Sunday, February 27, 2005

Soup and stuff

My sweetie made chicken soup for our dinner and it came out wonderfully. It is not a traditional American soup, but one with pastene, spinach, and chicken with mozzarella on the bottom that melts as you eat the soup. Since he was going by memory from when I made it last, he did good.

It's been over 10 years since I last had this soup. It actually can bring tears to my eyes when I eat it. It is a recipe that is closely tied to my deceased Italian grandfather. Traditionally, we would have a holiday dinner at his house, beginning with this soup, then pasta, then salad, then the main course with its side dishes, with little or no room left for all the delicious desserts.

My grandfather died when I was 9, so I never had the chance to tell him of my adventures in Europe; travelling to his home village, having complete strangers dig around for the marriage records of his parents on their lunch breaks. In fact, I missed the chance to ever really talk with him since I didn't learn Italian until a few years after his death.

Only later in life do you realize the wealth of knowledge that could have been known if only the right questions had been asked.

Monday, February 21, 2005


I was going to delete my last post, but I think there are some important points that need to be made.

First and foremost, they found him, safe and unharmed at a "friend's" house.
I put friends in quotes because of how he got there.

It seems that this "friend" picked up my neighbor and drove him to his house, in a neighborhood about 10 miles away. The neighbor boy is 14, this "friend" was an adult. What would make someone think it is OK to take a 14 year old out of his own neighborhood to another one and not call his parents to let them know he is OK?

I don't know what would have happened if some female friends hadn't stepped up and called all of my neighbor child's friend. She called everyone in his class and tracked him down. She then called his mom, who went to this "friend's" house and picked him up.

This teaches us a few lessons. One, know who your child hangs out with. The mom in this case had never heard of the "friend" before last night.
Two, warn your children, let them know that if they ever go to someone else house they need to call you to let you know where they are.

We are all of the belief that something bad would have happened to him if he hadn't been found last night. No reasonable adult would drive a child out of his neighborhood, at night, without checking with the parents first (the need for permission to go someone else's house is well know amongst his friends, as his parents are strict, and have different customs than Americans do).

We are just thankful he is OK.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Weak with Worry

I've just spent the last 1 1/2 hours searching for my neighbor's 14 y.o. son. He and his mom had an arguement and he ran off.

I've heard the phrase "weak with worry" before, but I'd never actually seen it. My poor neighbor was so worried that she literally could not stand by herself. She kept collapsing onto my tile floor. I just can not imagine the pain she is feeling right now.

The guilt is overwhelming her. He went to the store without asking permission, she found out, took away the chips he bought, he ran off, she tried to follow, he had a bike, she couldn't go fast enough. She is blaming herself for saying "no", for not running fast enough, for everything. Of course, she can't help but think someone has him, is hurting him

He's a good kid, honor student, on sports teams, very respectful. My heart hurts for her.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

More taxes

So this tax thing is not going smoothly. I could swear that throughout the year I saved all the important receipts (ie moving recipts, hotel bills, plane ticket stubs, etc), yet when I go to look for them they are missing, gone, get my drift. Just check your canceled checks or your checkbook. Not there either. We were reimbursed for our moving costs, but will be taxed severely if I can't find these silly slips of paper. And I'm the responsible one. Oh bother.