Single mom, urban planner, dancer... dreamer... explorer. Sharing my experiences, imagination, and recipes.
La Gatta Frettolosa Fa I Figli Ciechi (Haste Makes Waste)
Nothing good happens after midnight. Maybe. For me? Nothing good ever happens when I start to even think about Italy. I met my first boyfriend while visiting prospective colleges. It was a crisp, fall day and a girlfriend of mine begged and pleaded to be taken to the University of Rochester so that she could visit her boyfriend, a graduate of our High School (go Mustangs!). I knew she was preying on me because I was one of few in our senior class who had my own car. She argued I might want to attend the UR anyways so it would be a good opportunity to get an inside scoop on the campus. Valid point. To date, I had only had a few campus visits: Dartmouth, NYU, Clarkson, and RIT. I knew I would have to miss dance class to do so which, as a championship Irish Step Dancer, was risky.
Let's Give 'em Pumpkin to Talk About
In my family, October marks the start of pie season: Pumpkin, apple, and rhubarb, namely. I've never much been one for pumpkin pie, though that is the family favorite to make when Thanksgiving approaches. When I was little, my Auntie used to invite us into the kitchen to support with the pie baking. She would tie our aprons around us, constructed appropriately for children our size, in colors and patterns that would now be considered vintage.
It's a gloomy, rainy day here in Upsate New York. As though on cue, as soon as September 22 arrived, the temperature plummeted from 80 degrees to a chilly lower 50s, complete with frost warnings. Frost warnings? Granted, we are used to getting snow early in the season, but this year we shifted from t-shirts to wool socks and sweaters overnight. These months always leave me slightly disoriented, feeling like it could be spring and reminding myself that we are, indeed, heading into the cooler months. Winter is coming.
Something borrowed, something blue. Although I can't remember what my "something borrowed" was for my wedding. As for blue? I remember feeling blue the week leading up to the big day. That feeling manifested into our blue lips the day of. We married in October, on 10.01.10. I picked the day, because it worked with our schedule and also because it was binary (it's an engineering thing). And it was cold. It had rained the night before, evidenced by the wet sidewalks and dewey glow on the flowers that were stubborn enough to hold on to witness the start of autumn.
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Alice awoke from darkness, her throat throbbing, voice barely audible. "Hello?" she said, then louder, straining her vocal chords with every fiber of her being. She clutched her throat, feeling its tightness and aware of its lack of authority. Standing up off the wet ground, she carefully evaluated her surroundings, acutely aware of her sudden vulnerability. She certainly couldn't scream.
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Lane hadn't lived in the town for very long, but she had often driven past the area on nights when she needed an escape. She had never so much witnessed any signs of life within those woods, but she also had never seen the cabin. Tonight, instead of passing by, she brought her old Volvo to a halt. It rattled in complaint before abiding and coming to a full stop in a turn off near what used to be a driveway, now overgrown with weeds. The radio crackled out of reception and she shut it off, appreciative of the silence. Fog danced off her headlights. She got out of the car, lighting a cigarette and leaned against the door, closing her eyes and taking a drag. Her head fell back against the hood and she let her body relax. Was this the only place she could find privacy? A semblence of sanity?