam on the second lake. My job is to pull all the sticks and rocks out of the dirt and mud that my dad piles on the road with the Caterpillar.” I was pissed. “Sorry I didn’t mean to upset you. I just never, uh, never...” He was so cute trying to think of something to say. “Girls can do anything that boys can do.” This was always my smart reply. You could tell he was trying to think of something that only boys could do. It showed on his face when he thought of something. He should really have kept his mouth closed. No, instead he blurted it out, “Girls can’t pee standing up.” “Well, yes, they can but it’s not a pretty sight.” I smiled at him. He chuckled, realizing he was out of trouble, though the laughter caused him pain as he grabbed his side. To take the attention off him he said, “You have a pretty smile.” I could feel the heat rising in my face. I look down and pretend that I was really getting a detail done on the drawing. The comment made me frustrated with my crooked smile. I had been told that more than once, plus I had tried to do a self-portrait, and I saw these things. My older sisters had braces, and my baby sister would, too. Her teeth were awful. I didn’t need braces. I thought I was lucky, but I would rather have a smile that didn’t go higher on one side. Looking down at the drawing I was doing a rather decent job on his bruises. I thought the cut on his lip and eyebrow needed some stitches. He was going to have some scars. I felt so sorry for him as I worked on my drawing. Drawing lets me really look at people. When you take a picture, you make sure you are in focus but when you draw you look at every wrinkle, blemish, hair and fleck of color in the eyes. He had steel blue eyes with white flecks. Even though he had long dirty blonde curly hair his eyelashes and eyebrows were brown. I bet his hair was like my sisters’ during the summer; when they are outside and in the pool their hair turns almost a whitish blonde, and their hair was as straight as could be. Unlike anyone in my family my hair turned red in the summer, but during the winter it was auburn. Because of that, my sisters have said I was adopted but my dad told me I had the same hair color as his dad. I just saw my grandfather’s hair as wisps gray hair on the sides of his head. I had a long way to go before I looked bald; my hair was so thick you could hardly see my scalp. Sometimes I didn’t think I belonged to my family. I lost track of time which got me in trouble with my mom all the time. I really had forgotten Ned had trapped me in the treehouse. I was concentrating on the drawing. He was no longer a guy but an object. I had his broad shoulders set back with his head tilted to the side with his good eye looking down. I looked at my watch and I saw it was almost five. My mom would be wondering where I was. “I am finished except for the background. I really have to leave, or my mom will send my sister down here to get me. Do you want to see it?” I slipped my sister and mom in the middle. I thought if I acted normal, he would let me go. I turned the drawing around for him to see. Instantly he reached up to his swollen eye. “Is that what I look like?” “Well, I hope it looks like you. Does your eye hurt?” “I hurt all over.” He pulled up the side of his shirt and showed me his ribs and I couldn’t help it, I reacted. Grimacing, I said, “Wow, that must really hurt. How did that happen?” Looking away from me, he replied, “My dad hit me with a chair when I went to check on my mom. I thought when I pulled him off of her that he would just go away. No, he just started hitting me. I fought back. My mom always stepped in when he started hitting me, but she wasn’t moving. When I left, I saw that she was breathing, that is why I called my neighbor.” I saw a tear rolling down his face. He got up and walked across the room. He bent over, putting one arm over the window and was looking out. The sides of the walls came up to my eyes as did the top of the window frames. My dad had built shutters on hinges so you can hook them up to the ceiling. When the bed was in here, we had to move it to open or shut the shutters on that side. The bottom of the windows started at my knees. I watched him as he looked out at the creek. I turned to look at the door then I heard him make a noise. I turned back to look at him and he was holding his side. That was when I saw him as the wounded bird, he was instead of the guy who scared me. I got up and walked over to him. “Are you ok?” “It hurts to breathe. If I hold my arm like this it helps,” he held his arm to his side. “I bet you have a broken rib or ribs after looking at your side.” “What are you a nurse?” “No, a couple of years ago, my dad broke seven ribs and fractured eleven. I remember he had a difficult time breathing for a long time, a month or two. I watched my mom bandage his sides. His wounds had cuts too.” I shook my head to get those thoughts out of my head. “You must keep taking deep breaths, so you don’t get pneumonia. I can get you some aspirin if you want. You know, for the pain.” “You are going to help me? Why?” He was searching my face to see if I was telling him the truth. “Well, yes, because you need help.” I looked down at him holding his side. I continued, fast, trying to get all my thoughts out. “Everyone knows that the treehouse is off limits but that doesn’t keep them from trying to see what I am doing in here. My nephews have come in here before without me being here. My dad and brother get home around 6:30 so be careful walking around outside then.” Moving my attention from Ned’s one wrist to the other I noticed he didn’t have a watch. “Here, take my watch so you know what time it is. That would drive me crazy not knowing the time.” He took the watch, and I could tell he was wondering about me. “What?” “I can’t believe you are wanting to help me. Especially after I told you what I did.” I couldn’t lie, it hurt me to look him in the face. I tried to look at his one good eye and fixate on it. “Well, I can see you are seriously hurt, and I believe you that you didn’t, you know, want to hurt your dad, you know, on purpose.” “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.” “Does that mean you are going to stay?” He nodded. “Okay, I will try to get away tonight and bring you some food and stuff to clean your cuts. My mom leaves around 9:30 and my dad goes to bed soon after. When my sister goes to bed I will come back. Make sure all the shutters are closed before you turn on the lights.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Just a little over an hour ago I thought he was going to kill me, now I was helping him. “Is there anything else I can get you?” “I forgot my toothbrush.” “Okay, I know I can get you one and toothpaste. Do you have any other clothes?” “I didn’t think about clothes either.” “What did you bring?” I looked at his knapsack. “I brought my book on poetry my mom gave me, my bible, tape recorder and some of my cassette tapes.” I must have had a look of disapproval on my face. “Hey, look, I wasn’t sure if I just killed my dad and if my mom was going to live.” “So, you thought, I better get my tapes of Captain and Tennille, Elton John and Glen Campbell and run.” “Glen Campbell?” He said it like it was a dirty word. “My dad likes him so don’t say a word against him,” I said with a smile. I started to laugh when he put his hands in the air and stepped back. “I really wasn’t thinking.” “Duh! I know you won’t fit into any of my clothes. I might be able to get you a T-shirt of my dad’s for you, but I will have to figure out how. I have to go or like I said, my mom will send my sister for me.” “Thanks Sam. I really appreciate this.” “Get some rest and don’t forget to breathe deep.” He frowned. “Well, every once in a while, take a deep breath.” I walked out the door and down the stairs. I heard him lock the door behind me. I walked up the hill through the wooded area to the road that led to the barn where my brother, his wife and his two little boys lived. I saw the boys playing in the yard. I was glad they were not spying on me today. I looked up the hill to our house and I saw my little sister coming out the French doors. She yelled something but I couldn't hear her. I hate that because I didn’t know if I was in trouble, or she was trying to get me in trouble. I started running up the hill. The front yard was not landscaped yet, which made running difficult. When I reached the porch, I had to hoist myself up. Suzy, our dog came running off the step from the house to lick my face before I could get out of her reach. After I stood up, I reached to scratch her behind the ears, her favorite spot. I said, “Sorry girl, next time I will take you with me. I know you missed me today. Were you sleeping with mom again?” Suzy was my mom’s dog. We found Suzy hurt, dirty and as cute as could be. The veterinarian thought she was a purebred pointer, though she was only good at pointing out grasshoppers and butterflies. Suzy attached herself to my mom and was her protector, though she did like to roam with me on the farm when my mom shooed her out of the house. I heard from the door, “Mom isn’t happy with you.” “What’s new?” I walked past her into the house. “Mom, sorry I lost track of time. What do you want me to do?” My mom looked at me, “Where is your watch? If you don’t wear your watch, how are you going to know what time it is to come home?” I looked at my wrist, “I forgot it. I will try to remember to watch the time.” “Samantha, how many times have I heard that?” That question always made me wonder if I was supposed to answer it or not. Sometimes I did and the response could go either way. Sometimes she laughed and sometimes she started screaming at me. She didn’t use my full name, just my first, so I thought I wasn't in huge trouble. Did I feel lucky today? Well, I just got out of a terrible situation, so I was going to go for it. “Well, I am almost sixteen and I have been able to tell time for eight years now. There are 365 days in the year.” My mom was putting her hands on her hips. This wasn’t telling. I continued, “So eight times 365 days is,” I tried to think fast, “2920 but that doesn’t count leap year.” “Okay wise guy, get in the kitchen and wash the lettuce and clean the carrots.” Good, she wasn’t in a bad mood. I got to work but my mind was distracted by what I saw out the window. I could barely make out the bottom of the treehouse through all the trees. I needed to take Suzy with me when I went back so she could become friends with Ned. That way she wouldn’t bark or growl when she was outside. I was so anxious the whole evening. My anxiety levels were through the roof. I was very fidgety in my chair. I could tell I was driving my mom nuts. Finally, she said, “Samantha Jane, what is the matter with you? You can’t sit still. Either find a place to sit and stay seated or go to your room.” “Sorry, I keep thinking about what I am going to start working on tomorrow.” Adding, “After I finish my chores, of course.” I got up and went to my room. I was thrilled I didn’t have to sit and watch something I wasn’t paying attention to anyway. I had cleaned up the dinner dishes, so I knew what we had left over. I wondered how much food I could get out of the house without anyone noticing it was missing. My mom was incredibly good at knowing what food was always in the house. These thoughts made my anxiety rise. My mom came into my room just before she left for work to tell me everything I was supposed to do before I could go down to the treehouse. She reminded me that I was not spending all my free time in the treehouse. I told her I planned on drawing all around the farm. That seemed to make her feel better. When I saw her driving past my window, I went out to the living room to see if my dad and sister had gone to bed. Dad was getting his things ready for the morning. He usually made his lunch and put it in the refrigerator. “Sam, I need you to walk the fence line across the road tomorrow. I want to move the cows over to that field after we bale hay next week. I don’t want you to ride Jan while doing it because you will have to keep getting off of her. I do want you to brush her and take her for a ride. If you want another horse, you are going to have to take care and ride the one you have.” “Dad, you can’t gallop with Jan. When I ride with the guys I look like a prissy, foxtrotting along while they are running their horses,” making a motion of bouncing up and down. This made my dad smile. He had gotten Jan in trade when he did some work for a guy. I thought the guy got the better deal. He probably wanted to get rid of Jan. Don’t get me wrong, I love Jan and just riding her through the woods was fine but if I was in an open field I would love to run with a horse. The guys that I ride with tease me all the time when we run. I never win a race. “Never mind the guys. You still must take care of her and ride her.” “Okay. Anything else.” “Yes, you need to clean out the pool and scrub the sides. It is getting warm, and it is time to open up the pool. Tomorrow night I will put in the pump to get all the water out. I don’t want any leaves in there. They will clog up the pump.” He paused for a second then added, “Do you understand?” “Yes, I understand.” I would never roll my eyes at my dad, but I really wanted to. I have had several lectures about that every year when it was time to get the pool ready for the season. They bought the pool for me before we moved out here. I had been on a swim team since I was five. I had won many awards and ribbons. This was the only thing I missed about moving here. I loved to swim. Our pool was an above ground pool though my dad made a deep end on one side. The leaves would collect in the deep end. I liked how there was a ledge that you could walk all around the outside of the deep end. He had dug out a spot on the hill near the warehouse so you could walk right into the pool on one side. It was the biggest above ground pool they could find. It was my job to keep it clean and test the water to keep the water sparkling clear. I did an excellent job because who wanted to swim in an over chlorinated pool or for that matter an under chlorinated pool? I checked the pH levels daily. I vacuumed it every few days and backwashed it because I would get in trouble if it ever looked dirty. I looked forward to teaching my nephews how to swim. I had taught little kids how to swim since I was eleven. Dad continued, “I don’t care when you do this, but it must be completed this week. I want all the old hay to be cleared out of the loft and stacked along the back of the barn. Sweep the loft and put all the loose hay in the feeders. You can also see if Nancy needs help with the weeding in the garden.” “Then am I free to do anything I want?” “I don’t know what your mom has planned for you; did you check her list?” “Did she leave one? She came into my room before she left and told me the stuff I needed to do tomorrow.” I hated it when she left a list because that meant I didn’t have any free time. Sometimes she left me a list because she didn’t think I was paying attention when she gave me my orders. I was hoping that was the case tonight. My dad walked over to the counter and pulled off a sheet of paper. “Here you go. It doesn’t look like much.” I took the list with no enthusiasm. Good it was a reminder; I had to dust and vacuum the floors and the furniture. So, either I got up when my dad left to get it done before she got home at 8:00 tomorrow morning or I had to do it after she slept. She might sleep six hours on a good day. I was not sure if it was good for us or her. Sometimes I wish she would sleep longer so she might not be as crabby, and we would have a longer time not worrying about what else she wanted us to do. Missy didn’t have to do as much work as I did at her age. I thought she was a spoiled brat. I was thankful that I had the treehouse as my studio so I could get away from the brat. Now I had two very nosey little nephews plus a sister who made it their mission in life to drive me crazy. Once I taught the boys how to swim it would be better because then they would be able to play in the pool together and maybe leave me alone. When my dad went to his room Missy had to go to bed. I had the rest of the house to myself so I started dusting so I could get that out of my way. I checked to see if my dad had any T-shirts that needed ironing in the laundry room. Yes, my mom ironed my dad’s T-shirts. She ironed everything. I swore when I got older I would not iron. I couldn’t tell you how many times I had to re-iron a shirt or pants because my mom said they weren’t good enough. Sometimes I had to really search to see where I messed up, she was that meticulous. I looked in the fridge to see what I could take that wouldn’t be missed. I might be able to take a leftover hamburger because I was the one to put them away. My mom might not know how many burgers were leftover though she knew how many buns were in the bag. Besides, I have been known to eat one for breakfast. I could take a few slices of bread. I usually don’t eat one of them in the morning for breakfast. I was glad I still had some of the items in the treehouse that we used when we stayed there in the summer before my dad built the warehouse. Sometimes some of my dad’s friends from St. Louis used it when it was hunting season. I got out baggies: one for ketchup, one for mustard and one for pickles. I couldn’t imagine eating a hamburger without all three of these condiments. I took out some cheese slices. I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as well. I grabbed a couple of apples. My mom had some cookies in the freezer that she kept for when we had company. She knew that everyone took a couple occasionally. My older sister, Laurie, got us started doing that. My dad would even get into them occasionally. This was one of the times that none of us were scared about taking something without asking. I swear my mom did it, too, when we weren’t home. I didn’t find any T-shirts, but I took a washcloth and a towel, toothbrush, toothpaste, a comb, and a bar of soap. There wasn’t any shampoo that I could find. Ned would have to use the bar of soap on his hair. I got bandages, peroxide, and some aspirins. There were so many cans of Vess soda my mom couldn’t know how many there were. I grabbed a black cherry, orange, and cola. I got a Ziploc bag of ice. I put all this in a grocery bag and took Suzy with me. I wanted Suzy to become friends with Ned so she wouldn’t bark at him. I heard my dad snoring, so I knew he was asleep. I could see that Missy’s light was off. This meant that she wasn’t reading before she went to sleep. I stood outside Missy’s door, and I didn’t hear her. It was safe to head down to the treehouse with my flashlight. I could see the steps of the treehouse when I crossed the road. The window in the door was frosted glass and light was spilling out of the window onto the steps. I would have to tape black paper over the door’s window. Plus, I saw he must have the shutter opened on the far side of the treehouse. You really couldn’t tell it from the road unless you were looking in that direction. I would have to tell him no lights if he wanted the shutters open. Suzy started to growl as we started up the stairs. I told her, “Shush girl, it’s okay.” The lights went off instantly. I didn’t want to yell. I didn’t know why; no one would have heard if I did. I just said, “Ned, it’s me Sam.” No answer. I started up the stairs. When I got to the top, I didn’t reach for the key, instead I knocked on the door. I knocked five times in the rhythm that all kids knew, and he responded with two knocks. He opened the door. Suzy was right behind me, and she started to bark. I yelled at her to stop. “Suzy, stop. It’s okay, he is a friend of mine.” We both were startled with my yell. I thought he was a little startled that I said he was a friend. “You should back up so I can come in and she will follow.” When we were all in and the door was closed, I flipped the switch for the light over the sink. Suzy had cornered Ned and was growling at him. “Suzy stop.” I walked over and stood beside him. “Ned, kneel if you can. Now, make a fist with your hand, palm down, and gently move it out so she can sniff it.” I reached out and petted Suzy. “See Suzy, he is a friend.” “I don’t think she is going to come to me.” “Talk to her in a soft gentle voice.” He said in a sing-song way, “Hi Suzy, I’m Ned and I am not going to hurt you or Sam.” Suzy came over very slowly and sniffed Ned’s hand. I petted her, trying to make sure she knew everything was all right. She finally came closer and was sniffing all of him. “You should try to pet her now.” “Are you sure?” He looked up at me and you could tell he was scared. I nodded, then walked over to the table and got everything out of the brown paper bag. I put the bag of ice in the little freezer. “I brought you some food. Sorry, I couldn’t find any clothes though. Are you hungry?” “I’m starving.” “Well, I will try to get you more stuff tomorrow, but I have to figure out how to get it out of the house, so nobody sees me taking stuff or my mom doesn’t notice that it’s missing. I brought some stuff to clean you up, but you should eat something first.” Ned sat down and devoured the hamburger on bread with ketchup, mustard and a bunch of pickles. He drank the orange soda first. “Thanks, I needed this. I really don’t want to get you in trouble. I just have to think about what I should do next.” “Well, you are going to draw attention to yourself walking around all bruised up and bloody.” “Yeah, I know.” He said looking down and eyeing the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Don’t you like peanut butter and jelly?” “Yeah, but I am trying to decide if I should leave it for breakfast.” “Shoot, I didn’t think of breakfast. I have to collect eggs tomorrow morning. We split them with my brother’s family. Do you know what? You could go over there in the middle of the night and take some if you want.” I saw he didn’t like the idea. “I can try to figure out how to get some without the boys noticing. Sometimes they are watching cartoons while eating breakfast when I come over early.” I saw I was going to lose sleep trying to feed this guy. “Go ahead and eat it.” It was gone in a flash. Suzy had been dancing around him thinking she might get a morsel of food off him but unless he lets her lick his hands I doubt if there was a crumb left. “You should give Suzy one of the slices of cheese. You will be her friend for life.

< Back Ham, Cheese, and Leek Scones Prep Time: 30 minutes Cook Time: 25 to 30 minutes Serves: 12 large scones Level: easy About the Recipe Ingredients 2 leeks 2 Tbsp. (25g) unsalted butter 2 Tbsp. olive oil 1 tsp. flaky sea salt (such as Maldon) A good grind of black pepper ½ cup (200g) Parmesan, grated 3¼ cups (450g) all-purpose flour, plus more for the work surface 2 Tbsp. baking powder 7 Tbsp. (100g) cold unsalted butter, cut into cubes 2 cups (500g) plain yogurt 7 oz. (200g) of your favorite ham (Parma, Serrano, Bayonne, or country), cut into bite-size pieces 1 tsp. kosher salt 1 egg, lightly beaten with a little milk or water, for the egg wash Preparation Step 1 Trim the roots and the tough green stalks and outer layer from the leeks. Cut the leeks in half lengthwise and run under cool water to rinse, peeling back the layers to get inside where the grit is lodged. Slice the leeks crosswise into 1⁄4-inch slices and drop into a bowl of cold water for about 10 minutes. All the dirt will fall to the bottom. Scoop the leeks out (rather than pouring them out with the water) and place in a colander to drain. Pat dry. Step 2 In a heavy-bottomed frying pan over medium-low heat, heat the 2 tablespoons of butter and the oil until the butter starts to foam. Add the leeks, flaky sea salt, and black pepper and sauté for about 10 to 15 minutes until soft but without color. When they are cooked, tip them into a bowl and chill in the fridge for about 20 minutes (this can be done the day before). Step 3 Line a baking sheet (or other container that can fit into your fridge) with parchment paper. Step 4 In a medium bowl, stir together the Parmesan, flour, and baking powder. Cut in the butter with a pastry cutter or the back of a fork (or use a mixer) until crumbly. Add the yogurt, ham, kosher salt, and cooled leeks. Mix quickly to combine and then pat into a cube and place on a lightly floured surface. Pat the dough into a thick log and cut out triangles from the log—you will have about 12. Place the scones on the lined baking sheet (or other container) and put in the fridge to chill until set, about 1 hour. Step 5 Preheat the oven to 355°F (320°F convection). Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper, place the chilled scones on it, and brush the scones with the egg wash. Step 6 Bake for 25 to 30 minutes until golden. Serve right away. Do ahead: You can also make the scones and freeze them, then bake as and when you need them. They keep well for a month in the freezer. Previous Next

< Back Almond Tea Bread (w/ poppy seed) Prep Time: 15 minutes Cook Time: one hour Serves: 2 loafs Level: easy About the Recipe Ingredients 2 1/4 cup sugar 3 eggs 1 1/8 cup oil 3 cups flour 1 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 1/2 baking powder 1 1/2 cup milk 2 Tablespoons canned poppy seed 1 1/2 teaspoon each vanilla, almond extract and butter flavoring Glaze: 3/4 cup sugar 1/4 cup orange juice 1/2 teaspoon each vanilla, almond extract and butter flavoring Preparation Grease and flour 2 large loaf pans. Cream together first three ingredients. Add 1 1/2 cup milk alternating with flour mixture to the creamed mixture. Add 2 Tablespoons canned poppy seed, 1 1/2 teaspoon each vanilla, almond extract and butter flavoring. Beat 2 minutes. Divide between the two pans. Bake at 350 for 1 hour. In a small saucepan combine the glaze ingredients. Boil for 1 minute. Glaze bread with this mixture while still warm. We usually start cooking the sauce when the bread comes out of the oven then after the minute of boiling we pour it over the bread. You can get canned poppy seeds in the pie filling section. It will change the flavor and dynamics of the bread. Previous Next

< Back Cheesecake cups Prep Time: 20 minutes Cook Time: 15 minutes Serves: 24 Level: easy About the Recipe These individual cheesecakes are fun to have and easy to make for a buffet table or party. I play around with the filling, base and topping. I give you permission to do the same. I have even crumbled cookies and doing nothing but put them in the bottom of the paper cups and it works. Ingredients 16 oz cream cheese ¾ cup sugar 1 tsp. vanilla Zest of one lemon 2 eggs 1 tsp. lemon juice Large vanilla wafers Cherry pie filling Preparation Mix softened cream cheese, sugar, vanilla, lemon juice, and zest of the lemon until smooth then fully incorporate your eggs. Put vanilla wafers or scrap the sides off of Pecan Sandies to fit in bottom of paper cups and place in 20 to 24 muffin tins. Fill each cup 2/3 full with cheese mixture. Bake at 375 for 15 min. Cool and put cherry pie filling, blueberry filling or your favorite pie filling on the top of the cheesecakes. Refrigerate. Previous Next

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. Written by Kimberly Caristi 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. #1 My mother ruined my life…again No computer games I couldn’t believe how many times my mother ruined my life. The last one was the worst and the best thing to happen to me. Well, all of them were the best thing and the worst thing to happen to me. I might be a drama queen but my mother does some really deplorable things when it comes to dealing with me and my life. The first time I remember my mom ruining my life was when she wouldn’t buy me Furby Zoom. My best friend had this game and we had so much fun playing it. I received a flat no from my mom. My dad didn’t even get to have any input into the subject. When mom had said no, I went to him and begged him to talk to her. He tried with no such luck. My mom just kept saying they looked stupid and she didn’t like the sound it made. I promised I would only play with it in my room. She didn’t like me playing video games, especially if I had to play them in my room. My dad and mom argued about me getting a tablet in the first place. My mom didn’t like computers. My dad was of the twenty-first century and he was all about computers. My parents met in college. Dad was studying finance and mom was studying art. I was told people thought they were an odd pair. When I asked my mom why they got together she would always say that opposites attract. I heard someone say my dad had such a type A personality so I looked it up on Wikipedia. What I found out was my dad was so type A personality through and through. It said they are outgoing, ambitious, rigidly organized, highly status-conscious, impatient, anxious, proactive, and concerned with time management. People with Type A personalities are often high-achieving workaholics. That described my dad to the letter “T.” They really should have put a picture of my dad next to the description of a type A personality. On the other hand, my mom is totally a type B personality, she is very carefree and relaxed. I would never understand why that meant she failed at understanding the concept of time. I felt like she really didn’t know how to tell time. Another thing that grated on my nerves was that she was so carefree she didn’t mind living in a mess. She was so relaxed about it she didn’t care who saw it. When it comes to my trait I am a totally a type C personality. I am a very detail-oriented individual who likes to be involved in things that are controlled and stable. I am interested in accuracy, rationality, and logic. No wonder my mom and I were always battling it out until I learned to control and stabilize our way of living. Of course, now I have to admit, my mother had a bit of a realization that I needed to control our lives. I really hate to admit that. I was told by my dad’s mom that she couldn’t see what my dad saw in my mom and grandma tried to talk my dad out of marrying mom. My grandma Wright was thrilled that my mom had found someone stable who might put some order in mom’s life. It wasn’t until I had it pointed out to me that I realized she was driven as well, though I didn’t see it that way until I was sixteen and living a life totally different to what I thought it should be. My mom knew she had talent, she just had to hone her craft and prove herself, though in doing so she let everything else in her life except me fall to the wayside. She was always very good at making me feel like I was as important as her art. I just didn’t see it until I saw it myself in other people’s eyes. My dad tried to put order in mom’s life, but they fought all the time about it. As I stated before, my mom had no concept of time. Dad would want mom to be ready at six to go to dinner and mom might be home by six though she would be covered in paint. Time was a constant battle with them. The other battles were how messy the house was and how we didn’t eat as a family half the time. Mom would be so engrossed in a project that she was working on she would forget to fix dinner or not show up at all. She did make sure she was home when it was my bedtime. I loved our bedtime ritual. To be fair, sometimes my dad would work late and mom would have had dinner ready an hour before he got home. A fight would ensue because dad said he told her he wouldn’t be home until seven and she just forgot it. My mom would say, “You always blame me.” They tried to hide their fight from me but I could here my dad yelling all the way to my bedroom. Sometimes I would go downstairs to try to interrupt the fighting. The fighting I blamed on my mom. I was on my dad’s side because she was the one who always ruined my plans. I was on my dad side of things until it was time for bed then everything that went on during the day would fall away. My mom and I would cuddle and talk about what was good in our lives. I needed my mom to go to sleep to feel safe. #2 My mother ruined my life…again My parents’ divorce and my mom and I move to New York City One day mom said she was tired of the fighting and was taking a job at the New York School of the Arts. That was the second time my mom ruined my life. My parents were divorcing and my mom was taking me to New York to live with her. We left my beautiful three-bedroom home with three bathrooms and a pool in Liberty, Missouri, for a rundown loft apartment in New York, New York. I really didn’t even have a bedroom. My mom put up a partition in the corner of the loft so I could have a space of my own. I was eight years old. My dad promised me that he would see me every summer and holidays. He wanted to make sure that I took care of mom. I think he still loved her but just couldn’t live with her anymore. I think my mom still loved my dad because she would cry herself to sleep for the first month we lived in New York. We each had our own partitioned room though you could hear everything that went on in that loft. The Loft in Chinatown was all my mom could afford at the time. The first six months we ate a lot of Chinese food from the little restaurant on the ground floor. When we moved away, we would go back to the little restaurant at least every month. They had the best dumplings and when they made dumpling soup it was over the moon good. Living in New York City was an education in itself. One of the first things I learned to do was to identify what a rat looked like. One day I chased what I thought was a cat down an alleyway. I was hoping my mom would let me keep it. I knew we had a mouse in our apartment because I asked my mom, “What are these little black beads?” She said, “They are little presents from our friendly mouse we were sharing our little apartment. Though, we shouldn’t touch them.” Anyway, when I finally cornered the rat, my mom had caught up with me. She screamed “Rat,” she grabbed my hand and she pulled me down the alleyway back to the road. She kept making involuntary shivers as we walked the rest of the way home. She promised me as soon as I was old enough to clean the litter box, I could get a cat. I started to learn what it was like to be a parent at eight years old. I could see why my dad would get so frustrated with my mom. My mother’s problem with having no concept of time at all, drove me crazy. I had witnessed it since I was little but it went to an whole other level when we got to New York. I was left at school so much the teachers had my mom’s phone number on automatic speed dial. After the first week of fourth-grade my teacher would call my mom before school was out every day to remind her to pick me up. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die every time my teacher called her because she looked straight at me. I thought if I weren’t a good student, she might have been mean to me during the school day. Instead, she would just look at me like, “why do I have to do this every day.” By fifth-grade I was starting my third school and we were in our third apartment. We could afford to live near mom’s school. The best part was I had real walls that went all the way up to the ceiling. Mom was having so much success in selling her art we were moving up in the world. Mom taught by day and worked at night; sometimes it was the other way around. She realized she was having so much success selling that she could tell the school what classes she wanted to teach. The students loved her and her classes filled up first no matter what time she was teaching. I have to admit I was proud of my mom when we would meet one of her students while we walked around the city. They would gush all over her. In turn my mom would gush all over the student telling him or her they were doing a great job on the piece they were working on. I knew we were staying in that apartment when my mom started to make friends with the people who lived there. When she would let me go down the hall to my friend’s apartment, I knew I was in a safe place. We even had a doorman that my mom would ask how he was doing and how his family was. He was adorable. He looked like Santa Claus. She started to pay my friend Leah’s mom to take me to school and bring me home about halfway through fifth-grade. That made my teacher very happy. Actually, I was happy. That ended my days of me starting the morning trying to get my mom to get up and dressed, which always ended up in a fight. Now I was being dropped off at school on time, which was fifteen minutes before I was supposed to be there. Leah’s mom liked to be early. She was always waiting outside the door of our classroom when the bell rang at the end of school. Leah and I would do our homework together while her mom would make dinner. Oh, the smells that came out of her kitchen would make my stomach growl. I wished my mom would learn to cook. By the end of the school year Leah’s mom was packaging up a little food for me before I went home. This was how I learned all about Indian cuisine. I learned I loved their food. My mother ruined my life…again #3 my mom can’t cook like other moms I complained to my mom that she didn’t know how to cook and should take lessons from Leah’s mom. On my birthday that spring my mom gave me cooking lessons from Leah’s mom. I learned how to make all kinds of things but Naan was my favorite. There is nothing like smelling fresh bread baking in your house. Don’t get me wrong, the smell of Dal Tadka (a lentil dish), Butter Chicken (has the same profile as tikka masala though different), Matar Paneer (a fresh cheese and pea stew that has an explosion of flavor) makes both my mom’s and my stomach growl. When my mom smelled samosas, she would usually be standing behind me as I was taking them out of the oven. The delicate pastry filled with spiced potatoes, onions and peas make for a mouthful of goodness. My mom told friends that was the best gift she had ever given me. I found my first love, cooking Indian food. Living in New York City was exciting and fun. I would downplay it when I was with my dad because I didn’t want him to know I loved living in NYC. Once a week my mom and I would do some kind of excursion in Manhattan. Central Park was a regular occurrence. There was so much to do in Central Park from age 8 until I left, it never got old. We went from seeing puppet shows and playgrounds to seeing concerts in the summertime where we saw new bands. I loved it when my mom and I would get dressed up to eat lunch or brunch at the Boat House. My favorite was when we would get a table at the railing looking out onto the lake. These trips made our time together more special. The things we did from day one until we left were go to Central Park Zoo and walk through the butterfly gardens. Both of these things we did with so much enjoyment. Much later than it should have been I stopped chasing the butterflies. I had so much joy seeing them fly around, it was magic. My mom painted a huge butterfly on my bedroom wall in each apartment. I was so excited watching the butterfly emerge from the white wall as my mother painted it. Each time the painting was different. I didn’t care, I just couldn’t wait until it was finished. I was always sad when we had to paint over the butterfly when we were leaving. I have to say sometimes I cried. I wasn’t sure why I did it because each move was to a better place and my mom would paint another beautiful butterfly on my wall. I might have a problem with change. Moving was always an ordeal, having to paint all the walls white and usually removing paint from the floors. Mom didn’t care for white walls at first but learned they were great canvases or backgrounds for her paintings. Another of our pastimes on the weekend was finding a new place to eat. Both of us enjoy our food. We went to all the international festivals around us. Sometimes we even left Manhattan to go to festivals in the other boroughs. We could tell you all the best places to eat. My mom was always drawn to festivals that had color and art. I felt like she was always in a search of the next inspiration while we were together. The funny thing was most of what inspired her was in our own backyard, Central Park. She painted a series of me on the merry-go-round that hung in our living room. My favorite one she gave to my dad as a present from me. He has it hanging in his living room. Sometimes my mom is the best until she ruins my life…again. My mother ruined my life…again #4 My mom can’t even pay the bills In sixth grade my mom was doing so well selling her art people started to recognize her when we were out in public. Her life got busier trying to meet the demand for her art. My life got busier because I had to start looking around our house for checks when bills were coming in past due. When the cable went dead and I couldn’t watch the cooking shows that really pissed me off. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as my grandma would say. I had to confront my mother when she walked into the apartment. My mom said, “I know we have the money somewhere.” The next morning, we both spent the day going through everything in our messy house looking for checks. We found checks in the most absurd places: in the coffee container, under a package of deli meat in the refrigerator, in a magazine from a month ago. When I found one in the place where we keep the toilet paper, I made fun of her. This was when mom decided that we should clean as we looked. I wasn’t thrilled with the cleaning part. My room was already cleaned. I liked living in an orderly home but my mom was a slob and I didn’t want to clean up her mess. I thought after a while she would clean it up. I didn’t realize I would be cleaning it up after all. When my mom found one of my books next to the couch, she walked it to my room to put it away. I had been reading it there when I was waiting for her to come home for dinner the night before. I forgot I had set it down when I went to get dinner on the table. She called me to my room. I remember this conversation like it was yesterday. “Emma, Emma come here now.” I thought she had found something terrible in my room. I came running. “What’s wrong?” “Look at your room,” she said with such excitement. “Again, mom, what’s wrong with it?” “It’s clean.” “I know.” I didn’t understand what was the problem here. “Do you always keep it this clean?” “Are you just noticing that my room is clean? Mom, you are unreal.” I couldn’t believe my mom and her observation. I thought being an artist made you observe everything. Well, her observation of how clean my room was gave me the job of cleaning the whole apartment. It took some negotiations but I got a new laptop that I wanted, my allowance was doubled, and my favorite thing was I got a clothing allowance. My mom got someone to clean her house. This was when I decided that I should take control of her finances as well. The first thing I did was easy. I just started to make deposits. On my new computer I set up her on-line banking and put as many bills on autopay as possible. After a show, my mom would hand me all of her checks. I had to ask her weekly if she sold anything so I could collect the checks. I would deposit them using my new phone – something else I got in the deal. I had to call my dad to ask him how to do most of this and he started to put his child support checks in automatic deposit. My math skills got so much better after learning how to balance a checkbook. My dad said I had to balance the books every month. I thought that step was unnecessary but I did it to please him. I soon realized that mom was making a pretty good income. She was making more money selling her art than she was teaching. We were spending way less than what mom was making. Dad told me about buying a certificate of deposit with the extra money. I tried to have her meet with someone to invest in stocks but my mom wouldn’t make the time. Knowing our finances put me in a good position to negotiate for the high school I wanted to attend. I was so excited when my mom agreed to one of the better high schools. I met so many kids from all over the world that I was in heaven. I was getting just as much of an education out of school as in school. I was making friends that had moms that really knew how to cook. I didn’t go around asking if their moms knew how to cook. It was just a happy coincidence. These moms were happy to show me how to cook their national food. Sometimes my friends and I would learn together, which made their moms happy I had come along. I was becoming an international cook. My mom and I were enjoying food from Thailand, France, Spain and Russia. My dad was afraid I was spending too much time cooking and not enough time studying. He searched for a bunch of workshops and summer programs that were in math and science for me. I agreed to attend them when I visited him in Kansas City. He had moved closer to work the summer before. I liked that he was living in Kansas City because I could still visit my friends in Liberty. I enjoyed my summer programs that I took after my freshman year in high school. I showed my dad that I was still smart even though I learned how to cook. He enjoyed my fresh French baguettes just as much as my mom. He couldn’t wait until it was cool enough to eat. He also enjoyed the milder Indian food I would make for him. He didn’t like the spiciness of the Thai food that my mom and I thrived on. My sophomore year in high school I learned all about love. I met who I thought was the love of my life, Nathan. We didn’t live far apart so we saw each other all the time. My mom liked Nathan and didn’t mind him spending time over at our house. He became a valuable person in her life when she realized that he could move her sculptures or canvases with so much ease. My mother ruined my life…again #5 My parents can’t stay in one place My dad threw me for a loop one day. At the end of the school day, he called to tell me he was moving to San Francisco, California, in a couple of weeks. I didn’t know what to say. All I could think about was no more seeing my friends in Missouri and no more seeing my favorite little big town of Kansas City, Missouri. It was such a reprieve from the noise of New York. I was so mad at him I ended the call. He called me right back and I wouldn’t answer. He started to text me thinking I would read them. I read them, but I wouldn’t – I couldn’t answer them. I just needed time to think about it and I knew that it wasn’t very nice. I just wanted to punish him for ruining my summers. What was I going to do in San Francisco? I wouldn’t know anybody. Mom got home in time for dinner. I was a little surprised because she was on time. I had texted her that dinner would be ready at six. I didn’t get a reply though to be honest I usually don’t. As I have stated before my mom was not very computer savvy and she thought her phone was a computer. I made the mistake of telling her the phone could do most things a computer could do so now she was more afraid of it. She does answer it when I call most of the time…if she can find it. We sat down to dinner with Nathan. He has been here all afternoon listening to me whine about my dad moving. Once he asked me if I was crying because I was unhappy or because of the onions I was chopping. I made my favorite Indian dish, butter chicken. It is my comfort food. It was the first dish I learned to cook and it comforts me to make it. I saw a lot of Indian dishes in our future. “Mom, did you know about dad moving to San Francisco?” She is trying to get the spicy potato samosa all in her mouth. I tried a new recipe I saw online that makes them into cone shapes. After seeing her try to eat it I thought I would go back to my standard way of making them. I did like the flavor of them and would make that filling again. “Yes, he told me he was going to call you today.” At least, she had the decency to cover her mouth as she talked. Well, that kind of pissed me off. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Don’t get mad at me young lady. It is not my place telling you what your dad is doing. Would you like it if I told Nathan something about you before you had the chance?” “Ms. Shaw, don't bring me into this discussion. I am a simple guy getting a free meal,” Nathan said with a big smile. “Okay, Mom, I get your point. I am still not going to talk to him for a while. I was going to have him teach me how to drive this summer. There is no way I want to learn how to drive in a big city.” “Honey, why do you want to learn how to drive? We don’t even own a car. You don’t want to drive around here, do you?” “No, I want to be able to drive out to see my friends in Liberty.” “Oh,” mom’s tone was sad, at least. Mom took a bite of butter chicken and smiled. “Just think of all the new things you will see in California. Just think about all the different kinds of food you will be able to try. I have always wanted to go to San Francisco. Let’s go see where he is moving to together.” I have heard about going on vacations before with mom and they never happened. I was wondering if this was one more of her dreams that wouldn’t come true. It would be nice to go on a vacation with her. Dad wasn’t into food as much as mom was so going to a restaurant with him lacked excitement. When mom and I went to a restaurant, it was an experience. Every day my dad texted me and I ignored them. It had been two weeks since dad had told me that he was moving. I wish I could control my parents. It was so frustrating when they did unexpected things. I thought my mom was trying to lift my spirits by taking me to the Boathouse for brunch. Little did I know it was another thing that would happen that would ruin my life. Mom and I were walking to the Boathouse for brunch. They had only been open for the season for a few weeks. We usually didn’t go there for the first couple of weeks because everyone who misses it would be there. It was a beautiful spring day and we were enjoying the walk. My mom seemed a little more preoccupied than normal. I just chalked it up to her show next week. We shared everything we ordered. The waiter didn’t seem happy that we were sharing the appetizer of a lump crab cake. When he brought us the crab cake, we were ready to put in the rest of our order. We decided on a Greek salad, followed by the scallops with cauliflower risotto and for dessert cheesecake with macerated strawberries plus we were getting two apple turnovers to go. Mom suggested the turnovers would be good for a snack tonight. We could heat them up and serve them with vanilla ice cream that we had in the freezer. I have not made pastries yet. I thought pastries were hard to make. I did make some cookies but that was as far as I had delved into the pastry world. We were working on the cheesecake when my mom stopped and just stared at the lake. I couldn’t tell if she was wanting to quit or lost in thought. I finished my half and she was still staring out though she had become fidgety in her seat. That was a sign that I knew something was up. “Mom, what is the matter? I know there is something you want to tell me I am not going to like. Just spit it out so I can deal with it.” Mom looked at me with so much apprehension it scared me. What she had to tell me was really going to upset me. It was my turn to get all fidgety. I couldn’t sit still and my mom reached out and took a hold of my hand. “I have some news that is exciting; nevertheless, you are probably not going to like it at first.” I pulled my hand away. “Please don’t shut down until I tell you everything. This is a huge honor for me and I think this will be good for you too.” “Mom, please just tell me.” Her drawing it out was making me nervous. “Okay,” she took a deep breath and I prepared myself. “I have been given a Fellowship to the Academy of Art in Florence.” “How long will you be gone? I can stay with Maria.” I didn’t understand why she was so nervous. “It is for two years,” she said looking down into her lap. “I am sorry but we both are moving to Florence, Italy. I will be working on my MFA in studio art at the Academy of Art.” Mom tried to reach for my hand and I scooted my chair back. “I can’t believe this!” I was almost shouting. “I can’t believe you are ruining my life again! Do you ever think about me and my life? I have a great school. I can’t leave my friends. What about Nathan? You ruin everything.” With that said I pushed my chair back so fast that it fell over. I didn’t even pick it up. I just walked out of the restaurant. I saw a few people who were staring at me, but I didn’t care. I didn’t understand why she needed a degree when she was making so much money selling her art. She had an art exhibit a couple of times a year. She was very prolific in her art. She had no life besides art and having dinner with me most days. Our dinners had become a regular thing since she made a studio in our apartment. She would paint while I made dinner. It was like we were working on our own art together. We sat and talked for an hour or two about what I was doing or what Nathan was doing. His parents let him eat dinner with us three days a week. I really liked that time of day and I thought she did too. I knew she liked it because sometimes she was working on a painting or a sculpture for a show and she would still sit with me for a couple of hours. Our excursions around town were limited since I had a boyfriend. I thought the dinners were making up for the time we would have spent going around town. Sometimes I would talk Nathan into joining us on an excursion that my mom said we just had to go on. Mom didn’t seem to mind that Nathan would come with us. My mom caught up with me just as I got to our street. How could she leave this place? So many people would give anything to live in Manhattan. All the museums, theaters, restaurants, cultural events and if you like sports we have that, too. “Emma, let’s talk about this. You will love Italy.” She was out of breath. She still had to wait for the bill and the apple turnovers. I would not talk to her. She had ruined my life again. It had been a couple of weeks since dad told me he was moving and now this. I wouldn’t want to live in San Francisco, but did I really want to live in Italy? “Emma,” my mom touched my arm and I yanked it away from her. “Emma, you have always wanted to learn how to cook Italian. Now is your chance to learn in Italy.” Shoot what do I say to that? I really liked this idea of learning to cook Italian in Italy. How cool would that be? I decided to give my mom the cold shoulder for a while until I could figure things out. That was the worst day ever. I didn’t want to leave my school or Nathan. How was I going to tell Nathan the news that I was leaving for two years? I baked his favorite chocolate chip cookies and took them over to his house the next day. I was in pretty good spirits after sleeping on moving to Italy. It could be a cool experience. I felt lucky that I was finishing out the school year so I had about a month to say goodbye to everything I loved. Nathan knew I had bad news as soon as he opened the door. I had a huge bag of cookies for him. I had never given him that huge of a bag of cookies before. We discussed our situation for an hour while eating a large portion of the cookies. We decided to give the long-distance relationship a try but he didn’t seem thrilled about it. Nathan never really said he loved me but I knew I loved him. In getting ready for Italy, Mom had asked Peter, our neighbor, if he would give us Italian lessons. Peter told us all the places we should go for a good gelato. He had lived in Florence for a couple of years and assured me I was going to love it. When we weren’t taking lessons, Italian music was being played in the apartment. I had taken Spanish for six year and was pretty good at speaking Spanish with my friend Maria’s family. Her mom was the one who taught me how to cook Spanish food. She didn’t speak English very well so I really picked up what I had missed in school. My freshman Spanish grade went from a C+ to and A+ after the first semester. Learning Italian was much easier than I thought it would be since I had a great concept of the Spanish language. I actually was liking the thought of moving to Italy more. Was I going to tell my mother that?...no way! My mom on the other hand was having a terrible time picking up the language. She was combining English and Italian half the time. Another reason why I had a short fuse with her was I couldn’t deal with her attention span when we were having the lesson. I just knew she was not trying. I didn’t have patience with people who didn’t try their best. She tried to compliment me by saying my attention to detail was what made me a great cook at sixteen. The week before we left for Italy my mom and I flew out to California to see my dad. I thought my mom wanted to see where my dad was living. It was nice to play like we were a family again. We did all kinds of touristy things San Francisco had to offer. We took a boat to Alcatraz, toured Chinatown, went to Fisherman’s wharf, rode the cable car, and went to the zoo. It was hard not to compare the two Chinatowns nevertheless I thought both of us liked San Francisco better. Even though New York’s was bigger and we are more familiar with it, there is something special about San Francisco’s Chinatown. It was the first time we had spent this much time together since before the divorce. What was I saying: I didn’t ever remember spending this much time together. Neither of them were working and there was no fighting, it was a very pleasant time together. It was the only time since my mom made the decision to move that my behavior was pleasant. Yes, I was being a drama queen. I was thankful that I had parents that understood me enough to let me work out what I was dealing with before they intervened. My mother ruined my life…again #6 Moving to Florence Italy The day before we left for Italy Nathan’s parents threw us a going away party. It was very nice of them. They had been letting Nathan spend as much time as he wanted at my house. Saying goodbye to Nathan was the hardest thing I have ever done. I just knew my life was over. I cried myself to sleep that night. Nothing my mom said or did would make up for her moving us again. I had made sure my mom knew that over and over. In the morning when we got on the plane my mom was surprised that I had bought us first-class tickets. I knew the finances better than she did. Besides, I made the reservations and I didn’t feel like flying to Florence sandwiched between a bunch of people. I thought a little of me wanted to make my mom pay for moving us to Italy. I knew I should have been nicer; I just couldn’t make myself. On the flight I made us practice our Italian. I had my mom ask for her drinks and her dinner order in Italian. The flight attendant complimented her on her pronunciation but I knew he was being nice. When I ordered you could see he thought my pronunciation was so much better with how he nodded his head and smiled at me. Mom patted my hand and told me that I was going to have to do all the shopping when we got to Florence. I thought, what was the difference? I did all the shopping when we lived in New York, well that was the way I felt. Funny thing was when we were moving to New York from Missouri I told my mom I was never going to forgive her for moving us to New York. While I was sitting on the plane, I was feeling I would never forgive my mom for moving us from New York. I loved New York, it had so much to offer. We were moving from one of the best cities in the world to a small town in Italy. What was I going to do with my time? My mom assured me that Florence wasn’t that small; it had over 300,000 people. It couldn’t be that small, right? I had made hotel reservations near the Uffizi Gallery. Again, my mom was surprised that we were spending over $200 euros for a hotel room. She reminded me that our money would have to last us for a couple of years. I told her that we weren’t staying at the hotel I picked out first, that one cost over $600 so she should be happy. I also told her that I knew she would be selling her paintings over here so I was not worried. I was not sure if it was that I complimented her on her ability to sell her paintings or that I said something nice to her. She got all teary eyed and gave me one of her hugs that I had declined since it came out that we were moving. She didn’t let go until minutes after I started hugging her back. I had not said two nice words to her for a month and I was missing our daily night time hugs. I had never gone to bed in my life without a huge bear hug until a month ago. I have a dilemma going on in my head; do I forgive my mom for moving us here or do I keep giving her the cold shoulder? I missed my hug at night. I missed our talks; I missed Nathan right now probably more. I would have to think about how long it will be before I give in and forgive her. Florence wasn’t as crowded as New York, nevertheless it was a noisy city. The street our hotel was on was relatively quiet but when we walked in Piazzale degli Uffizi the noise got louder. I ordered tickets for us to tour the Uffizi tomorrow. I told my mom the reason we were staying in that hotel was because I knew she would spend all day in the Uffizi and I wanted to be close to our hotel. I knew I wouldn’t be able to spend all day at a boring museum. I had been to many art museums and art shows to know I couldn’t handle an all-day event. The truth was I didn’t mind museums. It was the lectures I received about how important the piece of art that was before us. I might have looked at it for a few minutes but with mom we would stand for a half hour while she lectured me. On our first day we just walked around until we got tired. We stopped for a snack from a bakery or got a gelato and sat in some piazza and people watched. Just walking around town, I felt like I was walking in a museum. I was beginning to melt just like my gelato on this warm summer day. I was beginning to like that we were in Italy. I knew my New York friends were jealous that I was going to live in Italy. They said it wouldn’t be long and I would have an Italian boyfriend. I have been told over and over how pretty I was by mom but when my friends started telling me I was pretty I started wanting to believe it. I knew my mom was beautiful because I noticed all of the men staring after her as she walked down the street. She didn’t notice men. Her art was her love. I didn’t know how she could stand being alone all the time. I enjoyed kissing Nathan. You couldn’t kiss a painting. Well, you could kiss a painting but it wouldn’t kiss you back or touch you. Sometimes when Nathan would touched me, I would get all tingly. I liked that feeling. You could tell mom and I were mother and daughter but I got my dad’s brown eyes while my mom had striking green eyes. They were so much prettier than mine. My hair was curly brown. The same color as my dad’s but curly like my mom’s. My mom’s hair was a coppery auburn and it was long. At least she took care of it now so it wasn’t covered in paint or worse, clay. When I started using a conditioner, she started using it too. Both of us needed a conditioner to have nice hair. Yes, I was influenced by commercials. We were always changing what we had in the house when I started taking care of things. I made up the grocery list so that was what we bought. I wonder if TV will influence me here. With the help of Peter, our New York neighbor, and his connections here I was able to set up a realtor to show us places to rent the day after we saw Uffizi. I was giving my mom and me time to adjust to the time change and making sure I wouldn’t have to pull her out of the Uffizi to look for places to live. I was surprised that she didn’t want to go there the minute we got off the plane. I thought she was doing pretty good just walking around the town. My stubbornness was making it difficult for me not to talk to my mom. My curiosity won out. I had to talk to my mom because I wanted to know where she wanted to live. “I thought it would be nice to live close to the school but I don’t know if we can afford to live in that neighborhood. What do you think?” Before I could answer she added, “I could come home when you have dinner ready very easily if we lived close to the school. Maybe even having lunch together” Before she went any further trying to make me want her around I said, “What I found online; I think we can afford to live here way cheaper than we lived in New York.” “You and your computer. One of these days you will have to show me how to use it.” I couldn’t believe my mom still didn’t have a computer. It was crazy. I kept telling her to join the 21st century. I finally got her to use a cell phone just a couple of years ago. Over and over I told her she could use her phone as a computer and search for all kinds of things but I was just lucky that she managed to call me on it. I couldn’t tell you how many times she had swiped down to ignore my call instead of swiping up to answer my call. I had to call her back sometimes two more times before she remembered to swipe up. I started to text her to tell her to swipe up when she had swiped down more than twice. Yes, she has learned to text though she wasn’t great at that either. Lately, she has been texting me more. Thank God for that. “Mom, I am sure you will be selling your paintings here so I don’t think we will have to worry about expenses. Plus, you still have quite a few paintings and a couple of sculptures in the gallery back in New York. They will automatically deposit the checks into our account.” My mom linked our arms together. “Have I told you lately, how I am so lucky you are in my life?” “Yes, but it’s always nice to hear it over and over again,” I smiled at her and leaned into her. “I don’t know what I would do without you. You are my joy and my life. Without you I would be nothing.” My mom gave me a kiss on the cheek. “You haven’t let me paint you in a long time. You should let me do a sketch of you in one of these piazzas.” “Mom it would be piazze,” frustrated that she was butchering the language. “Sorry, they are going to hate me here.” “You have to concentrate or you will never learn the language.” I had said that more than once. “I can say pasta so why don’t we find a quaint trattorias and get something to eat.” I just cringed when she said trattorias. “Sorry, I will try harder.” My mother ruined my life…again #7 My mother has tunnel vision We were walking down a beautiful little street that not many tourists were on. I had heard so much English walking in the streets I wondered if we were in Italy. Mom and I loved the touristy areas but we were trying to see where people who lived here walked and ate. I saw ahead of us this little trattoria with a few tables outside. “Here is a place, do you want to eat outside or inside?” “It’s so cute out here but isn’t it a little too hot to sit in the sun? I think this place would be perfect to sit outside when the weather is a little cooler. I have no idea when that will be.” We walked in and as usual all the heads turned to look at my mom. I was used to it but every once in a while, I wished we could go somewhere where she wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the room. We were seated at a table close to the door and close to the counter that looked like a little deli was set up. I watched as people waited in line at the counter for layers of meat so thinly sliced and layered on waxed paper. Then they were packaged up so neatly. I wondered what the meat was. The man behind the counter had run out of the meat he was slicing and pulled a big hunk of meat off a hook hanging from the ceiling. Hanging from the ceiling all along the wall behind the counter were what looked like pigs’ legs. I had to ask the walking us to our table what do you call that meat the man was slicing. I learned they called it prosciutto. I have had prosciutto in Italian restaurants but had never seen that it came from the leg of the pig. Our waiter came up to our table and asked in Italian if we wanted a glass of Chianti. I responded in Italian that it was too hot for red wine. We would like the house white. The man behind the counter burst out laughing. My mom was kind of lost in what was going on. She politely laughed. The man came out from behind the counter and brought my mom and me a cold glass of his white wine. When he set a glass in front of me my mom got all flustered. “She is too young to drink.” I was kind of thinking I was really going to like living in Italy if they were going to let me drink wine. The man seemed a little apologetic putting his hand on his chest, “I am sorry ma’am. Here in Italy, we start drinking wine at a very young age. I can add some water to it if you like. Though your friend here looks old enough to drink to me. Especially when she orders it correctly in perfect Italian.” He looked at me and winked. I thought I found my first friend in Italy. “I guess it’s okay if it’s not illegal to serve her. Emma, do you want to try it? Please tell me this is your first-time trying alcohol.” “Yes, mom, I haven't had any alcohol before.” I winked at the man still standing there. We exchanged smiles…my heart fluttered. “Well, this is a special occasion. It is our first meal of many in Italy. Thank you, sir.” I thought my mom was wondering why the guy was still standing at our table. I thought she was trying to dismiss him with the thank you, sir. “Oh, I am Lorenzo. This is my place. May I make a suggestion for your lunch?” His English was perfect and I could listen to him all day long. His accent sent goose bumps up my arms, it was so intoxicating. I didn’t know if my mom noticed that he was as dreamy as Doctor McDreamy. She was too busy looking around the place. I was sure that she would paint a picture that would make this place look better than it does at this minute. “Yes, sir. I would like a suggestion.” I thought I should say something since my mom was too busy taking in the room and drawing it in her head. No wonder she didn’t date. She never saw the guys gawking at her. “Oh, yes, please help us decide.” Good, my mom was back with us. “We make the best pappardelle with wild boar in Tuscany. Although it doesn’t quite go with your wine choice, it is delicious if I say so myself.” My mom started to say, “Well..” letting it hang in the air. You could tell she was trying to think of how to word her next sentence. I have seen that face many times in my life. Lorenzo interrupted her. “Please don’t tell me you two don’t eat carbs. You Americans come to Italy and you don’t want to eat carbs. Italy is made up of carbs. We are known for bread and pasta.” He would have continued on his tirade but my mom was tired of it. “Excuse me, sir, I was just worried you wouldn’t want to serve us your pasta because we were drinking white wine.” My mom sounded as huffy as he just did. You could see Lorenzo went pale in a flash. He started to stammer when my mom cut him off. “Well, we don’t want to cause an international incident so are we allowed to have pappardelle al cinghiale con vino bianco?” “Si, Si, of course,” as he bowed his way from the table. “Mom, I can’t believe you.” “Did I say it correctly? I just love that word.” “Mom, you said it beautifully. I was very impressed. When Peter told us to order cinghiale I wasn’t sure if I wanted to try wild boar. I can’t become a chef if I don’t try everything, right?” “Are you sure you want to be a chef?” She saw my look and she made up for it with the comment. “Honey, you are the best chef I know but you will have to work when everyone is off. Everyone wants to go out on holidays, weekends, and nights. It’s hard work. Plus, your dad will go ballistic when he finds out you want to do something creative instead of finance.” She gave me the biggest smile. I was not sure if my mom was smiling because my dad would go crazy or if she liked that I was creative. “Mom, right now I think this is what I want. I like languages too. So, you never know. What I do know is I have to learn how to cook Italian now. When do you think I can take classes?” “I am sure you will be able to find a class somewhere soon. Have you looked on your computer?” Oh my God, she has no idea about the internet. I really wonder if she thinks my computer has all the answers. I keep telling her I have to have internet to look something up but she doesn’t get it. How could this woman not have used a computer in school? Okay, I saw I had lost my mom again. She had pulled a pad out of her purse and was drawing the restaurant. Well, I was glad I had my phone my dad gave me before I left. I was so excited that I could call my friends and text them whenever I wanted. My dad made sure that I knew that he was connected to the internet and his phone, day and night and would answer any calls I made to him. I just had to remember that there was a nine-hour difference in our time. I thought that was his way of telling me not to call him too many times in the middle of the night. I started looking at Instagram to see what my friends did yesterday. Our pasta was placed in front of us by the waiter. Lorenzo watched as we each took our hand and waved them over the pasta to take in the smell. I heard my mom’s stomach growl at the same time mine did. She must have heard mine because we both burst out laughing. Lorenzo came running out from behind the counter. “Is there something wrong?” “No, it smells so delicious. We both are excited to try it.” I looked at my mom and she gave me a smile. I knew she was pleased with my answer. “Can I put this on Instagram?” I looked at Lorenzo. “Sure, go ahead.” “Can I put you on to show my friends?” I thought I embarrassed him. “Well, I just made the sauce. Do you want the woman that made the pasta to come out? I can get her for you.” He was about to walk away. “No, this is cool. You made the sauce and you own this place! My friends will be so jealous.” I started the video with the camera on me. “I am here at Lorenzo’s and he made these pappardelle al cinghiale. We are having it with white wine but next time we will have Chianti.” I turned the camera so you could see our plates, then tilted up to show Lorenzo. He was so cute, he waved. Our attention changed when my mom said, “Oh, my God, Emma put the phone away, this is delicious.” I turned the camera on her with her mouth stuffed with the pasta. At least, she had the decency to have her hand over her mouth when she spoke. “You are going to have to learn how to make this.” I looked up at Lorenzo and he seemed very pleased with himself. I put my phone down and I twirled the pasta around my fork and took a lady size amount and put it in my mouth. I just swooned and I looked up at Lorenzo. “This is probably the best pasta I have ever had. Can you buy wild boar in the store or do you have to go out and shoot it?” He laughed. “I take it, you like the sauce too?” “The pasta is nothing like I have had before but the sauce is what makes it taste so good.” I told him. My mom had to interject her opinion too. “Sir, you are talking to a real chef here. If she is complimenting you, you should feel honored. I am not a cook. That said, this is the best pasta I have ever eaten too.” “Well, thank you ladies.” He turned to me and asked, “So you are a chef? What do you cook?” My mom didn’t let me answer. “Emma, here, can cook Indian, Thai, Spanish, French and some Russian. She has really mastered Indian, and Thai. You say Italy is known for bread though you haven’t tried Emma’s French baguette. I would put it up against all of Italy’s bread.” “Mom.” I was so embarrassed with her bragging about me. “Well, Emma, I would love to try your food sometime.” He was looking at me, not my mom. Maybe I have made a friend here. “I am not a chef yet.” I felt like I should clarify the situation though I was guessing he didn’t think I was old enough to cook. “Well, I was younger than you when I started to cook. My dad had to pull a stool up to the stove so I could reach the top to stir the pots. Don’t underestimate yourself. Obviously, your mother has good taste in food.” He turned to look at my mom and smiled at her. She was back to eating. Seriously, I was going to have to teach her manners. My dad’s mom made sure I had manners. More importantly, I was going to have to teach my mom to pay attention to men. Who was going to take care of her when I went away to college? Maybe I will have to get her a personal assistant. Lorenzo brought me out of my thoughts. “I should let you get back to your dinner,” as he walked away. I said in a low voice. “Mom, did you see him?” My mom looked up from her plate. “What?” She glanced over at Lorenzo. He was busy with a customer, slicing the ham so thinly I wondered if you could read through the slice. “He is gorgeous and you didn’t give him a minute’s thought, did you?” She looked back at Lorenzo. This time he looked up to see her looking at him. He gave her the most dazzling smile. His teeth are so white and straight. He has the perfect mouth. I bet he was a great kisser. My mom smiled back at him and raised her wine glass to him. Oh, he just bowed. He was Mr. McDreamy or, I know, I should call him Chef McDreamy. My friends were going to be so jealous when they saw my post. “Yes, I guess he is good looking but I bet he is married. Wasn’t he going to get the woman who made the pasta? I bet she is his wife.” Mom took a piece of bread from the plate and swiped it through the ragu and took a bite. “Well, that wasn’t worth the calories. This bread is blah. I don’t think there is any salt in it. What do you think?”

< Back Garlic-Glazed Chicken Pizza Prep Time: 30 minutes Cook Time: 10 to 12 minutes Serves: Serves 4 to 6 as a main course, or 8 to 10 as a starter Level: easy About the Recipe This pizza is a family favorite and anyone who likes garlic will go crazy for it. I got this recipe from my brother who was my hero...not just because he gave me this recipe. It is wonderful hot or cold though I might be the only person who likes cold pizza :-) Ingredients ¼ cup sesame seeds 1 head garlic, peeled, and coarsely chopped * 2 teas crushed dried red chili peppers ½ cup soy sauce 1-½ cups rice wine vinegar * ¾ cup vegetable oil ¼ cup chopped green onions 5 Tabls honey 5 boned and skinned chicken breast halves, cut into bit sized pieces 2 cups (about 8 oz) grated Gruyere cheese 1 cup (about 4 oz) shredded mozzarella cheese Your favorite pizza dough Preparation Put the sesame seeds in a small skillet over medium heat. Toast the seeds, stirring or shaking the pan, until golden, about 4 minutes. Empty onto a plate to cool. Reserve. Combine the garlic, crushed red pepper, soy sauce, honey, and vinegar in a bowl, reserve. Heat ¼ cup of the vegetable oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat and sauté chicken until opaque on all sides, about 3 minutes. Remove with slotted spoon and reserve. Pour the garlic mixture into the skillet and cook over med-high–heat, stirring frequently, until the sauce is reduced to a consistency of syrup, about 15 minutes. Return the chicken to the pan and cook, stirring constantly, until the pieces are lightly glazed, about 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and reserve. Brush your dough with vegetable oil, then top with a layer of each of the cheeses and the glazed chicken, leaving a ½-inch border around the edges. Sprinkle with the green onions. Pour a little of the liquid on the pizza. Bake in Preheated oven (500) for 10 to 12 minutes. Sprinkle with the toasted sesame seeds, slice and serve immediately. *You can substitute half the amount balsamic or red wine vinegar (3/4 cup) and the other half water (3/4 cup) plus provolone for the gruyere *I have used as little as ½ head but no less. You need that garlic to make the dish Previous Next

< Back Blueberry Scones Prep Time: 40 Cook Time: Serves: 8 Level: About the Recipe Ingredients 16 tablespoons unsalted butter (2 sticks), frozen whole (see note above) 1 1/2 cups fresh blueberries (about 7 1/2 ounces), picked over (see note) 1/2 cup whole milk 1/2 cup sour cream 2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour (10 ounces), plus additional for work surface 1/2 cup sugar (3 1/2 ounces), plus 1 tablespoon for sprinkling 2 teaspoons baking powder 1/4 teaspoon baking soda 1/2 teaspoon table salt 1 teaspoon grated lemon zest Preparation It is important to work the dough as little as possible—work quickly and knead and fold the dough only the number of times called for. The butter should be frozen solid before grating. In hot or humid environments, chill the flour mixture and work bowls before use. While the recipe calls for 2 whole sticks of butter, only 10 tablespoons are actually used (see step 1). If fresh berries are unavailable, an equal amount of frozen berries (do not defrost) can be substituted. An equal amount of raspberries, blackberries, or strawberries can be used in place of the blueberries. Cut larger berries into 1/4- to 1/2-inch pieces before incorporating. Refrigerate or freeze leftover scones, wrapped in foil, in an airtight container. To serve, remove foil and place scones on a baking sheet in a 375-degree oven. Heat until warmed through and recrisped, 8 to 10 minutes if refrigerated, 16 to 20 minutes if frozen. See final step for information on making the scone dough in advance. directions 1. Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 425 degrees. Score and remove half of wrapper from each stick of frozen butter. Following photo at left, grate unwrapped ends on large holes of box grater (you should grate total of 8 tablespoons). Place grated butter in freezer until needed. Melt 2 tablespoons of remaining ungrated butter and set aside. Save remaining 6 tablespoons butter for another use. Place blueberries in freezer until needed. 2. Whisk together milk and sour cream in medium bowl; refrigerate until needed. Whisk flour, 1/2 cup sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and lemon zest in medium bowl. Add frozen butter to flour mixture and toss with fingers until thoroughly coated. 3. Add milk mixture to flour mixture; fold with spatula until just combined. With rubber spatula, transfer dough to liberally floured work surface. Dust surface of dough with flour; with floured hands, knead dough 6 to 8 times, until it just holds together in ragged ball, adding flour as needed to prevent sticking. 4. Roll dough into approximate 12-inch square. Following illustrations, fold dough into thirds like a business letter, using bench scraper or metal spatula to release dough if it sticks to countertop. Lift short ends of dough and fold into thirds again to form approximate 4-inch square. Transfer dough to plate lightly dusted with flour and chill in freezer 5 minutes. 5. Transfer dough to floured work surface and roll into approximate 12-inch square again. Sprinkle blueberries evenly over surface of dough, then press down so they are slightly embedded in dough. Using bench scraper or thin metal spatula, loosen dough from work surface. Roll dough, pressing to form tight log. Lay seam-side down and press log into 12 by 4-inch rectangle. Using sharp, floured knife, cut rectangle crosswise into 4 equal rectangles. Cut each rectangle diagonally to form 2 triangles and transfer to parchment-lined baking sheet. 6. Brush tops with melted butter and sprinkle with remaining tablespoon sugar. Bake until tops and bottoms are golden brown, 18 to 25 minutes. Transfer to wire rack and let cool 10 minutes before serving. To Make Ahead: After placing the scones on the baking sheet, either refrigerate them overnight or freeze. When ready to bake, for refrigerated scones, heat oven to 425 degrees and follow directions in step 6. For frozen scones, heat oven to 375 degrees, follow directions in step 6, and extend cooking time to 25 to 30 minutes. Step-by-Step: Grating Butter Use the wrapper to hold the frozen butter while grating it on the large holes of a box grater. Grate 4 tablespoons from each stick of butter. Step-by-Step: Folding and Shaping the Scones 1. Fold dough into thirds (like a business letter). 2. Fold in ends of dough to form 4-inch square. Chill dough. 3. Reroll dough into 12-inch square. Press berries into dough. 4. Roll dough into jellyroll-like log to incorporate blueberries. 5. Lay log seam-side down and press into even 12 by 4-inch rectangle. 6. Cut dough into 8 triangular pieces. I make them with whatever frozen berries I have. Previous Next