in the sauce

It's just an old paper thin dishtowel with holes and ragged edges. I reached for it in the kitchen drawer because all the other tea towels and dish cloths were in the dryer and I was cleaning up after making two pounds of meatballs in marinara sauce. Now before I tell you about the towels I must first say that my meatballs are the best this side of southern Italy. I make them using my mother's recipe which she learned from her mother who came to this country from Campobasso, a village south of the Abruzzo mountains.
         At some point after several years into a second marriage and a mother-in-law from Sicily who cooked differently and whose son grew up with her good food and preferred to love nothing else, I forgot how to make mine. Then my son, who was for a time a chef at the Buca de Beppo restaurant in Las Vegas led me to their cookbook called In the Sauce! It seems that the family of the founders of this restaurant came from Campobasso! They wanted to capture the taste of Italian-American home cooking that emerged when the two cultures collided in the kitchen - when families wanted desperately to be Americans but stuck with tradition. The cookbook was a trip down memory lane for me with authentic recipes via Brooklyn, the Bronx, Chicago. In it I found the exact meatball recipe that my mother had passed down to me and I'd forgotten.There it was. Like a gift from some Italian immigrant universe. In the book there is a black and white picture of a group of village people from around the time my grandmother still lived there.
          So, about the tea towel. It belonged to my mother and has been in my life for my whole life. When my parents died and we cleared out their home of 40 years, I grabbed the red and white towel and stashed it in a box. It was already thin and worn but so familiar that I couldn't toss it. It has lain in various kitchen drawers unused for 22 years and today when I ran out of towels and reached to the back of the drawer, there it was. It must be 50-75 years old. My mother kept her things in good condition and never threw anything away until it disintegrated (and then she'd find a use for the dust and lint). She would have been pleased that I kept this thin, nearly useless towel all this time. And it fit right in with the simple antipasti and bowl of meatballs we ate with a fresh baguette from the organic market, lots of tomato sauce to dip the bread into and a glass (or two) of Chianti.

time again
Today is granddaughter Kira's 21st birthday. Back east the family is having a little party. We spoke on the phone briefly and with a deep undercurrent of emotion and love. She is a new mother and tired, but said her little Dante (two months old) is perfect and the best baby ever. But of course. And I believe it. I couldn't quite remember what my name is supposed to be now, but she reminded me it's nonnagrande. So kisses and hugs and promises to get back there as soon as possible were sent via cellphone intentions.

A stunning sunset ended this strangely braided day. Tonight I wish everyone blazing sunsets with riots of color and love.