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

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

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

< 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

< 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

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?”

​Ellie hasn't had an easy life.  The one solace in her life is her art.  A promise that she made to a dying friend has her working very hard on her art.  Her life revolves around her daughter and her art and she doesn't know how to communicate well with people until she meets Lorenzo in Florence.  He shows her that life can be more than her daughter and her art. My Daughter thinks I ruined her life…I did my best to make her life better. Written by Kimberly Caristi Ellie hasn't had an easy life. The one solace in her life is her art. A promise that she made to a dying friend has her working very hard on her art. Her life revolves around her daughter and her art and she doesn't know how to communicate well with people until she meets Lorenzo in Florence. He shows her that life can be more than her daughter and her art. I did my best…learning to live without my dad When my dad died when I was seven and my mom and I were left alone. I mean very alone. My dad’s parents pretty much pretended we didn’t exist. My mom made the excuse that since dad was their only child we just reminded them of their loss. I did get a Christmas present a couple of times then we never heard from them again. My mom was an only child, too, and her parents had died in a car accident before I was born. Her only aunt Mary sent me gifts until she passed away when I was twelve. She lived too far away to visit but we wrote letters. Aunt Mary was the sweetest aunt, she never missed calling us on our birthdays and at Christmas. We were the smallest family I knew. Did I think I had the saddest life? No, it was filled with paper and colors. I didn’t know any better. It might have helped that I was young or I was happy being just with my mom. My memory of my dad filled me with joy. He was funny and charming at the same time. My mom made sure that I didn’t forget him by telling me stories of their lives together before I came along. I wanted to be like him but at a young age I realized I was like my mom and proved it when I was in my thirties. I was quiet like my mother and I wanted to be just like her though I failed at getting some of her traits like being organized. I have gotten ahead of myself… My mom took in laundry and did typing to make money. She kept me busy by giving me paper to draw on while she worked. I didn’t mind; I loved it. My aunt Mary was delighted that I loved to draw so she would send me colored pencils, pens and better paper. A couple of times great aunt Mary sent me art books that I still have to this day. Those were the occasions when the great part of her name really personified her. Someone other than my mother took an interest in what I really loved. A couple of times she would call me, and we would talk about the book she sent. I loved those moments. It was the two art lovers in the world alone with our book. I knew she read before she gave it to me because I would find personal notes in the margins. My mom and I were devastated when we got the news that she passed. Aunt Mary was our ray of sunshine in this world and our only connection to our past. My mom’s reaction was we had work to do though she cried while she worked for several days. It was hard to get past my grief to see that my mom grieved too. She knew this lovely woman who took an interest in me from afar. My mom had grown up with Aunt Mary being there for her in person at all the important days in her life. My great aunt Mary was a tangible person who hugged her and did more for her than called her a few times a year. I did learn that we, my mom and me, grieve by getting to work and providing for your family. At first my mom loved that drawing kept me busy then she would get mad because I wasn’t doing my chores. To be honest, drawing would take me into another world where I could imagine anything. It allowed me to live in a magical place that I created. I turned my cat into a purple cat…purple was my favorite color. I would beg kids at school for their purple crayons because mine were usually down to this little, tiny piece that was the size of the piece that kids broke off the tip of their crayons. I never abused any of my crayons, pencils or pens. I would ask everyone who would bring laundry or pick up manuscripts if they had an extra pen or pencil I could have. My mom hated me asking for a handout though she never said, “Don’t ever do that again.” I thought she secretly was thankful, so she didn’t have to buy them. When I got to middle school my art teacher saw something in my drawings and tried to teach me some techniques that I still used in some of my art. Ms. Inmann was in the wrong place; she should have been a college professor. She couldn’t draw or paint very well because she had shaky hands. Still, she taught me to draw with so much finesse that I started to sell my drawings. My mom said I had to start making money to help pay for my addiction of wanting all these pencils and paper. I started babysitting and drawing the kids I watched. I wanted to get down drawing faces. When the parents came home and saw the drawings I would be working on at their kitchen table, they would ask for them. I would tell them that I was going to use the back because I didn’t have much money for paper, then they would offer to buy them. I wasn’t totally lying; I would have used the back. The better I got the more I could ask for my portrait work. I would ask Ms. Inmann how much I should sell them for. Soon I was making more selling my drawings than babysitting. That snowballed into me being called by friends and families of my babysitting clients asking me to draw their child, parents or a beloved pet. When I got into high school I got into paints. I had another good art teacher, Mrs. Plank. She was a beautiful woman inside and out who was always covered in paint. I wanted to be just like her. When I first met her in ninth grade, she told me that I should be a model not an artist. She told me that I could make a lot of money as a model. A couple of weeks after I started her class Mrs. Plank talked my mom into letting her take me to a couple of modeling agencies. No one asked Elli if that was what she wanted. No one even thought to figure out if this was something Elli could handle. No one thought if this was in Elli’s best interest. After all the interviews I got asked to be added to two of the three agencies that we visited. I thought the one that declined me was the only one that saw it wasn’t for me. I wasn’t the one actively trying to get into modeling. One month every weekend I went to modeling school to learn how to walk. Who knew you had to learn to walk a certain way? I didn’t. I learned great posture though my teacher said I was a natural at holding my body correctly, even though I was tall for a girl and had a nice figure for a fourteen-year-old. I learned to put on makeup that made me look older. I learned how to take care of my thick massive curly red hair. I had tried to cut it one summer when I was in second grade. My mom thought it was because I was upset that my dad had just died, and I was acting out. I just thought it was because I had fallen asleep with gum in my mouth, and I didn’t want to get in trouble for it, so I cut my hair. I had to go see the school counselor for the rest of the year and play with puppets. I suffered through modeling for almost a year. I hated it. I was thankful that Mrs. Plank noticed that modeling was not my passion. Finally, Mrs. Plank really saw that I was better and more passionate about my art than I was about modeling. When she would ask me how my modeling was going, she didn’t see me excited. She thought a young girl asked to model should be floating on cloud nine. On the other hand, when I talked about my art, I was so excited and happy she realized my true passion. One spring day she took me aside in the classroom. “Elli, you need to speak up for yourself. You have talent in front of the camera though your art supersedes it by leaps and bounds. If you wanted to, you could earn more money as a model for a while then you can paint for the rest of your life.” “I don’t want to do that,” I don’t know where I got the nerve to tell her what I was feeling. She agreed with me after a long discussion, “I guess modeling is not for you. Let’s work on your art. I will talk to your mom.” I was nervous because I knew my mom loved the money and the clothes I got to keep. I had never hugged a teacher before or since but that day I just squeezed Mrs. Plank. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I will do whatever you want me to do in the classroom. I will clean your paint brushes, scrub the floor, sharpen the pencils. Whatever you want.” “Okay Elli you might regret your offer,” she smiled at me. I didn’t know if it was the smile or knowing I was not going to have to model anymore that made me feel wonderful. I didn’t care because I could just work on my art. It wasn’t long and Mrs. Plank came over to our house and had a lengthy conversation with my mom. I sat in the hallway trying to hear their discussion. Both of them were soft-spoken like me and all I heard was that Mrs. Plank thought I should give up modeling. They had to talk about more than me because they started to talk on the phone in the evenings every once in a while. My mom called me in the family room after Mrs. Plank left. It was awkward at first, my mom kept twisting a napkin in her hands then she opened up to me. She knew I wasn’t really happy doing modeling. She apologized for not telling me to quit earlier. Come to find out she thought I would fall in love with it soon because what young women didn’t like clothes and attention. She was thankful that I really never got into wearing nice clothes. Our relationship got closer that day because we started to talk about everything. She stopped worrying that she wasn’t providing all the best clothes that most teenagers wanted, and I was willing to talk openly about what I was feeling and thinking. I promptly stopped doing everything I learned in modeling school except keeping my shoulders back. Martha, my modeling coach, said it was good for you whether you were a model or not. She said I would thank her for this when I got older. I learned that if I don't keep a good posture when I draw or paint my back would hurt. When I wanted to dress up for prom and go out on a date, I did use some of the makeup skills I learned. Well, when Mrs. Plank started to just teach me how to paint it opened a whole new world for me. I loved it. Mrs. Plank was thrilled that I took to painting so fast. Freshman year we were learning how to draw with pencils, chalk, charcoal, pastels and at the end of the year we started watercolor. I was ahead of all my freshman class, but Mrs. Plank couldn’t let me advance. I just worked on better techniques. Painting with watercolors was okay but in our sophomore year we got to move into acrylic and oil paints. I was in heaven. We learned all kinds of ways to paint from abstract to impressionism to realism to pointillism and the list went on. Like I said, Mrs. Plank was a great teacher. Mrs. Plank was a champion of mine, one of the things she did for me was enter my paintings into competitions. We were always shipping this piece or that piece to somewhere in the states and a couple around the world. I won enough money to buy me canvas, new paints and good brushes plus lots of turpentine. My mom was not as impressed with the painting money coming in, it wasn’t like the modeling benefits. She was thrilled I was happier. She was always in my corner telling me how proud she was of me. The only thing that drove her crazy was I never got the hang of watching the clock. She lived by the clock. Her customers expected their clothes or papers to be ready on time. As all mothers did, she wished for me to have a normal teenage life. My mom couldn’t get past the fact that I didn’t want to go out on dates more often that I was more excited by my love of art. I read everything I could on the subject and tried to copy the best artists, trying to figure out their techniques. My English teachers commented that they wished I would find something else to write about or do a book report on. I guess it was a rare subject for them to not have read the books their students wrote about. I thought they got bored with the subject too. Mrs. Plank told me not to listen to them. She was proud that I could write as well as paint. My senior year my mom was getting nervous because I kept getting information about art schools from all over the country. I thought she was worried I was going to leave her. I kept telling her I wouldn’t leave her and that I must be getting these applications because of all my art competitions. I didn’t ask for one of them. Secretly, I thought it would be nice to get out of Missouri, but I couldn’t go without her. She was my everything. I had no one else. She worked so hard to keep us afloat. After my dad’s death things were so hard on us. I remember rubbing her shoulders as she typed. I could feel the tightness in her muscles. I did lug in the laundry detergent and the spray starch from the car. Once in a while I would throw things into the dryer for her if I weren’t covered in paint and she didn’t have to worry about stains. Anytime I earned a penny I handed it over to my mom. She usually handed it back when I needed new brushes though. She would laugh at me because of how hard it was for me to ask for money. “You know you have earned this money. Why all the anxs?” Mom said, shaking her head. “Because I am not sure we have the money at this time for the brushes.” “Silly bean, you are the reason that I am not doing as much as I did. We are a team, remember?” She put her forehead on mine. “Yes, a team.” Every once in a while I would forget and fidget trying to ask for money for paint or brushes. I did my best…to stay close to my mom I applied and got accepted to Central Missouri State University. My mom was so thrilled it wasn’t that far from home. Just before school started my mom decided to move to Warrensburg with me. I was a little surprised…well, really surprised. She thought she could get more work in a college town. We packed up our little house into a fifteen-foot moving van and had room to spare. Mrs. Plank had helped me sell all of my paintings in a show that a friend of hers had for me in her Kansas City Art Gallery. I was so nervous standing around trying to be polite to all the people who wanted to buy this up-and-coming artist’s artwork. That show paid for the moving van and the first and last month’s rent for my mom’s little house plus gave us a little nest egg. I wanted to live in the dorm and my mom was fine with that, but I was worried about having enough room in my dorm for my paintings. I knew I had my mom’s house to use if I needed the room. To help pay my bills I got a work-study job in the library. It was my first job that I got paid weekly. This was a first for me. My problem was my issue with time. I was constantly late. My boss was going to fire me after my first month, but he soon realized that I would work later than I was scheduled by way more than I was late. He finally agreed that I would work when I could. I liked working in the library because I met a bunch of people. I would never say I was shy because I could talk to anyone, but I liked it better when I was approached instead of the other way around. I was doing better not shutting people totally out of my life. I knew I had issues after my dad died getting close to people. It was very hard on me and Mom. We really clung to each other. I learned at an early age that a person you loved could be gone in a flash. I never went to bed without saying I love you to my mom and giving her a hug. Even when I was upset with how she was dealing with my dad’s death I still hugged her and said, “I love you.” I showed my friends that I cared for them every day by ending our time together with a hug. I really never had a boyfriend in high school because I couldn’t devote that much time to them. I would rather go out with my friends. I didn’t care if they had boyfriends because that just gave me more time to paint when they got preoccupied by their relationships. I used painting as my way of keeping people at a distance, never really letting them get too close to me because I knew friendship was always iffy. When my dad died, I lost several of my friends because they couldn’t handle that he was gone and how sad I was. My dad was the life of the party, and all my friends loved my dad. He always made them laugh and feel good about themselves. I learned all about it in my psychology class in my junior year in high school. I self-analyzed myself and my mom. I came to terms with my dad’s death that year, but it took me a couple of years to let people get really close to me. That was when I met Russ. Russ was a very good-looking young man with great manners and knew how to make me feel special. He would wait for me to get off work and walk me back to my dorm. He would meet me in the cafeteria and carry my tray of food over to his table where his food was getting cold. We would sit with his friends who became my friends. He bought me new paint brushes for every occasion. My sophomore year my work study was in the first-year art room. My teacher asked specifically for me. Ms. Adams saw my work in Kansas City and was excited when she saw my name on her class list. She hoped I was one-in-the-same Elli Wright. After my first drawing she knew I had to be the same artist she saw in her favorite gallery. Raven became more than just a teacher in my sophomore year. She became my mentor and advisor but most of all a friend. Raven had won several awards for her art. She was known for her paintings of people in Harlem, where she was from. I asked her once why she moved from New York to a small town in Missouri. She had followed her heart. He was the assistant baseball coach. Sometimes she wonders if she did the right thing because half of the year, she was a baseball widow. She hardly saw him. I went to some of the games with her and both of us talked more about art than watching the game. Russ came a few times and asked if we even knew what was going on. We said together “No.” Russ didn’t know anything about art. He didn’t understand why I had to draw so many things over and over. Why the painting I was working on would change from one day to the next. He would comment that he liked the yellow flowers and why did I make them purple. After a few months he stopped asking why I changed things. My work kept getting noticed by other professors. The department secretary called me Star instead of Elli. I finally told her one day, “I am sorry that I haven’t corrected you Ms. Barnes. My name is Elli.” She laughed, “I know, I call you star because you are the star of the department.” I must’ve turned as red as my hair. “Oh,” was all I said. I was so embarrassed. I did feel a little pride that someone thought I was a star of the department. My paintings were going to more competitions. I got to travel all around the United States, Canada, a couple times to Europe and once to Hong Kong. I was never so nervous in my life. Raven said if I really wanted to be an artist I was going to have to learn to talk to people and put myself out there so people would get to know me. I never asked to put my paintings into competitions. My professors were the ones to tell me I had to do this or that. I kind of liked it that way. Raven kept telling me I was falling into being a real artist instead of making myself an artist. She would get so mad at me. “You are not pursuing your art. You are letting it happen.” “I don’t know what you mean. I am taking all the classes I can. Trying everything to see what I want to do.” “If you want to get known you have to enter competition after competition. Put yourself out there and do juried competitions. Make business cards and a website for heaven’s sake. You can paint all you want but if you want to make a living you have to sell, sell, sell. One of those sells, is yourself. You have to let people know about you.” Raven was almost yelling at me. She was an intense woman for sure. “I enter competitions,” I said with conviction. “Only when one of us comes to you and says do this.” “Well, I do it. Don’t I?” “You need to do the research. Get on a computer and find things for you to enter.” “You know I hate computers.” “Well, then you are just going to be one of those local artists that could have made it big.” She gave me one of those looks that drove me crazy. “Don’t look at me that way. Do you really think I can make it big?” Raven actually flicked me on my forehead. “Why in the hell do you think everyone is telling you to enter all these competitions? Get it through that thick skull of yours,” she said with great exasperation. “You could be the next Picasso, Pollock, O’Keefe or Thomas Hart Benton if you wanted it badly enough. You just have to go for it. They are not going to hand you this accolade without you putting yourself out there. You have the work ethic; now show people you are worth it.” That speech came at a time when I was letting Russ get into what I called my inner circle. So far, my mom was the only one I let in that circle. I started to let myself really love him. I had only one example of what love was and that was my parents. My mom gave up everything to be with my dad. She moved away from her home. She had started college when she met my dad but when he was offered a job in Kansas City, he took it. They were married by the justice of the peace near my mom’s parents. They were their witnesses. That was probably why my dad’s family didn’t want anything to do with us. I was totally guessing this because my mom really didn’t want to talk about them. She would tell me all about my dad though. How wonderful he was, how good-looking he was and that I had his looks but way prettier. She always told me how pretty I was and would touch my face then pull back my hair. He was smart too. When I introduced Russ to her, she thought Russ reminded her of my dad. I thought about what Raven said for a couple of days. I decided I would do what she was doing. I was going to teach art and do art on the side. That way, I would be able to have Russ and my art…I thought. At the end of my junior year and the night before Russ graduated, he asked me to marry him. I was so surprised I felt like I was in love, so I said yes, especially since my mom really liked him. She knew he would make order in my life. That was the only thing I didn’t understand: why everyone got so frustrated with me. I did my best to keep everyone happy. I worked late at night when I was not needed. I lost sleep because they wanted me to be there for them. Why couldn’t they accept that when I was having a show, I needed to finish what I had started. I had lost all my friends because I didn’t have time for them. I only made time for Russ and my mom. So, what if I was a little late and I had paint all over myself. Russ had been offered a job in Kansas City at a financial firm doing budget analyst stuff. He tried to explain it to me, but he said he could see my eyes glazing over. He just wanted me to be there for all the social events because he wanted to show off his beautiful bride to be. I tried to be there for everything but several of my paintings had won some competitions and I had to travel with them. If I had to pay for all my travels I wouldn’t have gone. My professors were nice enough to not dock me for missing my classes. To be honest they let me, and some other students work at our own pace. A couple demanded things to be done on a certain date, but the rest said as long as they were done by the end of the semester it was okay if I missed classes here and there. My senior year I took my first sculpting class. I had a new love. You could give me anything and I could make it into something. I literally went out to the dump to find things to weld together. I made friends with a woman named Emma in my sculpting class. We would dig through the trash at school, or we went to junk yards together to find things. Some Saturdays we would go to garage sales at the end of the day to see what people wanted to donate to our art class. Emma and I became inseparable especially since Russ was living close to work. He was saving for our house; he would tell me. I was thrilled I had more time to get more work done. Emma was now in my inner circle. I think she was in my heart before I even knew it. She was so full of life that I was sucked into her inner circle too. I didn’t know I could feel like this. Our friendship was something very special. She got me and I her. My mom would cook for Emma and me on Saturdays and Sundays and sometimes during the week she would call us in the afternoon to see if we wanted to come over for dessert or breakfast for dinner. We were thrilled when we would come over and find a cool piece of trash, she found on the side of the road thinking we could do something with it. Emma was an expert welder if you ever met one. She had real skills when it came to welding. Her favorite place to go was car junk yards. She would climb all over things to get to something she just knew was there. We were both working on our Senior Show our last semester. Hers were all sculptures while I had paintings, one sculpture and chalk drawings in mine. Emma went out late one evening when I was too busy to go with her and when she didn’t show up around midnight, I knew something was wrong. There were a couple of guys working in the welding room and I asked them if they would go with me to the junkyard to see if we could find Emma. When we pulled up, we saw Emma’s car, so she had to be there. Of course, the gate was locked, which didn’t stop Josh and Tony from crawling over the fence. I called the number on the gate to see if they knew anything. No, they hadn’t seen her come in or leave. That was when I got scared. I called the police next. While I was telling them the situation Josh yelled for me to call an ambulance and a tow truck because a car was on Emma. Well, that changed how the police were talking to me. Everything seemed to be in slow motion or so fast I couldn’t keep up with what was going on. I had climbed over the fence before the police, ambulance and fire department got there. I was talking to Emma trying to keep her calm while I was a nervous wreck. I rode with her to the hospital, and I watched as the EMTs, then the doctors, worked on her. I was ushered out to the waiting room. I had never been so scared in my life. Josh and Tony came to the hospital and sat with me. We four had worked together all year and helped each other when someone needed a third or fourth hand. When the doctors were getting ready to take Emma to surgery to try to stop the bleeding they came out and told us that she wanted to talk to me. I just knew that meant they weren’t sure if Emma would survive. The guys looked at me and I knew they were thinking the same thing. I definitely wanted to go to her though it was just that my feet were glued to the floor. I was able to free my right foot then my left and it was the most difficult walk I had ever taken. It was Emma that did all the talking. She wanted me to know that she loved me more than her sisters put together, which was a lot. I was to tell her parents that she was sorry for taking one too many chances. She wanted me to sell all of her art and give the money to her parents. They didn’t need her art to sit around and collect dust, they needed a new car and to pay off her bills. She had my wedding present hiding under her mattress. It was supposed to be my something new. It was a locket, and she already had a picture of my mom and Russ in it. I listened as she told me all these things as tears ran down my cheeks. It was so hard for her to talk but she wanted to tell me, no she had to tell me all these things. I finally stopped her when I saw the nurse come in. “Emma, my sweet Emma, I will be waiting right here for you. You, my sweet thing, will be okay. You have to be okay. We have a lot of art to make together.” The nurse started to interrupt. “I love you, Emma.” It was the last thing I said to her. She didn’t make it through the surgery. I was devastated. My mom came to the hospital to pick me up. I didn’t call her, Tony did. I was a basket case. I curled up on my bed at my mom’s house and cried myself to sleep. I couldn’t go back to school. Russ drove to Warrensburg the next day when he called my mom to find out why I wasn’t calling him back. He knew that Emma was very important to me. I wouldn’t talk to Russ; I didn’t want to see him. I thought I should call off the wedding. I couldn’t get married in a month. I hadn’t showered in a couple of days, and I was still covered in paint. I only ate a couple bits of food that my mom made me eat. I had my back to the door when I heard a knock, then the door opened. “I said, I don’t want to see anyone. Please go away.” I said in the saddest voice I have ever heard come out of my mouth. “I don’t care what you want.” It was Raven. “Get your sorry ass out of bed and into the shower now.” I turned and looked at this very mad woman. “You heard me, get your butt out of bed now.” “I can’t.” “Yes, you can, and you will. Emma’s parents are here, and they need to talk to you. I can smell you coming down the hall, so get your butt into gear and get in the shower.” “I can’t talk to them. I am the reason their daughter isn’t here.” “You pushed the car onto her?” Why was she talking to me like that? I just lost my best friend, my sister. “I should have gone with her to the junkyard. If I had she wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” I couldn’t believe I was crying again. How much water could come out of you before you shriveled up and died? “No, you shouldn’t have. You had your own stuff to get done. Emma took a chance to find something she thought she just had to have. She had enough pieces finished for her project; she just wanted to do more. She made the unwise decision to climb on something not safe.” “But.” “No buts. Shit happens. We don’t always get to choose how things go down. Like right now. I have two parents waiting to talk to you. Their hearts are broken. It is a terrible thing to bury a child. The least you can do is talk to them.” I got up off the bed and started to walk past her. She grabbed me and gave me the biggest hug. Oh, how I needed that hug. Finally, she said, “And brush those pearly whites while you are in there,” as she pushed me off of her. I couldn’t help it. I blew out my breath into her face and laughed. She play swatted my behind as I walked past her. Russ was in the living room when I came out. He came rushing towards me and gave me another great hug. “Elli, I am so sorry.” “Please, not now Russ. I just got my crying under control, and I am right on the brink of crying again. I have to go see Emma’s parents.” “I know. I can take you.” “That would be great.” “You should tell them that we will name our daughter after Emma.” That promise made me laugh, “So you think we will have a daughter?” “We have to. It would be a shame to waste all your beautiful genes on a boy. I figured that we would have a couple of each.” I should have called him. He had brightened my mood. “We never talked about having children or how many we would have. Four children means a lot of diapers and midnight feedings. Are you sure that is the correct number?” “We can have as many as you want. I have a stellar job, and I know I will be promoted sooner than I thought I would. My boss loves me.” He was very proud of himself. “I would love a large family. I think I missed out on being an only child.” “You think you missed out on not getting to sit where you wanted to in the car, the living room or kitchen table? You missed out having fights over what to watch on tv?” I stopped him. “Okay, I get it.” Seeing Emma’s parents was hard. I told them what Emma told me to tell them. It broke my heart to see them cry. Russ ended up coming in with me and I was glad he did. He comforted me then told me to go comfort Emma’s parents. I didn’t know if I would have the wherewithal to do that. They gave me the locket that Emma had made for me. It was beautiful. She didn’t tell me she made it. Just looking at it I could tell. Raven was there as well as Dr. Mullens, the head of the department. It was a difficult meeting, and I was glad Raven made me do it. When Emma’s parents left Dr. Mullens called me into his office. I was so nervous. I had never been called into a principal’s office before, and that was what it felt like when Dr. Mullens called me into his office. I looked at Russ and he said he would be by the car when I was finished. Dr. Mullens sat in his chair and motioned for me to sit in the chair across from him. My hands were all sweaty and I wasn’t sure what to do with them. Since the chair I was sitting in was a fabric chair I started to rub it like I was wanting to know what the fabric was made from doing so I dried my hands. “Ms. Wright, I don’t know if you are aware that Mr. Pembrook will be taking a leave of absence to work on his PhD. We were wondering if you would be willing to take his place while he was gone. He teaches first year art students mainly and art appreciation which is a core class. You have shown great promise while you were here. Pembrook and Adams think you are an excellent choice to fill in while he is away. If we can get another line when he gets back, we can have you apply for the job, but it will have to be a national search. What do you think? Wait, don’t answer me now. Think about it while you are finishing up for your senior show. I will expect an answer by the end of next week.” “Will I be paid?” He chuckled, “Yes, you will be paid standard adjunct faculty pay. Though you will have all the studios open to you for your own work plus some of the standard supplies.” “I don’t have to think about it. This will give me the experience I want to see if I would be any good at teaching. I know I should have figured out what I wanted to do besides painting all day. Thank you for giving me a chance.” “Come in next week and I will have a contract ready for you.” “Thanks again, Dr. Mullens.” “Thank you, Ms. Wright.” As soon as I walked out of the main office Raven met me with a shove. “I told you to stop letting things happen for you. You took the job without thinking about it didn’t you?” “Well, yes.” I didn’t get a chance to elaborate. “When will you take charge of your life? Well, I am glad you are sticking around so I might beat some sense into you.” She gave me a hug then played smacked me on the back of the head. “Your split personality is showing through.” I gave Raven a shove in the shoulder. “I have to go tell Russ.” I did my best…I got a teaching job Russ was pleased that I came out smiling. He wasn’t sure about me taking the job though. “Where are we going to live? I thought we would get a condo near my work until we started a family in a couple of years.” “Russ, didn’t you think I would want a job?” “I make enough money for us to live on. I just thought you would want to paint for a while until the children come.” “Seriously, you thought I would give up my work to have children?” I couldn’t believe he thought I would do that. “I just thought they would take up so much time that you would want to be there for them. I know you can go back to work when they are older.” “What century are you from? What about you giving up your job to take care of all these children you want?” “Don’t get mad. I just thought that is what you would want to do. We can play it by ear.” I looked at him and wondered if he really knew me. “You do know that my art is not a hobby. Don’t you?” I stared at him and wondered if he understood me. “Hey, who set up your website? Who is keeping it up to date? Who replies to the comments? You haven’t even learned to upload pictures to it. I am being supportive here.” He had turned the table on me, it was his turn to be upset with me. I gently touched his shoulder and leaned into him and kissed him softly on the lips. “You do all this for me. Do you think we are ready to get married? We hadn’t even talked about how many children we wanted. What else have we not talked about?” “Well, I know I am ready. Do you have second thoughts about us? Has Emma’s death changed things for you?” I cringed when he said her name. Maybe it had woken up my dreams of who I really wanted to be. Her words and her parents’ words came flooding back to me. ‘You are an amazing artist. Honor Emma by being the best you can be.’ He was searching my eyes with so much concern. “Don’t you love me? I know I love you.” “Of course, I love you.” “Then it is settled. We are getting married in less than a month.” Russ kissed me and gave me a warm embrace. I went home and painted a sign ‘Be the best you can be.’ I would keep the sign forever as a memory of this time in my life. My Senior Show was a success, as was Emma’s. Everyone chipped in on their sales to be able to send Emma’s parents $100,000. I got back the nicest letter of appreciation from them. They were giving a scholarship to any student going into art at her high school. With all the money left over after paying her bills, they were able to buy a nice used car. I saw where Emma got her huge heart from. I reached over to touch my sign. “Emma, thank you for being my friend. I promise you I will work my butt off to be the best artist I can be.” I had made enough money to pay for my part of the wedding. When Russ asked me to marry him, I told him that I didn’t want a big wedding. My mom didn’t have any money. She still took in laundry and typed up theses. She indeed had more work living here next to a university. He was okay with a small wedding and said he would talk to his parents about paying for the reception. I didn’t think they were thrilled with the idea. Since he was the only boy in the family, they thought they would get one wedding break. After my show I was able to give them some money. Well, I tried to give them money, but Russ’s dad wouldn’t hear of it. He told me to put that money to good use like more paints, brushes and canvases. Mrs. Shaw didn’t seem happy about it. She did add that some furniture would be nice too. I thanked them for their support. Mr. Shaw came over and gave me a big hug. I knew it was going to be difficult to win over Mrs. Shaw, but Mr. Shaw was another story. He was one of my biggest fans. Since Emma was gone, I had my mom stand up for me. She was taken aback when I asked her to be my maid of honor. “Are you sure Elli? You can ask one of your other friends. I am an old lady.” “Mom, you aren’t that old. You have always been there for me. Who better to stand up for me at my wedding?” I reached over the kitchen table to grab her hand. “Mom, I want us to walk up together too. Come, I don’t think you want to wear Emma’s dress, so we need to pick you out something beautiful to wear on my special day.” “I don’t know how I got so lucky to have a daughter like you.” “I don’t know how I got so lucky to have a mother like you.” Our wedding was small, and we got married in Russ’s church to make his mom happy. My mom and I didn’t go to church after my dad died so I was fine with it. I really liked the minister who performed the wedding. He had everyone get out of the pews and encircle us as he performed the wedding. It made it feel so special. After the wedding ceremony we walked across the street to the church hall. We had a lovely dinner and the best wedding cake I have ever tasted. I hoped there would be leftovers. My hopes were dashed because everyone else thought the cake was as good as I did. Russ didn’t have time to go on a honeymoon so we went to the nicest hotel we could handle paying for. I just couldn’t justify paying several hundred dollars for one night in a hotel. We compromised on a hundred and fifty. I had never paid that much for a hotel and if my mother knew how much it was, she would have gone crazy ranting on how much we could have bought at the grocery store for that much money. When I paid almost that much on the dress she wore in the wedding, she threw a fit until I said I guess I will not get married then. I wished I could say our first few months of married life were wonderful times, but they were not. We had to get used to each other’s habits. I felt like I was doing a better job of adjusting than Russ. I knew he liked things a certain way, but I thought that would change when we got married. Aren’t you supposed to think of the other person when you get married? We had decided to live halfway between our jobs. Well, when it came time to find a place to live the couple of places in Lone Jack were not up to Russ’s standards. We settled on a place in Lee’s Summit. Russ wasn’t really happy about it, and he made sure I knew it every time he got stuck in traffic. I tried to tell him that I had to drive farther so stop complaining. When classes started up in the fall, I would stay with my mom a couple of times a week. I started keeping more clothes there than I did at our apartment. Russ hated that I was always covered in paint so I would go to my mom’s house to shower and change before going home. Then he wasn’t thrilled that I spent so much time at my mom’s house. He thought it looked wrong. “I work late, I have to shower before I come home and then I have over a half hour drive to get here. On days when I teach the next morning it gives me less than six hours of sleep. We could live in Warrensburg if you want me home every night.” Well, that shut him up for a little while. Our communication skills left something to be desired. I would swear I told him something and he would yell that he told me something. Russ started somewhat calmly then it crescendoed into an ear-splitting scream, “You never listen to me when I talk. You are always thinking about the next thing you are going to paint or what you are going to be teaching the next day.” I said through gritted teeth, “Why can’t you understand that I have never taught before! This is using a different part of my brain. I am exhausted driving back and forth, teaching four classes and I have to produce art to stay active. You are the one who wants to live in an apartment that has no natural light. We live in a cave. I have no room to paint in this place even if there was light. I told you that, then you went and signed the contract without me.” My last sentence must have gotten to him because he changed his tactics. He almost sounded like the loving husband I thought I married, “I have to drive too. I work hard all day. I would like to come home to my wife and have a nice dinner.” Yes, he worked all day at a desk. Oh, he played racquetball three days a week during his lunch hour with friends. Who gets an hour and a half for lunch? He worked late almost every day, so he didn’t have to deal with the traffic. I would like to come home from work to a husband and a nice dinner too. I didn’t know who he thought he married. I had never made dinner for him before. I really didn’t cook. I had never had to cook before. My mom would cook between doing laundry and typing to use another set of muscles, she would say. She did give me her favorite cookbook when I got married and wished me luck. Why did everyone expect me to change when I got married? Was that what I was supposed to do? I talked to Raven about my situation. She said marriage was a give and take situation. If no one gives and always takes, marriage becomes a losing battle. Okay, I decided that I would try to have dinner on the table on Fridays and Saturdays, and we would go to my mom’s house on Sunday. I was happy with myself that I actually accomplished my plan. That worked for a while. Mom made enough for Russ to take some leftovers home for a couple of nights that I wasn’t there. Russ liked my mom’s cooking so that helped too. Two years went by in a flash. I was getting known around the United States as an up-and-coming American artist who could paint in many styles. Usually, an artist picked one way of painting, but I loved to change how I painted. Dr. Mullens had several talks with me about picking one style or technique of painting many times. He thought one way would be best for my career as an artist. I was thrilled that he thought I could have a career as an artist but I just couldn’t pick one. It was what drove Raven mad many times too, though Dr. Mullens never got mad or yelled at me. Raven did. I was making almost as much money selling one of my paintings as I was for teaching one of my classes. Some of my sculptures would bring in a pretty penny too. I didn’t see what was wrong with what I was doing. Dr. Mullens called me into his office one spring day. “Ms. Wright.” “I’m sorry Dr. Mullens, I did change my name to Elli Shaw,” I said with some apprehension. “Don’t you sign your paintings, Wright?” Russ wasn’t happy that I signed my paintings Wright, so I changed to Shaw. He made a big deal with it on my website that I was now Elli Shaw. He sent out flyers to all the galleries that had my paintings to let them know that I was now a Shaw. “Sir, I just changed a couple of months ago to signing Shaw. It was easier to hide the smaller name.” I felt I had to give a reason why I changed besides that my husband wanted me to use his name. “Why do you hide your name anyway?” “I hate to distract from the painting.” “Don’t you want to be known?” The furrowed brow was telling. I needed to stop hiding behind my paintings. “Yes sir.” I gave a huge sign more than I intended because I knew what was coming. “Then sign them with a flourish Ms. Wright.” Why did everyone know what was best for me? I was doing pretty good here. “Your contract is ending soon. Dr. Pembrook is coming back in the fall. I am sad to say I didn’t get another line to hire another teacher. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind teaching a couple of classes still as an adjunct. You can use the studios still,” he added like it was a selling point. It was a selling point. I didn’t have anywhere else to paint or do my sculpting. “Yes, I would like that.” Raven wasn’t pleased with me again. I disappointed Raven more than Russ, I thought. I wanted my marriage to work but Raven thought I should either paint full-time or teach full-time. My evaluations from students were some of the highest in our department. Apparently, I had not pissed off any of my students. That was my assumption why I had a high ranking in the department when it came to evaluations. I thought Raven was a great teacher. I haven’t had a bad art teacher, and everyone has been so supportive. I had avoided the teachers that I heard weren’t that great. I knew of professors who shouldn’t be teaching. I had some of those in other departments. I had just been lucky, I guess. I came home one August day and actually made dinner. It was a weekday so this would be a surprise for Russ. Well, he surprised me. He was so excited that I had the table set, I was not covered in paint, dinner was ready, and it was a weekday. He came running at me with the biggest smile and swung me around ending in a passionate kiss. He pulled back from me, “Do we have time for some action in the bedroom before dinner?” I laughed, “I should surprise you more often. I think so.” He picked me up and carried me to bed. Russ was laying on his back and panting. “What a great way to end a perfect day!” “I’m guessing you don’t have much hope for dinner,” I looked over at him. “No, no I trust dinner will be wonderful. I have great news.” I turned on my side resting my head on my hand. “I have been promoted. I start in a couple of weeks. They told me to take a vacation before I start because I won’t have time for a while. You aren’t teaching right now, it's perfect.” “I guess I can finish my work when we get back. Where do you want to go? How about…” I was interrupted. “I have the perfect place: Destin, Florida. We used to go down there when I was a kid.” “I was thinking New Orleans, there is so much to see there.” “I want to relax because I have to hit the ground running when I get back. I want to lie on the beach and chill.” “Okay,” I said with disappointment. I really hated his idea, but he seemed so happy about it. We drove down on the weekend and found a cheap hotel near the beach. We did have fun, and I had time to prep for my classes in the fall. Russ couldn’t believe I still used a legal-size pad of paper to plan my classes. I love how they come in different colors so I can have one color for each class. He said we could afford a computer for me, but I said I was fine with my paper and pen. I had forgotten my birth control pills but it wasn’t the first time I had done that, so we weren’t concerned. We should have been concerned. We had the distraction of being so busy when we got home, we didn’t have time to think about each other, just our own work. I went to stay with my mom for the week and he put in tons of hours at the office. He had to work over the weekend, so I was free to stay another week with my mom. It was a little bit of a misnomer saying I spent the week with my mom. I might see her in the morning. Often, she tried to make breakfast for me though I tried to pass on it until I got a pouty face. That was when I knew I was going to have to have breakfast with her if not today, definitely tomorrow. For fall break I asked Russ if he wanted to go to Oktoberfest in Hermann for a quick getaway. We needed to reconnect. It was all set. I went home that Friday and got out our suitcases and started to pack. I came across my old pill container in the bathroom and thought, damn I hadn’t been taking my pills. I thought about it for a moment and realized that we had only had sex a couple times in the last two months. This was not good on many levels. Aren’t young married couples supposed to have sex all the time? All of a sudden, a huge light bulb went off over my head. Our life was so busy the first couple of months we got back that I didn’t even notice that I had missed my period not once but twice. I dropped everything and ran to the closest store and hoped that I would beat Russ home. I didn’t want to have him see what I was about to do…take a pregnancy test. I sat there staring at the stick. How were we going to take care of a baby when we barely took care of ourselves? Our house was a disaster area. I was hardly home so most of the mess was Russ’s, though he expected me to clean it up. Well, he had another thing coming if he thought I was going to pick up after him. We were both so busy working on our careers that we barely talked anymore. How were we going to do this? I stopped asking questions I couldn’t answer and just stared at the stick. Russ came home all excited and ready to go on our mini vacation. He found me sitting on the couch with the stick lying on a napkin on the coffee table. I was tired of holding it. I thought for a moment if I ignored it, would the whole thing disappear? I wanted to have children but not yet. I thought maybe when I was thirty and was well established. “Do you have all my stuff packed too?” he said as he walked past me into the bedroom. “Elli, I thought you wanted to get on the road as soon as possible. Why is everything just lying on our bed?” He came back in and looked at me. Well, he could at least see that I was upset. He rushed over to me, “Elli, what is it? Your Mom or one of my parents?” I looked him in the eyes then I looked at the coffee table. “What’s this?” I could see the realization cross his face. He got the biggest smile on his face. He grabbed me and kissed me all over. It was hard not to get caught up in his excitement. We made love right there on the couch. It was the first time we had done it someplace other than the bed. Russ probably thought the bed was covered in clothes, so this was the neatest place to do it. He was good though I have no references, but he was nothing like what I saw in the movies or on tv. “I take it you are happy that we are having a baby?” “More than you know, aren’t you?” “I just wonder how we are going to do this. We barely see each other now. How are we going to take care of a baby and when will we see it?” “Don’t be silly. We will make time. You don’t have to teach anymore. Don’t look at me that way. I didn’t say you had to give up painting. Instead of going to Hermann, why don’t we start looking at houses? We can get a house where you can paint all you want.” “I can just paint when the baby doesn’t need me, is that it?” “No, we can work something out.” I had a bad feeling that Russ’s ideal world wasn’t a realistic one. I went along with it because I wanted it to be perfect. We started looking at houses in the morning, then the afternoon and all-day Sunday. Finally, we talked to a realtor that we both liked at one of the open houses. We gave her our criteria of what we wanted in a house. We didn’t feel we had to get out of the apartment right away since we still had a lease until May. For the first couple of months, we saw a ton of homes that didn’t fit either what Russ wanted or what I needed. Then she would call us every once in a while, when something new came on the market. One day in March, Russ called me to tell me that he had just bought a house in Liberty. “Russ! How could you do that? I haven’t even seen it!” We haven’t even looked at homes in Liberty. It was too far away from Warrensburg. “Don’t get mad. I think you will love it. It is such a hot market there that I was afraid we would lose it.” “Why didn’t you call me to come look at it?” “I knew you had class and would want to wait. Cheryl called me this morning and said she just did a walk through with the realtors and knew that we would love it. You can see it this weekend. I promise you; you are going to love it. Wait until you see the kitchen, it is beautiful.” “Like I love to cook!? What about the light? Where will I paint?” I was so frustrated. “There is a three-car garage that has room for you to paint.” “Is there heat in there? How about air-conditioning for the summer?” “We can get a space heater, and you can open the garage door in the summer.” Great! I can sweat my pants off in the summer and freeze to death in the winter. “Is there any light in there?” “Of course, there is light in there.” “Russ, you know what I mean. Am I going to get enough natural light to paint by?” “I think so.” He wasn’t sure, I could tell. Why did he do this? “The best thing is we don’t have to use your money to afford it. We can just do it on my salary. I hear the silence on your end. This makes it so you don’t have to worry about painting after the baby comes for as long as you want.” I told myself over and over you have to give and take to make a marriage work. My pregnancy had been more than I could have asked for. I had very little morning sickness and I was lucky I was carrying all the weight in front like a little basketball. I had a couple of months to go, and I was crossing my fingers that the delivery was as easy as carrying her. Last month the doctor did a sonogram, and she was pretty sure we were having a little girl. Russ was standing there crying and holding my hand as we looked at the screen. “Look Elli that is our little Emma.” It was times like these that my love grew for Russ. I could be so frustrated with him, and he would be so sweet the next minute that my frustration would float away. When I went to look at the house my heart sank. There was a lot of natural light everywhere except the garage. Oh, the garage had some natural light, and it was big so I knew I could get some nice size canvases in there and I could use my blow torch for metal work. It was a lovely home, and it had an inground pool. I felt rich. My mom was going to love the place. I was wondering if she would move here to be close to us and Emma. I was learning that you can’t plan everything or things for Elli always change. Well, my mom had met a couple of widows who worked at the university. She first met Sheila, mom was typing up Sheila’s papers and mom transcribed her book. Mom thought Sheila’s book was interesting and they started talking. Sheila was the first real friend I had seen my mom have. I never thought about it. I was an awful daughter, was my thought, when this realization overtook me. Sheila, Lois and Mom started to share expenses in a cute home near campus. Mom had stopped doing laundry for anyone else but who lived in the house. They were thinking about getting someone else to move into the fourth bedroom. They all agreed that it had to be someone who fit their little group. I was worried that I wouldn’t have a place to stay when it was a late night. Lois and Sheila thought I fit into their little group very well and left the bedroom empty for me. I was happy that my mom had these new friendships. Emma came the week after finals. I didn’t know how lucky I was to get all my grades in, and I was able to take about a half a dozen paintings downtown to the art gallery to sell. Max, the new director of the gallery, said I needed to get an agent. I had been taking paintings to the gallery since Ms. Plank took me there. He said, “You could have your paintings all over the States if you had someone working for you to get your name out there.” I was pleased and a little embarrassed by his gushing all over me. We kept walking back and forth in front of my paintings and he finally asked me if I would mind if he worked on getting me known. He would only take a small percentage of the sales. I thought why not. We never wrote up a contract, but we shook hands and that was when my water broke. Max drove me to the hospital. I told him I could do it on my own, but he insisted. Russ met me there and Emma came into the world two hours later. My mom came to the hospital and was so excited to see her baby have a baby. She couldn’t believe how easy this pregnancy was for me. That was when I heard her horror story about having me. Why didn’t I ask her how it was to have me before? I really was not a great daughter. She was in labor for days with me. The doctor thought her labor would stop because she wasn’t progressing. She had morning sickness the whole nine months, so she was begging the doctor to take the baby. Finally, on the third day the doctor said it was time to decide about having a c-section. Mom didn’t have any help after the baby was born, which made Mom not excited about having another baby. My parents had just started talking about having another child when my dad died. I couldn’t believe my mom’s confession at my hospital bed. Why wasn’t my mom mad at me? She ended by saying she was lucky to have just me because she just barely made enough to take care of the two of us. I made a vow to myself when I sold my next painting, I was going to do something really nice for her. My luck continued as Emma was the perfect baby. I could paint with her in her baby carrier, and I got a lot of work done. Once Russ came home and went ballistic when he saw paint on her head. I hadn’t even noticed it. We went out to buy a playpen that night. That didn’t help much because she was happiest when she was in her carrier. To be honest, so was I; I couldn’t get enough snuggles in. I didn’t know I could love someone that much. When she got too big to be in the front, I wore her on my back. She loved it when I would paint big paintings because I would be moving all over the garage. I sold two large paintings thanks to Max. One on each side of the country. I was able to buy my mom a new car. Nothing fancy but it was new and paid for. It was small so she could see over the hood, and it had the best safety rating in case she got into an accident. She was very proud of the car and her widowed friends didn’t worry about her coming to visit me. She couldn’t believe me when I handed her the key and said it was hers. “Honey, I can’t take this. It is too much.” “Oh, yes you can, and you will. You have been very good to me. Besides, I wanted you to be able to come visit me without worrying about you on the road with that old junker. Besides, Russ has already ordered someone to come and take your car to sell it for parts.” With the leftover money we put windows all along the side of the garage to give me more natural light. I was glad there weren’t any trees along this side of the house. I would have to wait until the next painting was sold to insulate the garage. I decided not to go back to Central to teach. Raven wasn’t sure about my plan even though she supported me. I decided to paint full-time for a year. I didn’t think I could leave Emma with a sitter just yet. Max was working on selling my paintings or trying to get them into museums. I was feeling pretty good about everything. I just wished Russ were feeling good about the situation. He was thrilled I wasn’t going back to work though he thought I would put more effort into the house. Of course, I painted Emma’s room. It was so adorable in my opinion even if I was the one who designed it. I painted all kinds of butterflies flying all over the room. Russ thought I should paint the rest of the house because it was all white. He thought I would want to decorate it too. I wanted to paint. The only way I knew how to decorate was with my paintings. I felt like we didn’t have money to buy anything that was decorative. We used our money to go towards house payments, house bills, and buy food and clothes. Russ’s clothing bill was huge while I was happy with wearing what he called workout clothes. My mom would let me paint the walls when I started to earn enough money for my own paints. When I would go to the hardware store for paint, the clerk finally asked me one day what I was painting with these small amounts of paint or paint that was on discount because the color wasn’t mixed right. I told him I was an artist, and I used anything I could find cheap. I just needed to paint. From then on, he would keep paints for me behind the counter and sell them to me cheaper if I would show him a picture of what I painted. One day I went in to sketch him behind his counter and brought him a painting I did of him on a piece of wood I found in the trash behind the store. This simple gift actually got him all teary eyed. He had me sign the back because when he died, he wanted to leave it for his children to sell because he knew I was going to be famous one day. I was so touched by him that I got glassy eyed too. I started to put paintings that I just wasn’t sure if they were finished around the house. I thought if I saw them in a different light or a quick glance, I would see what was missing. I had to admit I got a little carried away. One day Russ came home. “Elli, I feel like we live in an art gallery. Plus, I see all these little handprints all over the furniture and floors. Can’t you at least wait until they are dry before you bring them into the house, so Emma won’t mess them up and in turn make a mess of our house? It can’t be healthy for her anyway. She sucks her thumb and half of these handprints around here are missing a thumb print.”

< Back Pizza alla Sicliliana Sicilian Pizza Prep Time: 15 minutes plus rising time Cook Time: 12 Serves: 1 to 2 pizza crust Level: easy About the Recipe Ingredients 2 ½ teaspoons (1package) active dry yeast or 1 small cake (18 grams) fresh yeast 1 ½ teaspoons sugar 1 ½ cups plus 1 tablespoons luke warm water (105 to 110) 2 tablespoons (25 grams) lard or olive oil 1 ½ teaspoons (8 grams) salt 4 ¼ cups (550 grams) unbleached all-purpose flour Preparation BY HAND Stir the yeast and sugar into the water in a large mixing bowl; let stand until foamy, about 10 minutes. Stir in the lard. Whisk in 2 cups of the flour, 1 cup at a time; add the remaining flour and salt then stir until the dough comes together. Knead on a lightly floured surface until soft and velvety, 10 to 12 minutes. BY MIXER Stir the yeast and sugar into the water in a mixer bowl; let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes. Mix in the lard with the paddle. Add the flour then the salt mix 1 to 2 minutes. Change to the dough hook and knead at medium speed until soft and velvety, 3 to 4 minutes. (I always knead a minute to make sure it has that it truly is kneaded enough) BY PROCESSOR Stir the yeast and sugar into ½ cup warm water in a small bowl; let stand until creamy, about 10 minutes. Place the flour and salt in a food processor fitted with the dough blade and process until several pulses to sift. With the machine running, pour the dissolved yeast, 1 cup plus 1 tablespoon cold water, and the lard through the feed tube and process until the dough gathers into a boll. Process no longer than 20 seconds to knead. Finish kneading by hand on a lightly floured surface until smooth, soft, and velvety. Rising. Place the dough in a lightly oiled bowl, cover tightly with plastic wrap, and let rise until almost doubled, about 1 hour. Punch it down, cover again, and let rise just 20 minutes. Shaping Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and shape in a thick disk. Roll it out with a rolling pin to a 12-inch circle, about ¼ inch thick, leaving a thick edge. Turn the dough over several times as you roll it, so that it won’t shrink back later. Place on an oiled baking sheet, a peel sprinkled with cornmeal, or a 12-inch oiled pizza pan. {I oil the top of the dough (this keeps the sauces from making a soggy crust) fold it in half brush off the flour and lightly oil what will be the bottom. Place the oiled side down on the oiled pizza pan. I then brush off any excess flour and lightly oil that side then flip the dough open and top with the sauce, toppings and cheese. I bake it in a 450 degree oven on the rack in the top position for about 12 minutes (my oven isn’t consistent so you might want to check it)} Previous Next