To My Godson, David

Since it's your birthday soon, and I'm in awe that you are an actual Man now, I figured I'd write just a little post, about the little David I knew.

Of course, no David-story would be complete without mentioning the fact that you have always been a lover of music.  I have countless hours of home video depicting you playing a guitar like a Beatle, sitting on the floor at Grandma and Poppie's singing along to movies, and "dancing" in the backyard.

One of my more interesting music-related memories is that you liked (?) Michael Bolton, of all people, and once, when I was standing on a random rock in Disneyworld, you said, "Aunt Cathy, you look like Michael Bolton on a tall mountain rock."  I remember we were trying to interpret what you were saying (your English skills were "interesting" at the age of 4 or however old you were), and I sorted out that you were referring to a music video of your hero.
I think I actually have a picture of that somewhere.
I may have burned it.

Regardless of the fact that I am not Male, and hopefully do not look like Michael Bolton, past or present, it seemed you had an interesting view of the World, which bridged the gaps of sex, color, height, whatever.
I think you even said that Aunt Rosalie looked like Oprah once.  There's also the fact that you and your cousin Rachel were planning to be married some day.  Cute couple, but maybe a little too adventurous into dueling banjo territory.

I have a photo of me holding you as a baby, and I can still remember how you used to snuggle right up into my neck and fall asleep in a matter of seconds.  That cute, drooling, blue-eyed bundle has somehow grown into a cute, drooling, blue-eyed 8 foot tall Man.  (haha)

Of course, there are the other, well-known, famous David moments in my history of memories.

Like when you would call me on the phone and ask how to find the hidden door in whatever level of Final Fantasy you were playing (the first one?? How old am I!?), expecting me to save you from death while I was frantically trying to figure out which part of the game you were in.

Or how you were hypnotically drawn to the church altar during Spenser's Baptism and stood guard with a slight deer in the headlights expression during the entire ceremony.

Or the fact that when you were a little bit older, I think you asked your parents if, when I got married, I would select you as the "pillow boy" (ring-bearer) for the proceedings, even though you were well beyond the age criteria for the part as it was.  And, I wasn't getting married at the time.

I'm actually laughing aloud, recalling these memories, even though we've spoken of them, countless times.  I guess that's what old people do.  Particularly the ones who look like Michael Bolton.  I'm never wearing my hair curly, again.

Anyway, much love to you, my dearest David, on your (almost) birthday, from your Godmother who digs your taste in music, thinks you are beautiful, and hopes that you'll remember her when you are a rich and famous supermodel/music guy/writer/vintner/whatever you want you want to be.  Happy Birthday.

And yes, I will reserve the part of the ring-bearer in my wedding, just for you!

What Summer Tastes Like

So, last night I plucked a gigantic basil leaf from my counter-top plant, which I have been eyeing greedily for some time now.  I have been paying a bit more attention to the plant of late, and the results are pretty interesting.  If you don't already have a basil plant on your windowsill year-round, you should have one.  Just sayin.'

Anyway, thanks to my sister Rosalie (and my mom, but those are gone already), my home has been overflowing with fresh tomatoes.  Now, I am a tomato lover at its extreme.  I love them in any way, shape or form, I could eat them at every meal and still be in love.

As I was enjoying yet another dish of insalata caprese (tomato, fresh mozzarella, fresh basil, olive oil, oh my), I thought to myself, "this is what Summer tastes like."

Now of course, I am also a huge fan of cookouts; burgers on a grill, macaroni salad, maybe even hot dogs, if I'm feeling crazy.  Corn on the cob, while lovely, is impossible to eat gracefully in public, and I probably haven't done that since I was, perhaps, 8 years old.  Same thing goes for watermelon, which I'm not a huge fan of, anyway, so, it's just as well.

But yes, all of these things are what Summer tastes like, too, and, since none of my family have deemed me worthy to be invited to a cookout just yet (hint hint- Summer is winding down, folks!), I mainly have to content myself with eating these things in the privacy of my own home, indoors, which is decidedly not cookout like.  At all.

Anyway, back to the real god of Summer tastes: tomatoes.

When I was younger, and would follow my father incessantly around the garden, he would occasionally let me taste some of the goodies growing therein.  Some things were not that thrilling (like parsley sprigs), but other things....  if you have never picked and eaten a ripe cherry tomato that is sitting there, warmed by the sun, I command you to go do it.  Right now.  Don't wash it (unless you use pesticides, which is icky).  Just pick it and eat it.

Every time I eat a cherry tomato (alas, I have to put them on my windowsill to get the whole "warmed by the sun" feeling), it brings me right back to that garden of my youth.  A time of innocence, Summers free from school, and the secret privilege of getting cherry tomatoes that never made it into the bowl on the counter.

To me, tomatoes are a sweet gift from the gods, and I'm sad to realize that soon enough we'll be entering a new Season, and the tomatoes scrounged from the supermarket will not be as delightfully plump, and red, and local as they are now.

In the meantime, I will be eating them until they're gone (I'm obsessive that they don't go to waste), and will likely start to resemble a tomato soon enough.  I finished the last of my fresh mozzarella and stale Italian bread last night, but you'll be relieved to know that I still have eggs for omelettes, hamburgers, and tuna fish which will nicely compliment the four remaining tomatoes in my arsenal.

So, forget about ice cream and hot dogs.  If you really want to know what Summer tastes like, go pick a tomato.  And don't forget the basil.  I've got extra, if you need it.