Saturday, September 24, 2011


It's 1992.  Early fall.  September, say.  The sun is high in the sky and shining brightly through the family room windows.  There are lots of them, or are they just big? I am 7 and they span from the floor to the top of the cathedral ceiling.  They always fill the house with heat. 

It's a Sunday.  We've already been to church, which is proof of autumn since dad prays on the golf course through the summer months.  Mom's in the kitchen, cleaning?  Cooking?  Both.  She cleans as she goes and is very fond of telling my now grown self that I'm doing it all wrong by not doing the same.  There's sauce on the stove filling the house with the smell of the tomatoes that we canned in August, fresh basil and parsley.  There's stewing beef inside.  Shortly there will be a discussion about the stewing beef.  There always is, as one of my parents prefers pork in sauce, the other beef and the inclusion of either one instills this discussion.  The screen doors are wide open letting the stuffy air out and the fresh new air of autumn in.  My big brother and I will set the table, my two other brothers by this time have gotten out of this duty, having already performed it in their youth.  Together there are six of us, and we will fill up the table with chatter, and probably heated discussions, and lots of food because soon dad will head outside to barbecue.

Blaring on the radio is Claudio Baglioni.  I'm not sure who he is at this time in my life, just that he sings in Italian and is always played on Sundays while the house is being filled with food smells and my mom is cleaning and cooking, and when he is on the radio my parents sing to each other.  At the top of their lungs with reckless abandon and across the room.  They smile, and sometimes sing to me too.  I'm not sure who he is at all, but he fills the house with love it seems.

This is where I've been this afternoon as I have taken a page from Attic 24  and decided to "love my home."  Mr. Frogged and I have affectionately scrubbed the entire main floor so far, set fresh flowers on the table and set the table ready for company tonight. 

All the windows are open.  We don't have as many windows as there were when I was a child, but all the blinds are open to let in the September sun and shine light on the newly polished wood tables. 

On the radio, Claudio Baglioni, and me now singing at the top of my lungs with a smile for my hubby as he eats (admittedly leftover from my sister-in-laws) veal with sauce.  It all got to be a bit of a timewarp as the smell of sauce snuck up my nose, and so I thought I'd bring you along for the ride.

1 comment:

  1. Ah, that was such a beautiful blog, it brought back memories and brought tears to my eyes that you remembered it this way, and it's wonderful to know that the tradition continues and in the same loving way that it started! :o) Happy knitting, love you x o