For approximately 13 years I have hosted a Cookie Day in our home. My sister, niece and sometimes my two great nieces and nephews have joined, my other sister, my two daughters, and our two grandchildren. It is truly a family affair. The first year, a few of us tried to bake cookies in my kitchen and that proved to be very chaotic. We quickly learned we need to bake ahead and use the time for most of us to decorate already baked cookies.

Our granddaughter has been in charge of the Pizzelle station over the years and she has perfected the timing of each cookie. Our two daughters have made Cucciadate, a fig and nut filled cookie wrapped in a dough made with anisette and whiskey. This recipe is not exact as written by ancestors, yet they as a team have produced excellent results. I will say they are my husbands favorite and they are quite the delicacy.

This year was extremely different. There were cookies being baked, cookies being decorated and food was served, so this part was the same. What was exceptional was we had a wedding to have and to hold.

My nephew and his partner of 10 years chose Cookie Day to be married. My husband was in charge of Zoom, I officiated, our daughter a professional singer/songwriter, sang two songs chosen by the grooms, our grandchildren pitched in by adding ice to the drink station and pouring drinks for everyone in addition to other tasks they were asked to do.

It was a beautiful day and our home was filled with love.

Not only did we honor our ancestors by carrying their recipes from one generation to the next, we added a new dimension to our special day. An extra dose of love.

Be Well, Happy Holidays,

Nurturing Nonni

Nothing more than a Japanese relaxation system, it was developed in Japan by Mikao Usui around 1922 although it has been practiced for about a century.

This is how it works. A Reiki receiver lies on a massage table or sits in a chair fully clothed with the exception of shoes. The practitioner either lays their hands on ( with a light touch) or just above the receiver usually starting at the crown of the head and working toward the feet. Healing energy is transferred from the practitioner to the receiver.

This is an explanation of Reiki and other modalities from the Cleveland Clinic.

https://my.clevelandclinic.org/-/scassets/files/org/patients-visitors/information/touch-therapies-healing-services.pdf?la=en

I became a Reiki Master in 2019. Today, though, I am writing about my personal experiences giving Reiki to those who are open to it.

Once a month a Healing Circle is held which I am a small part of as a practitioner. I volunteer my services and the facility askes for a small donation from each recipient receiving a twenty minute session.

In this last recent Healing Circle, I asked the young man who honored my table, if there was an intention I could hold for him, he mentioned he was holding sadness. A young woman said she wanted to accept all relaxation and a third man was suffering from cancer and missed his wife who had passed. People have come to receive a Reiki treatment just prior to an upcoming surgery and some who play a lot of sports want to receive a session to relax their muscles. There has been slight snoring too! Some literally fall asleep! I have learned there are as many different reasons to be drawn to a Reiki session as there are people in the hopes of receiving comfort in a quiet setting.

A man asked me if I felt any negative energy from him after our Reiki session and I said no. I actually felt compassion.

Yesterday. The day started with coffee… always with coffee. This is a yesterday list. A short walk with our dog, an hour of pulling weeds and transplanting other plants (a small volunteer effort with friends) 2.5 hours of Pickleball along with many others in America now a days, a dash into COSTCO, a short trip to my daughters (12 miles away from our home) then a lighthearted impromptu walk with her while she walked her four year old dog. When I came home, I was ready to relax. I grilled some mushrooms (one of the things I like to eat, made a cocktail (prosecco with a splash of orange and a splash of cranberry juice) then decided to float on a swimming pool raft in our what I call Covid swimming pool. I had no idea that floating just floating could bring up. The reason I write about the day is because sometimes I wonder if what happens in our day, little things we might see or hear leads to the past coming up when we are silent and perhaps floating.

I have a birthday coming up for one thing. The 69th year of my birth. Floating…floating on my back on a raft in a swimming pool. My mind rested from the day. Then unexpectedly, my mind went to my 13 (1968) year old birthday party held by my in my parent’s in our backyard. It was memorial weekend I have a picture in my mind of faces, all of whom are young like me although I am not there. Just friends.

Four of them came to the forefront. Sadly, these are the four who are no longer with us. One is my friend Kathryn who had beautiful blonde hair with soft curls, died while crossing a street on a bicycle and was hit by a car. Her brother Robert’s life was taken with hers in the same way on the same day at the same time. My friend Elizabeth who had the best straight bangs, and Tommy whose house I walked passed to get to my piano teacher’s house, passed away as adults from cancer. Jean Marie who was tall and had the most beautiful smile, passed as an adult from COPD. I will be 69 and yet the memory of my party all gathered in the small backyard waiting for my sister’s neighborhood band (The Uncalled Four) to start to play is as vivid in my mind as if I was there now.

The only gift I recall receiving was a pair of earrings from my friend Kathryn. The thing about good memories is with the sorrow comes the warm memory of being together and laughing. A particular conversation isn’t recalled, but the laughter and togetherness is strong. In those years, I feel I was very fortunate to have such friends who laughed a lot, saw each other on the playground daily at school and couldn’t wait to see each other the next day. The weekends held slumber parties with a minimum of 8 girls and consisted of talking until we dozed off one by one, Ouija board antics, and listening to music, usually Soul music.

These good memories I have are what I keep and make me smile. Save the good memories and pull them out when you float.

Nurturing Nonni

December 10, 2018- Sunday, December 9-Our house. Our house was filled with love and cookies yesterday. For the past 7 years (since our father passed on December 17, 2011) my two sisters Angela, Annie, me and our families gather to bake. Stories of past and present are remembered and told again and again.   My two daughters continue to make the  Sicilian fig filled cookie called cucidati each year following an age old recipe that calls for flour for example, with no specific measurement, just flour. The filling is prepared each year by my daughter JoAnna. She needs a large pot, a few pounds of chopped dried figs, orange juice, chopped almonds and honey. JoAnna knows what it should taste like, feel like and smell like and each year it is made to perfection. She said this year is her favorite! Laura is in charge of the dough. This dough recipe calls for whiskey, flour, eggs and other ingredients that are included by the feel of the dough. Laura said she takes a clump of dough and keeps adding flour until her sister and she feel their way to the perfect rolling consistency.  JoAnna  rolls the dough, thin, in long lengths and with a spoon, gently drops the luxurous filling on the dough. She then covers the filling with dough and cuts each into approximately one inch squares. They are baked, and cooled. The next step is decorating. Italian colored tiny balls of sugar, adorn each cookie as soon as the home made thin lemon- sugar frosting lightly painted on by the gang sitting at the extra long dining table waiting for the cookies to cool. While waiting, they decorate the famous ‘S’ cookie  made each year by my sister Annie. This age old recipe is a lightly browned cookie rolled by hand and shaped into the letter ‘s’. Our niece Tonya, and our two nephews this year brought peanut butter cookies with chocolate kisses in each one to decorate  and our grandson pitches right in. Our niece brought adorable reindeer peanut butter cookies. There is room for everyone in my small kitchen each dodging the other yet making room and taking turns with the mixer. It all adds to the festivities. Our kitchen is dancing. In this age where we can buy rolls of dough in our local grocery store to slice and bake, this next generation together with their aunts and cousins, choose to bake from scratch using the old recipes from their ancestors. I remember a few years ago when I first noticed Pizzelles in our local grocery store. To me, they looked thick, not delicate. I feel pleased they have become so popular that local grocery stores carry them. This has not diminished the pride we feel making them ourselves.  A Pizzelle is a thin almost wafer like cookie. The dough consists basically of  eggs, flour, and butter. These young bakers have learned again by watching and trial and error how much dough to scoop by the spoonful and carefully drop each onto the hot iron. They close the iron and hear the initial sizzle. They count, sing, to whatever number or song works so when they are finished counting or singing, they open the top of the iron and there they are (my mom used to say prayers…one Hail Mary and one Glory Be) lightly browned Pizzelles. They place each on a cooling tray until they are cooled and crisp and then transfer them to their specific container. These two have become masters of these delicate snowflake like cookie. I have a photograph of Valerie before she was one watching on as her mom made Pizzelles. My mother, (who passed on February 3, 2001)the huge  Christmas cookie  baker in our family, gave each of her daughters and granddaughter a Pizzelle iron as gifts years ago. We still have them and use them.

I for some reason like making Biscotti, and   chocolate spice cookies, my sister Angie makes the ricotta cookie. It seems we all have our go to and gravitate toward it each year.

These cookies are split among all of us to take home and are then made into plates of cookies (small cookie trays) decorated with little wrapped candies to give away to friends and neighbors.

Sharing recipes and gathering to bake them seems to be our natural way of celebrating the lives of our Italian/Sicilian loved ones who have passed yet their memories live because we were invited into their kitchen to help chop, stir, bake decorate and share stories.

Until next time,

Ciao, Nurturing Nonni

New phone? Standing in the store of the carrier of my smartphone, my heart began racing as the technologist began to transfer data, yes they call it data. My job is to trust that a small portion of my life (seemingly huge at this moment) is going to be transferred, yes transferred from one data collection device to another. Why does it feel like one life line being taken from one and given to another. Is this true or perception? What it really is to me is a year or more of my life. Images (pictures) of  a trip to Italy with my daughter, photos of grandchildren,  family and friends, text messages of shared ideas, thoughts, and opinions,  phone numbers, or contacts as they are called now,  emails, and the all important calendar and more. The technician talks me through this process as he begins the transfer. I mention the specifics of my anxiety letting him know that my heart is racing  and saying out loud that I did not expect this transfer of data from one device to another to be emotional. Yet with the calm voice of a hypnotist, he reassures me that some of this data is entrusted to “The Cloud”. I sort of understand this concept I just have a hard time trusting it. The job is complete. I have what I need. My heart is settling down. I thank him for his time and service and leave the store with my new and old smartphone. I paired my new phone with my car and I have begun the adjustment period. I wonder how short or long of a period this will be. Days, weeks? I am guessing days and we will be old friends.

I am 62 years old, I have been married to a man I love for almost 42 years. We have two grown adult daughters, and two grandchildren. On January 21, 2017 I will march in the Women’s March on Washington, D.C. I am riding with approximately 300 others on  buses from the Unitarian Congregation I joined almost two years ago. I have read several other reasons why others are marching. For me, I am marching to be seen and heard for several reasons. I recently heard some say they wish the United States was more like it was in the 50’s, 60’s. One of the reasons I am marching is to let the new administration know that the 50’s and 60’s are gone. Change is constant and real. I was 18 when the voting age changed from 21 to 18. I have voted ever since. Progress has been made regarding “Liberty and Justice for all.”…I believe everyone on this soil deserves dignity.

I am marching for continued progress in social justice that is inclusive. Race, color, religion, gender, marriage choice, relationship choice.

I am marching to help end gun violence.

I am marching to say with others that we are vigilant and we will not settle.

I am marching because I am tired of being quiet and going about my daily life setting aside my true feelings about social justice for all.

I am standing on the side of love.

Be calm, be well.

Nurturing Nonni

2015

This year I have reached for the opportunity to learn and practice…Learn something new that I am interested in and practice acceptance, patience, and listening to name a few. By learning I mean I took on Reiki training, a Japanese relaxation technique and by practice, I mean that I don’t have it down yet..but practice gets me a little closer step by step…

For this writing I want to write a little about storytelling. I think storytelling is an opportunity to connect. By telling our story and listening to others, I believe it encourages acceptance of the way things were and are, patience to understand, and sharpens our listening skills.

Storytelling was introduced to me two years ago (by a professional storyteller) where storytellers gather and work on their stories and then share them with others…and it is powerful in that setting…Storytelling by my Italian heritage family came easy and I feel fortunate that I heard so many… When stories are passed around the dinner table, by an older family member, relative, or child, we get a glimpse of what it might have been like in another place and time that we can not experience simply because we weren’t there. Allowing ourselves to be fully present to the storyteller provides that opportunity. Allowing the time to let the story sink in and picture what it may have been like is a way to transport ourselves… When I volunteer with my precious dog Frida at a rehabilitation facility and residents share their stories of their pets or other stories that come to their mind because of a pet, I truly listen to each word and I believe they feel that what they are sharing is important to me because it is.

Yesterday, I heard a compelling story of a caregiver from his point of view. His story was told with such honesty, passion, and dignity,  that it is now imprinted in my mind.

So this year, I vow to express and share my stories (look out family and friends) in a way that may transport some to another place and time and perhaps get that glimpse.

Be calm, be peaceful, be well…

Nurturing Nonni

Marie may like meatballs without raisins, Susan may like meatballs with raisins. One is gluten free, the other can not drink caffeine after 4:00 p.m. One likes meatballs in sauce, the other no sauce….One likes ham, the other vegetarian….When the holidays roll around there is something in my being that wants/needs to have something for everyone…Oh I’m on that list as well…One (me) wants an artichoke or two on the table as well as oysters and of course canolli…all of these food choices must be present on my holiday dinner table. Yet, I want the day to be casual, the meal to be casual and family to be nothing more than comfortable.

It seems for me chaos is comfort..the more bowls used, the more comfort…the more noise in the kitchen, the more comfort…

I used to wonder why, but no more. I am learning that I am nothing more than the current representative from the past…Maya Angelou writes that we stand alone with 10 million behind us. Years and years of ancestors living, working, raising families, dying…Italy, Sicily….United States (New York State)…the magnitude is magnificant. For me, representing those before me means recipies and certain food.

It just feels good…. this means less elbow room at the dinner table, more bowls, more platters of food on the table…but to me I am presenting part of my past, part of my joy for family being with us at the table, and showing some of my past memories… now; making new memories…I now have many new memories with one new one in particular that I learned just this Christmas; my grandchildren fill the canolli shell with whipped cream….just love this!!!!

Merry Christmas…from Nurturing Nonni

As I looked at my bread crumb covered hands the morning of Thanksgiving, I saw my mother’s hands. They were mine, but they were also my mother’s. There they were, the wrinkles, the veins, the egg and crumbs stuck together from my fingertips to my rings. It was beautiful. The memory of my mother’s hands rushed in and filled my heart with warmth. How many times did I see as a young child my mother’s hands covered in sticky bread crumbs? The vision of my mother standing in front of her modest kitchen stove with a plate of egg and a plate of bread crumbs next to it…my mother in her apron (that I have now and wear at times) is as though it was yesterday…

The memories never fade. From chicken, to carrdones (a plant we used to drive on Sundays to find in the woods that only my mother could spot and as trained back seat viewers learned to spot) to eggplant…oh just delicious…If it was chicken she was covering, that usually meant we were headed for a day trip to the beach.

So this led me to the thought of “The People in my Kitchen”….Over the years, and just recently on December 17th, (hosting OUR national cookie day) I have had the privilege of having so many pass through my kitchen and cook, visit, talk, watch while I cook, I watch while they perform a task and cook….From my mother in law and her husband learning the art of artichoke preparation to my son in laws brining and carving the turkey, making the gravy or their favorite dishes…it has left me humbled to find that my kitchen has made all those that have been in my kitchen feel so comfortable….This is the kitchen where my husband has perfected his delicious home made rolls and where my uncle taught me how to really mince garlic, chop herbs and cut an onion without too many tears…to my grandchildren knowing where everything is kept and how to freely help themselves.

Memories are fresh in my mind. The warmth remains forever in my heart and in my kitchen as I pass by and cook and look at my crumb covered hands. So here is to the warmth of the kitchen because of the people who are in it and who have yet to visit…

Ciao,

NONNI

Buongiorno,

Today is July 4, 2013…and I am sitting on my patio with a beautiful cloud covered breeze. It is humid but the breeze is just perfect for writing. I am not sure what today will bring yet but it will unfold as it should.

Breast Cancer and Yoga? What is the connection? The study and practice of Yoga teaches to be present and aware of what is happening now. Not yesterday, not tomorrow.

It reminds us that change happens every minute, every day, every month, every year. The breath and the asanas or poses that we learn in Yoga brings focus to our inner and outer selves for a short time while we practice and if we allow this,  it can carry on into our daily lives or as we say “off the mat”. I have an example.

In February of this year 2013, I decided to pursue a teacher certification in Yoga. In April, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After going for a regular mammogram, the radiologist came in and said these words. “We want you to go see a surgeon.” We found something suspicious. He was nice but direct. This was startling to me, so I went to the waiting room, and began asking for my records to take with me wherever I was supposed to go…I had no idea about a surgeon, but my plan was to contact my gynecologist. Before I did that, the radiologist called my Dr. and while I was waiting for my records, my Dr. called me on the phone and said something like this.  I’m sorry you have to go through this. I can’t fix many things, but I can help you have normal days again.

..and then he said, are you sitting down? Do you have something to write with? He then gave me the names of three surgeons and two oncologists that he knew and as he said he would send his wife to…This was so very calming and reassuring. I now had a plan. I did not know the outcome, but I had a plan of action.

It felt grounding….from then on, truly I tried to apply my yoga training to be patient and take one step at a time. Interestingly enough, many people said things like, Oh, you will be fine. I’m sure you will be fine. In my head I know that people are really trying to help me not worry, but I did not feel extremely worried, I felt that I was in the hands of people who know about this stuff. So, one step at a time, like an onion that needs to be peeled (one of my favorite metaphors is the onion) things were uncovered scientifically, surgery was done (a lumpectomy) and radiation is scheduled…for July 15th.

The equipment involved in identifying and the accuracy to which the surgeon had to work with these days was just overwhelming to me. I have not been exposed to so many scans, biopsies, just huge equipment…and attention that I felt I did not deserve, but truly grateful. This is one way to say thank you to the medical community who approached me with care and kindness, to my family who care and keep checking on me, and to my husband who comes with me to help comfort me while I have been waiting for the next steps. I am very fortunate, very humbled by this experience, and just very grateful.

I have to say, that trying to stay in the moment and being aware of what is “now” and what I know rather than what I might speculate has been very helpful…and as my daughter called me one morning before a very uncomfortable test, said “remember to breathe mom”…..

Ciao,

Nonni