Nonna's Christmas Knickknacks

By popular demand, I've decided to post some additional pictures of my grandmother's home decorated for Christmas. As I mentioned in a previous post (Ghetto Beautiful - 10/30/08), my paternal grandmother, Nonna, decorated a cactus, not a tree. Sadly, we don't have any pictures of the Christmas Cactus, nor do we have any pictures of the red and white striped clothesline made from bakery string which hung from the top to the bottom of the bannister and on which were clipped (with mini, multi-colored, plastic clothespins) all of the Christmas cards she received each year. Here, however, are pictures of a few more items from Nonna's that always said Christmas to us.

Here is a picture of Jake with Nonna's "abominable" snowman. This plastic snowman made its debut on the stairs on or about the time I was, well, Jake's age in this picture - around 2.

The Snowman, as we called him, scared me to death!! I would refuse to go up the stairs alone while he was there, and the only bathroom was on the second floor. It didn't matter to me. I hated that snowman.

The picture to the right is of Nonna's creche. We called it, "the manger." Nonna lovingly set it up each year and even more lovingly, let us play with it, within reason of course. The scene was not complete without the white cotton batting draping the manger and the "ground." Clearly she wanted to give the image of snow, conveniently forgetting that Jesus was born in the desert.

The glitzy Christmas mobile below probably was not made by Nonna. She could cook, but with the exception of crocheting, she wasn't particularly crafty. Perhaps it was made by a friend or relative. I'm guessing it was someone Italian. Who else would incorporate so many sequins into each Christmas ornament hanging from the shiny gold wreath? Who else would spray paint each pine cone blue and then paint its tips in gold? It hangs proudly over my kitchen table as I type this. I LOVE this mobile, in all its sequined, spray-painted, gold glory.

When I worked at a previous high school, I hung it over the doorway to my office. One of the secretaries, Lucille, a good-natured, generous Italian woman really admired it. One day, as she walked by, she reached up to the mobile, gently touched it, looked me straight in the eyes and said knowingly, "Made with love." Indeed.

Merry Christmas!

Nonna’s Cranberry Orange Bread

Confession: This recipe doesn’t always work, can take forever to cook and sometimes comes out too moist in the center. BUT the flavors are always GREAT! Feel free to experiment with the amounts of flour and cooking time or cook in a pan other than a loaf pan.

Preheat oven to 350.

2 C flour
1 C sugar
1 1/2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 C margarine (Fleishmann’s*)
1 egg, beaten
1 tsp. grated orange peel
3/4 C orange juice
1 1/2 C golden raisins
1 1/2 C fresh cranberries, chopped


Mix first 8 ingredients. Cut in margarine until crumbly. Add egg, orange juice and orange peel all at once. Stir only until evenly moist.

Fold in raisins and cranberries. Bake in greased 9x5 loaf pan at 350 for 1 hour, 10 min. If using a 9x9 brownie pan, watch the time carefully.

Wax paper on bottom of pan.

*Note from Nonna: Do not use Promise margarine, butter or low fat oleo.

It's Only Words

And while we're on the subject of Galway Kinnell...

A couple of posts ago, I quoted a poem, Blackberry Eating, by Galway Kinnell. What I didn't mention in that post is that one of the reasons I like that poem so much is its creative use of language in comparing blackberries to words.

the ripest berries fall almost unbidden to my tongue, as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words like strengths or squinched, many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps, which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well in the silent, startled, icy, black language of blackberry-eating in late September.

"Certain peculiar words like strengths or squinched, many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps." Delish. That line makes my mouth water - not so much because I like blackberries but because I like those words. My lips and teeth and tongue are only too eager to say that sentence out loud. This is a feast of language.

Stealing an idea from Molly, of "Now is Not a Time" fame (to read her is to love her), here are some words I love to say and hear, as well as words I hate to say and hear. No, 'strengths' and 'squinched' didn't make the list (along with words that foment racial or cultural hatred), but that's only because they, um, go without saying.

Feel free to say them out loud. You know you want to.

Words I love to say:

• luscious 
• blow 
• misogynist
• lulu 
• quesadilla 
• bouquet garni 
• bastard 
• half-assed 
• putz 
• Vidalia 
• radioactive 
• skulk 
• slink 
• Linus 
• marshmallow 
• dude 
• tramp stamp 
• Mai tai 
• Les liaisons dangereuses 
• allegedly 
• grimace 
• languish 
• testicular 
• celebutante 
• sapphire 
• intuition 
• yikes 
• chagrin 
• Iditarod 
• gazillion 
• gorgeous 
• crikey (with Australian accent) 
• snarky

Words I hate to say:

• repo 
• lovey (n. as in a cuddly toy for a child) 
• pus 
• vino 
• slacks 
• queer 
• yum-o 
• yumy
• diaphragm 
• spigot 
• petting 
• pancreas 
• soil 
• midget 
• widget 
• dungarees 
• ecru 
• Margaret 
• l'orange 
• wicker 
• mucus 
• mucilage 
• papyrus 
• Arthur 
• jojoba 
• "tatt" 
• lactate 
• tolerant or tolerate 
• cuke 
• maverick 
• lawn 
• sherbet 
• percussion 
• boo-boo 
• Yule

Oversinging

Music is the space between the notes.

~Claude Debussy

The BHS drama club held auditions for The Wizard of Oz last week. The audition panel, consisting of the director/musical director, John, the assistant musical director, Amanda, and I, the assistant director (note, that's assistant director, not assistant "to" the director), were very pleased and quite relieved that only two students indulged in singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" as if they were contestants on American Idol. You know what I'm talking about: the "trend" toward making a song into too much:   too much volume, too much vibrato, too many extra notes, too much melisma.  I call it oversinging.

If you're still not sure what I'm talking about, consider any pop rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner" that you've heard at a championship sporting event in the last decade. It's gotten to the point that the singing of our country's national anthem has become almost as competitive as the game it precedes. "The Star Spangled Banner" is a challenging song to sing. It's a way to show respect to our nation and our flag. It is not a rock 'n roll number, and it's most definitely not about the person singing it!  Not that you would know this with the, dare I say, masturbatory way in which so many people belt it out. And yet the crowd cheers.  We encourage it.  We think that these exercises in vocal self-indulgence are "amazing," but in reality most people can't tell the difference. It's like applauding a fake orgasm.  

A good artist knows that white makes as much of a statement as color.  A good comedian knows that the pause is often more important than the joke.  A good writer knows that fewer words can be more effective.  The space between the notes leaves us wanting more.  

Note to singers:  don't fill those spaces with crap.  Don't try to be someone you're not.  And stop showing off!

"Oversinging for the sake of oversinging," in my opinion, originated in the early 80's, you know, like the AIDS epidemic. (Oh, I'm sorry, is that a tasteless comparison? Well, too bad.). The first person to spawn a generation of oversingers was Jennifer Holliday of Dreamgirls fame, and fleeting fame it was. When my father came back from an out-of-town-tryout (back when they had out-of-town tryouts... in Boston...so for us it was an in-town tryout), he was effusive in his praise of her. "If the audience could have given this girl a standing ovation after that number, they would have!" Holliday won a Tony Award for the role and yet as it turned out, singing "And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going" turned out to be all she could do.  She was a one-trick pony (and apparently still very bitter about it).

The other "culprit" was Sam Harris, a vocalist who blew everybody's mind (and by "everybody," I mean all the gay guys at the Boston Conservatory) with his rendition of, you guessed it, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" during the first season of Star Search in 1984.  His voice was amazing, but it's not like I ever bought his albums or anything, or yearned to see him perform. Once I heard him hit his money notes, I was pretty much done.  There wasn't much else about him to keep me coming back for more. His recent Tony nomination notwithstanding (and don't get me started on the Tony Awards as a way to judge quality; that's another blog for another day), he can still be heard overdoing it and listening to himself sing on his website.  Check it out if you don't believe me.  And don't watch him.  Turn away and just listen.  A good singer will compel you to look at him; you will not be able to not pay attention.

To be fair, both Harris and Holliday have successful careers as singers. They do have great voices, but what they triggered in America was this tendency for singers to show off and ONLY show off.  People thought they "had to" sing like Sam Harris, not understanding that the way Sam Harris sings is his style and his alone.  If you don't sing with an excess of melisma, you can still be talented.  You can still get the lead in a Broadway show.  You can make thousands of dollars singing jingles in voice-overs.  You could be Jennifer Lopez.

As a former hirer of good voices and as a person who possesses a good voice of her own, let me assure you that good voices are actually a dime a dozen.  Several years ago, I was in Kappy's Liquors in Malden on a Saturday afternoon.  The radio in the store was tuned to the now defunct AM 1430, which at the time, only played old standards. Frank Sinatra was singing "Witchcraft," and so apparently was everyone else in the store.  Every time I went down a new aisle, another person was singing along, and not badly either.  I was impressed.  Many people can sing.  Most don't.  I think some are afraid to sing because it won't be "good enough."  Like, if you can't sing like Barbra Streisand, why bother?  Ridiculous!

Consider The Divine Miss M, Bette Midler, in my opinion one of the greatest singer/actors of the last 30 years.  Her voice is pretty.  It's fine, but the way she sings a song is superb.  She is barely five feet tall, and yet from the mezzanine of Radio City Music Hall, it's impossible to miss her, impossible to take your eyes off of her. Everything she sings comes from her heart - and only from her heart. Every pause, every breath and every note that she sings is there for a reason.  She's able to communicate something about humanity through the art of song.  When people connect through art, they go to a place that is not of this world, and Bette Midler has the rare ability to take us there.  I don't think it's unfitting that one of her nicknames is "divine."

So where does this leave us as a nation of fans?  Do we continue to encourage, reward and applaud every wannabe that Oprah or Ellen trots out onto the stage?  Is there any way to teach people the difference?  It heartens me that I'm not the only person I know who hates oversinging.  It also heartens me that so far, everyone I've mentioned this peeve to (John, Amanda and two co-workers) are seven to nineteen years younger than I am.  Perhaps the solution is to simply continue to expose people to quality music and encourage them to share their unique gifts via the arts, rather than use the arts to make themselves into something they're not.

Habits (or We are Boring Mostly)

"We are boring mostly. We live ordinary lives. We want to get the food on the table. We want the children to be happy and healthy. Very boring. I mean, it's ordinary."

~Maya Angelou

The other day, as I was pulling the comforter up over my bed and arranging the pillows, it occurred to me that this is something I cannot not do each day. It got me thinking about habits and what they mean to us. They're basically the stuff of life. I mean, seriously, our lives just aren't that interesting every day of the week. Most of us are not "glam," and even people who are glam still have to brush their teeth every day, moisturize, get on the treadmill (boy do they ever).

In addition to making my bed every day, I brush my teeth twice. I check my email. I put on earrings and makeup. I exercise at least three times a week. I pay my bills on time. I get the oil in my car changed every 3,000 miles. I tend to make food for the week on Sunday afternoons. Oh, and I make my own coffee. Don't forget the coffee! With half and half and two Equals, or Splenda if it's what I have. I LOVE my coffee.

This is not the stuff of legend, and I'm fine with that.

Excellence is not a singular act, but a habit. You are what you repeatedly do.

~Shaquille O'Neal and Aristotle

OK, so if Shaqistotle's philosophy is true, then conversely, am I also that which I repeatedly do NOT do? I am a person who does not floss daily. I don't drink enough water. I don't obey the speed limit. I don't take calcium. When I say I exercise three times a week, there is no consistency or predictability to it... unlike Shaq's routine, I'm sure. I spend way too much time on the computer. I don't write for a half an hour every day. I don't read for a half an hour every day. I have a stack of unread magazines laying on a table, begging me, pressuring me, double-dog-daring me to read them. And I got another one in the mail today, which I also intend not to read. I do not go to church and have yet to seriously practice the principles of gratitude or prayer on any regular basis. God forbid I affirm anything daily or even weekly for that matter. I do not practice yoga or the law of attraction, but I think about it. This must change, or must it? Can it? Does it have to? Oy, the pressure.

Five years ago, I took a series of online courses and teleclasses through Coach U to get an initial certification in personal coaching. I have the certification, am not a professional coach and yet several of the exercises have stuck with me. One of them was a lesson in creating habits, which I will share.

Write down ten habits that you would like to complete each day. Go ahead; do it. I will wait. Do not read ahead until you've written your ten new habits.

Got them?

Seriously?

OK. Here's what you're going to do next. Throw away the list. And re-write it as ten habits you would LOVE to complete every day. Go ahead. I will wait. In fact, I will re-write my own list. (If you can't come up with ten, try three for now and add to the list over the next few days.)

It's a different feeling, isn't it? I bet you feel more relaxed already. This is the Ten Daily Habits exercise, and I strongly encourage you to try indulge yourself in these habits for the new year. Pick ten things that you would LOVE or even just prefer to do each day, not ten things you HAVE to do. Rid yourself of the guilt and pressure. When you put such pressure on yourself, you drain even more of your energy by beating yourself up. I suspect that "beating yourself up" is not one of the habits you chose, am I right?

Here are ten of mine (actually, "mine goes to eleven"). I came up with this list after having fallen out of the habit of doing it a few years ago. Interestingly, four of these are the same as they were when I made my first list.

Blog for half an hour.
Read a book or magazine for half an hour.
Practice yoga for 20 minutes.
Wash dishes (I love to wash dishes.)
Eat a piece of dark chocolate.*
Have a second cup of coffee or decaf in the afternoon.
Maintain nails.
Put on lipstick in the afternoon.
Wear a bracelet.
Sing Christmas carols in the car.
Call one of my siblings.

*Note: the habits should make you feel good about yourself upon completion. If you don't feel good about yourself afterward, perhaps that habit could be more constructive. For example, eating a piece of dark chocolate every day can be enjoyable and even healthy, but eating an entire candy bar every day could result in mixed feelings.

Consider this exchange from Seinfeld. It's from the episode "The Keys." George and Kramer are sitting in a coffee shop, and Kramer has just asked George if he ever yearns ("George, do you ever yearn?" "Yearn?? Do I yearn?"). Kramer wants to go to California and is trying to convince George to join him.

Kramer: Do you have a job?
George: No.
Kramer: You got money?
George: No.
Kramer: Do you have a woman?
George: No.
Kramer: Do you have any prospects?
George: No.
Kramer: Do you have any action at all?
George: No.
Kramer: Do you have any conceivable reason for even getting up in the morning?
George: I like to get the Daily News.

"I like to get the Daily News."

I think this is one of the great lines in television. In the true Seinfeldian spirit, it's honest, it's mundane, and, most of all, it's real. Those small daily habits or rituals are sometimes all that we have, and getting the Daily News is a significant habit, perhaps even an accomplishment (well for George, anyway).

I was once trying to convince a student of mine to keep coming to school and not drop out. (Legally, he was too young to drop out, so there were some steep consequences if he persisted in being truant.) I told him/pleaded with him to try to get him to understand that he really had to try to find some small reason to get to school in the morning, even if it was to see just one friend. I shared that occasionally in my own life, the only thing that gets me up in the morning is the prospect of coffee. That's it. That's all. Sometimes I have no conceivable reason for even getting up in the morning other than to have a cup of coffee. I remember feeling a little pained admitting it at the time, but it's true. Especially in winter. Especially with Christmas vacation looming and yet so far away...

On the days, even weeks, when nothing exciting is happening or there doesn't appear to be a major event to look forward to (or even when there is), embrace the daily rituals. They are your habits, after all - your pattern, your routine, your unique, idiosyncratic way of being in the world. And this can be more than enough.

This is one of the meals of the week I make on Sunday afternoons. I am, in fact, making it today.

Tuscan Casserole

15 1/2 oz canned cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
10 oz chopped frozen spinach, thawed
3/4 cup part-skim ricotta cheese
1 egg
Olive oil
1 medium onion(s), chopped
2 medium garlic clove(s), chopped
8 oz mushroom(s), sliced
2 slices whole wheat bread, torn in small pieces
2 Tbsp grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper to taste

Instructions
Heat oven to 350°F. Line 9 x 9-inch pan with aluminum foil. In bowl combine beans, spinach, ricotta, salt and pepper to taste.

Over medium-high heat, heat olive oil. Add onion, garlic and mushrooms and saute until mushrooms are almost dry and begin to brown, 10 minutes. Add to bean mixture. Spoon into pan and even out top.

Sprinkle bread over mixture; top with cheese. Bake until bread is toasted and spinach is warmed through, 25 minutes. Let stand 10 minutes before serving.