Beth stories

It’s taken me a long time to write this post. I generally write about happy things – mainly my happy places. But writing is therapy for me. So as difficult as this is, my mother’s story needs to be told. So many people are looking for help with aging parents and I was quite suddenly, thrown into this mix. Often, when I’m writing a blog post, I talk into a recorder and tell a story …

Yep, that’s a Christmas mug in the picture below. In May. And it’s filled with bacon grease…a little trick I learned from my early childhood. And one reinforced from my dip into the Paleo diet waters. I’ll just say, IT FLAVORS EVERYTHING! So I thought it was the perfect way to start off this post. If you don’t know the glories of cast iron cooking, bacon grease in a coffee mug, or the finer revelries …

Chris’s grandfather came to the U.S. from Sicily when he was 17 years old. He left behind seven sisters but never returned to his homeland. He wound up a fat, happy Italian man working in the garment district of New York City. Chris’s mother had always retained her strong ties to Italy. She had visited Italy before but had never ventured to the island to re-establish her roots. She had in fact kept in touch with two …

With one year of culture shock under our belts, I invited my mother to come live with us.  After all, she was 68 year old widow, in good health, with no job….when else will she get the opportunity to live in a foreign country and tour exotic destinations. It didn’t take much to convince her. One day, while wrestling with her swimming pool vacuum, I said, “why don’t you leave all this behind and move …

Shortly after our arrival, we decided that we were brave enough to venture out on a driving trip and opted for one of those places you have to go so you can say you’ve been there places –  the Riviera.  So we set off on the winding, twisting mountain roads through the countryside of Liguria.  When we arrived at our destination, on the far western Italian Riviera, we were surprised to find that we were only …