A Hungry Woman Gets Fed
For better or worse I have the ability to push the past behind me and throw myself into a new form of existence. When Mark, my first husband, and I read all about astrology, he told me I fitted the description of Aries, my sun sign. Headstrong. But I don’t believe in that.
Peter was very funny and jolly, Italian. Since I don’t want to write long blogs–it’s a good challenge for a writer to keep things concise–I’ll say a few words about food.
This is strictly my opinion. However, I’ll write it and hope that nobody’s offended. I always knew that Jewish people loved good food, loved going out to fine restaurants and being served quickly and skillfully. But Italians in general–AT LEAST THE ITALIANS I’VE KNOWN–adore food, worship it, express love with it. My mother-in-law hated eating in restaurants and thought her food was better than anything you could get outside her kitchen. She was both extremely graceful and humble about food. Peter learned to cook from her.
My mother-in-law made such delicious fruitcake at Christmas. During one Christmas season (not all in one day) I ate a whole one, all by myself.
The first thing I learned from Peter–eating is FUN. It was liberation, exhilaration, relaxation.
After all, it all started at a brunch.
lgmwriting 