Italian Fans (in Disguise)

The stench of freedom

Wholesome. That's how I describe the past month with my 78-year-old Nonna visiting from Virginia Beach. There has been a lot of bed making, organizing, and not going out. I feel like I've gone back in time to any previous century when women were expected to be homebound and silent. Tomorrow morning, she leaves, and I'll be able to go back to shortening my life.

I'm relieved.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for her influence on my life, I love her more than myself, and I am going to miss her, but I can't wait to shake off this responsibility. Elderly dependents are tough, especially the kind that has survived almost every hardship you can think of.

I hope I always remember this period, and I hope she leaves with a positive memory of me and good things to report back home. But really, just under the top of my sternum and pushing up against my vocal cords, I either have some indigestion from the meatballs tonight, or a euphoric rebel yell in the shape of an octopus, with its tentacles stickily poised to slingshot it into the warm, polluted air caught in the whirlwind of speeding cars that is Los Angeles International Airport.

Farewell, Nonna. May you find happiness in your religion, your superstition, and your understandably gloomy interaction with the world.

Nonna in her 3D shades after seeing Avatar for the second time (iPhone)

Brasciole e Polpette Being Made Now! (iPhone)

Another Nonna-ism: decorations for baby Jesus (iPhone)

Only my Nonna would find a way to merge her Italian, hand-made nativity scene with Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light, snowy tree and streetlamp.