Tag Archives: Home

My Grandparents’ House

Posted on by
2

In that house

remains my heart

as it was

so long ago,

and in my chest

I carry it,

that same heart,

as it is now-

worn and sad,

missing that part

that is there

in that place

which stands

inhabited by strangers

who have the audacity

to believe that house

is theirs.

Strangers

who live with my heart

beating still

for you.

*

Do they hear it

in the quiet hours

of the dark morning?

Do they feel you

who hold my heart

within your home?

Within those walls?

*

Are we there

still?

In the still of the night?

In the dark?

In the light

that chases ghosts away?

*

And if we are there still,

how can I be here

and you

so far away,

resting,

waiting for me to return

-home?

 

 

 

Mrs. Nanni Makes a Home…With the Help of Her Blog

Posted on by
Reply
How about a picture? Curtains? Color?Anything?!!!

How about curtains? Color?Anything?!!!

I have read a few articles by writers who state that blogging has made them better people, and I get it. It really makes complete sense. At the end of the day I don’t want to read my blog and realize that I am nothing more than the member of the chorus in a Greek tragedy, recounting sad tales of my days and providing myself with the insights I could have used in real time rather than in hindsight. Worse yet, I don’t want to read my blog and realize I have been the protagonist in my own life, jacking things up for myself and everyone around me. While it’s one thing to employ self-effacement for humor and levity, it’s another thing to just be an ass. Soooo…what’s my point?

I think I should begin with this. It is a fact that I am domestically challenged. In my adult life, I have yet to make a house a home in the physical sense. For me, experience transcends the material. Following this logic, as long as there is deep love and joy and excitement, some sense of joie de vivre, then the actual setting where life takes place has been relatively unimportant. My thought has been if you take away the happiness of experience then you hold to the setting, the material, for some sort satisfaction. My reasoning, however is deeply flawed.

While I keep a clean home, it is stark. I have simply been too busy living life with my family to give it much attention. When we first moved into our house I had grand decorating plans. I had the children’s rooms freshly painted. I bought beautiful comfortors with matching curtains. I even hung the curtains, until I took them down to have our windows replaced. Now they sit in a closet, almost forgotten because I have been too busy living life.

The question is, have I been living my life or have I been consumed by my life? It’s not as though I’m always happy. I worry…A LOT. I am stressed…A LOT. I work all the time. I am tired. It really would be so nice to have a warm and inviting place to rest at the end of the day. But I didn’t give this much thought until last week.

Giorgio and I were sitting in the kitchen when our Jack came in with a catalog from some home furnishing company. It was their winter issue and in it were pictures of homes beautifully decorated for Christmas. Jack loves Christmas and winter and snow. He loves to look at Norman Rockwell’s painting of main street Stockbridge at Christmastime. He loves images of Sundblom’s Santa sitting by a roaring fire and paintings of villages during winter with their white steepled churches and homes with illuminated windows that leave the viewer to imagine the cheer and warmth and fragrance that is within. While Jack was sitting in the kitchen showing us his catalog, his eyes filled up. When asked “why” he responded, “It’s just so beautiful.” This is the moment that I realized that setting really does matter.

Of course setting matters. Yes you can perform a play in a black box theater, but the brilliance of that is that each audience member gets to set it as they like, as his imagination deem best. I feel that my Jack and Allegra lack for nothing other than a setting. Jack craves warmth and coziness, and I am sure Allegra does as well. Yes, they have all they could possibly need and more, toys and books and clothes and joyful experiences and the great love of parents who have placed them at the center of their universe. But they don’t have a beautiful setting for which to settle their memories. As time marches forward and memories become more and more distant from the actual experiences those feelings they had as children will need to be paired with images just as powerful in order to survive their battle against time and old age. More importantly, they need the experience of a warm and inviting home now because they deserve it. We all do. Home is not just an abstraction. It is physical; it is material, and as such, it should be beautiful. I know. I know. Most everyone else figured this our ages ago.

So this brings me back to my initial point. How will I use this blog to make me a better person? Each month I will post pictures of the progress I make as I attempt to transform the Nanni house into a home…in the physical sense. I don’ want to just make a joke out of my lack of domestic prowess; although, it does provide some pretty decent comedic material. I don’t want to look back and regret that I never paid attention to the setting of our life together as a family. Here goes. Wish me luck.

Hey Kids, Guess Who’s Coming for Dinner. The Easter Bunny! Rabbit Anyone?

Posted on by
3

In many ways my husband and I are polar opposites. He is organized. I am not. I am terrified to fly. He loves it. I am not a foodie. He is a chef. However, in addition to the great love we share for our children, there is another thing we have in common–our love of the absurd and the irreverent. Thankfully. Giorgio’s job provides us with a significant amount of material to keep us laughing and scratching our heads. So rather than blathering on about the usual stuff I blather on about, I thought it would be cool to do something different this week-interview my husband Piergiorgio Nanni, companion, father and chef. Here goes:

Me: So Giorg, errr Chef, would it be inappropriate if I began this interview by stating that you are a remarkably handsome man?

Chef: No, but this will be the only lie of this interview.

Me: Fair enough.

Me: Chef, tell the readers why in God’s name you would marry a woman who had no idea how to cook?  Go ahead feel free to share the vomit chicken story. 

Chef: Besides being very charming, lovely and beautiful.

Me: Go On

Chef: I was actually really impressed by your vomitacious chicken dish, a dish that consists of chicken breast, broccoli, angel hair and a packet of dehydrated Lipton chicken soup overcooked until it looks like vomit.  You mixed it all up, cooked it for what I’m assuming hours and voila!  And the funny thing is that it was not that bad.  The lesson to learn is: don’t judge a dish by its color. 

Me: Now you must admit that, despite her lack of prowess in the kitchen, your wife did invent some pretty amazing dishes.  Dont you remember…American cheese carpaccio (pronounced car pay see oh not that “fancy and proper” way) and Fudgsicles in Pepsi dip?

Chef: How is it that this interview is all about you?

Me: Please Chef.  Let me ask the questions.

Chef: I think the Fudgsicle in Pepsi dip is pretty self-explanatory.  Just dip a Fudgsicle in Pepsi and eat it.  As for the American Cheese Carpaccio, purposely mispronounced…that’s another gem.  A slice of processed American cheese spread with Gulden’s mustard.  The secret is in the ingredients. 

Me: Do you know how I came up with that one?

Chef: No, but please don’t let me keep you from sharing.

Me: Okay then.  It was 6th grade. I was in the cafeteria.  My friend had a bologna and cheese sandwich with mustard.  She didn’t want the cheese.  So I ate it…with the mustard.  And there you have it. If I may say, genius in its simplicity.

Chef: Genius.  Thank you for sharing

Me: My pleasure.

Me: I’m sure the readers are curious about the title of this blog.  Please explain what it’s all about.

Chef: It was Easter week and a chef colleague informed me that he was going to serve a rabbit special.  Seriously.  He wasn’t kidding.  And, at first I thought it was a nice idea.  Not because of the Easter Bunny/Rabbit connection.  I don’t think either of us even thought of Easter.  It wasn’t until I told my wife and she called us both “sick degenerates” that the lightbulb went off.  I think subconsciously he had rabbit on the brain because of the pictures of the Easter Bunny everywhere. Needless to say, my chef friend didn’t sell a single rabbit special, perhaps made with the same little rabbits used in some of the portrait studios at Easter time. 

Me: Sick

Me: Well we might as well run with the gross theme.  Baring anything that includes any part of the human body as an ingredient (obviously, duh), is the brain of live monkey still the only dish in the entire world that you will not eat?

Chef:  I also won’t eat frog.  I find the idea disgusting.

Me: So, dogs and cats.  They’re free game?

Chef: Well, as you know, they actually are free game in a few countries.  My worry, however, is that I may have eaten cats and dogs before.  I just thought it was rabbit in the stew,

Me: Uggggghhhhh

Me: Switching gears now.  Does it ever offend you that your dog, Ginger Josie Nanni, thumbs her nose at your risotto but eats cat shit with gusto?

Chef: What bothers me is that she kisses me right after.

Me: On the lips?

Chef: Yes

Me: Sick. Again

Me: How does a man who was born and raised in Rome, classically trained in Paris, worked throughout Europe before landing in NYC win a chili competition?

Chef: I had a secret ingredient.

Me: Come on now.  Tell us.  Was your secret ingredient Rabbit?

Chef: That’s what the butcher said.

Me: Finally.  With whom would you say you have more in common, Chef Pisghetti from Curious George or the Swedish Chef from the Muppet Show? 

Chef: I am Chef Pisghetti.  A loud, not very bright caricature of every Italian chef in the world.

Me: In a half ass effort to  make this worthwhile for our readers, give them a recipe would you.  But remember, give something for parents like myself.  You know, people with dated 1950’s kitchens and no fancy accoutrements who don’t like to cook.

Chef: Here goes.Roasted Salmon. Sprinkle salmon with salt, pepper and some Old Bay seasoning.  Drizzle with butter and pop in a 350 oven for 20 minutes.  While the salmon is cooking, cut some fresh tomatoes and red onion and toss in a bowl with plenty of extra virgin olive oil, salt, pepper and a few drops of balsamic vinegar.  You can add fresh basil if you like.  When salmon is done, top with salad and serve. 

Me:  Delicious

Chef: Thanks

Me: Well thank you Chef.  This was fun.  Want to do it again?

Chef: Yes.  Now, would you like me to make you dinner?

Me: No need. I’ve got a bowl of Cheetos and a Martini waiting for me.

Chef: Great

Me: Love you

Chef: Love you too