Pete and I prepared for Italian Christmas Eve for two days, not to mention the shopping and crepe-making that went on weeks ahead of time. It was a long series of firsts for us: Pete’s first Christmas with us, our first without Dad and the first time Daria’s husband Tyler bought sweaters in his own size in actual colors. I’ll explain later. It all worked out fabulously, though at any moment it all might’ve gone straight to hell – but, you know, with a nice bolognese. If you’re wondering: the manicotti was the best of my illustrious career and I’m still shaking my head. Yes, that’s what’s rattling. Hush!
There’s always a story to tell. At the moment, I can’t tell it. I will, though.