Week in Review

This past Wednesday was the annual Washington Area Women's Foundation Leadership Luncheon. You might remember my post about it last year. I was so inspired that despite my complete lack of comfort with soliciting money, I enthusiastically agreed to join the Host Committee for this year's event. 

The tone of this year's Luncheon was one firmly rooted in female empowerment and strength. After a week of Me Toos swirling around, it was tremendously meaningful to sit with more than a thousand women (and a few men) and celebrate our vast ability, resilience, and connectedness. I am proud that the host committee this year raised more than $860,000 for the Women's Foundation. This record amount is crucial for our wholly donor-supported organization, and I am grateful to all who lift us up. 

On Friday night, a dear friend and I headed downtown to see Tom Hanks in conversation with Ann Patchett. A curious combination, perhaps, until you find that Hanks has just published a book of short stories, Uncommon Type. 

Gorgeous night, exciting event.

He is an avid collector of vintage typewriters (he owns more than 200) and the machine has a role, from mention to major character, in each of the seventeen stories in the book. 

Meanwhile, in addition to being a prolific writer, Patchett, as you might know, owns the independent bookstore, Parnassus Books, in Nashville. She was sent an advanced copy of Hanks' book. Initially rolling her eyes over "another actor who wants to publish a book," she found that once she started reading, she couldn't stop. She noted with relief that Hanks' writing is totally unaffected in a way that feels increasingly rare these days. 

It was a delightful conversation, although my friend and I both wondered if Hanks is always so kinetic and "on" or if he was in show-mode for this event. It was at times almost exhausting to watch and listen to him. I liked Patchett a lot. Although I don't much care for her fiction, her nonfiction is brilliant and I absolutely adore it. I hoped not to have a Kingsolver experience (remember when I went to hear her speak and found her public presence not terribly appealing; sad), and I didn't.

Washington has so much to offer. Despite American politics feeling like the most depressing and toxic and devouring dumpster fire ever, this city is extraordinarily rich in so many other ways, and I feel lucky I can take regular advantage of our cultural and social justice offerings.

It has also been a week (weeks, actually) of pretty and delicious food which for me never fails to serve as balm and joy. 

pumpkin ravioli with sage brown butter and parmesan

incredibly juicy, tangy Concord grapes from a local farmers market

tomatoes from that market heading towards roasted tomato jam (an outstanding Amanda Hesser recipe)

after nearly two hours in the oven, the jam is ready to put up.

In other news, Stumptown has changed its packaging, and I'm smitten with the handsome take on a humble coffee bag. If you love coffee and grind your own beans for your morning espresso, please try Hairbender. Mamma mia. It's a worthy splurge.

And Nutmeg continues to keep watch, this time with the help of a bony friend. Oliver, who loves Halloween more than even his birthday and Christmas, is in full decorative spirit and costume planning right now. The countdown to the 31st is on! Ol told me last week, "Mamma, I know you don't love Halloween, but you always work to make it so much fun for me. Thank you." What a gift he is, and such an old soul. Tom and I are dressing up this year, and Ol is delighted. I told him that his enthusiasm is infectious, and thanks for making my life more fun. 

The cream! The cherry! Not.

I have been feeling woefully incomplete because despite all the snow and sleet and missed school and shoveling and salt this winter, we have, thus far, been deprived of an ice storm. Seriously, what is late-winter fun without everything around you freezing inside a capsule of clear ice within two hours?

www.em-i-lis.com

Of course you've been wanting to ice skate down your sidewalk sans skates. It makes you feel so coordinated and secure; you are an effing gazelle.

Naturally you've felt glum that you've not experienced the magic of an ice window for your car. It's an igloo on wheels I tell you! Super cool.

www.em-i-lis.com

You have been dying for a twenty-four hour Winter Alert that ends on Monday at 3am, mere hours before your kids' school decides on whether to open, delay or cancel and that coincides with sending your husband off to sunny California for four days and realizing that your Ice Melt doesn't contain sand. No, this fine product melts the ice which then immediately refreezes in the sub-freezing temps with zero traction therein. You have unwittingly made an ice rink out of the fourteen-stair exit from your home. You will be an über-gazelle come morning. Except that you probably won't need to leave anyway because #snowday.

Your dog, sassy and fancy in his old age, will NOT pee outside except for against the one non-brick side of the house, and you will love to look at his splotchy yellow stains frozen in place on your home as if Canine Jackson Pollock took to your deck.

You thank all merciful gods and feline spirits for the fact that, inexplicably, your cat seems to believe he's a snow tiger and begs to go outside at regular intervals. You think, "That cat is mofo crazy, but he doesn't whine, he appreciates leaving the house, he doesn't fart AND when he snuggles with you, he doesn't stink." Much to be said for that delectable combo. You will start to favor him with unbecoming openness.

www.em-i-lis.com

You will scurry over to the market and spend exorbitant sums on convenience foods and flowers because FRUIT! COLOR! Who gives a shit where it was all grown? Buying local is so #springandsummertime

You'll cook a vat of pumpkin ravioli in sage butter for dinner because your husband doesn't like it and his absence is an opportunity. Also, carbs.

www.em-i-lis.com

You will light a fire with the minimal amount of kindling you have and then use every bit of newspaper in the house to augment because you deserve that festive freaking fire. Not least because 1) you'll fall and die if you go outside for more kindling which is a gauntlet-walk away in the garage, and 2) you are an awesome, whacked-out-from-fatigue-and-talking mother who gave your kids small amounts of melatonin at 5pm, fed them a beautiful, well-balanced meal, bathed them quickly and tucked-threw them in bed at 6:04pm so you could rest for a few. Hey, that shit's natural!

You will really wish you'd had the foresight to buy dessert while you were buying bouquets like you're an effing bride because no one is making anything now. #wine

Happy March, peeps! ~~~~ Please, for the love of all things holy and comedic, find the effing humor in this. It's funny!

Here: Italia

Via Munich (a great airport), I arrived in Florence around 12:30p EST today, Tuesday. Elia (sister) and Leone (new nephew) picked me up, and immediately I fell in love with little L. Newborns are just the cat's meow, especially when they have perfect lips, a cleft chin and are related to you. More than twelve hours, one nap, two meals, a trip to the market and some wine later, I am finally in bed in my rental apartment, just down the block from Elia's. My mom was here for twenty-six days, until yesterday; when I entered this place and found her notes and leftovers, coffee and gluten-free items, the adaptor shed'd left for me and the hair dryer hanging over a towel rack in her signature, looped-cord fashion, I felt her presence and wished she were still here.

How odd to overlap with your own mother in a singular apartment on a different continent. How strange and familiar to see her handwriting in a kitchen to which neither of us may ever return. How funny-sad to consider that our planes may have passed in the cloud-smocked skies somewhere between here and there.

Both of us came to do what family so often does: to help, to tend, to love, to be with in the moment. And today was so lovely in all of those respects.

El made me lunch while Leone napped and I briefly crashed. She concocted a glorious spaghetti with artichokes sautéed with garlic, parsley and white wine (above). I changed Leone's diapers, held and sang to him, helped bathe him, made a salad and some dessert for dinner tonight.

Michele, El's husband, arrived home just after we returned from an epic trip to Esse Lunga, a grocery store, laden with bags. He popped Prosecco and we "chin-chin'ed" each other happily.

He cooked his homemade pumpkin ravioli after we enjoyed appetizers of mozzarella di bufala, sundried tomatoes, and smoked salmon with toasts and creme fraiche. I face-timed with the boys, missing them dearly when I saw their sweet faces.

We took turns with the baby, just three weeks new and oblivious to adult schedules and patterns of time. It was easy and delightful, and suddenly, plum tart still in the oven, we realized the hour, and I realized my fatigue, and I kissed everyone Buona Notte and headed back to my empty apartment, an experience I've not had since I was a bachelorette in New York more than a decade ago.

Perfetta!