Now I am Stoked

I am in the fine state of Rhode Island as I write this. My Mom has gone to bed, and my brother has yet to return from work, so I'm experiencing the joy of a quiet house. It used to be my favorite time of night when I was a teenager, when everyone was asleep or busy with other things and I got some time to myself.

I came down to have dinner with my grandparents before I left for Italy. It's the winter doldrums at my grandmother's house. Before Christmas, she busies herself with making crafts to sell at shows. In recent years, she's taken to making Santa Clauses and snowmen out of gourds. They're beautiful, intricate, difficult things to make and take up a lot of her time. In the spring and summer, she tends to her garden. But after New Years until there's a reliable thaw, she's bored out of her mind, so she's taken to filling her time with cooking instead of the cleaning she always says she's going to do.

We never know what she's making until we get there. Unless it's someone's birthday, we're at her mercy. My Mom, brother and I arrived around 7:30 and went into the warm house. We ate some cheese spread my grandmother made until she announced it was time for dinner. She started us off with a salad. It had eggs, shrimp, avocados and sesame seeds spread on baby spinach. It was heavy and filling, but tasted delicious.

"Mom, this would make a great summer meal," my aunt commented. "Definitely keep the recipe."

My grandmother nagged us to eat the rest of the salad, which we mostly refused. "Come on, guys. If I'd known you'd be this way, I would have invited Aunt Vi."

Aunt Vi is my grandmother's aunt. She's about ninetysomething and skinny, but she eats and drinks more than any of us, raving about how delicious everything is. Somehow, on my father's side, there are a number of women named Violet. My grandmother's sister is also a Violet, which gets confusing at Christmas when there is "Auntie Vi" and "Aunt Vi."

Then came the main meal. White fish wrapped around stuffing, potato casserole, Ceasar green bean casserole and bread. The wine went around the table, my aunt making cracks at Sam about how he'd soon be old enough to partake of the drinks with us.

"So when do you leave for your trip, Amy?"

"Wednesday."

"Wow. Your uncle and I are going to California for the wedding, and to see Topotu. Well, we haven't so much been invited to the wedding, and there hasn't been a birth announcement yet, but we're going out for a week anyway. And your cousin just got back from San Francisco and he was sick as a dog before he left. Hey, Mom, where is Glass Beach? Is that near where we'll be?"

"Oh, hun, I'm not sure. Honey," my grandmother said, patting my grandfather on the arm, "what's the name of that town that Glass Beach is at?"

My grandfather looked at her for a minute as she rubbed her face, sounding out words to guess at the name. "Berna... no, F... F something, something military, Fort something..."

"Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to guess?"

"Give her a clue, Dad!" My aunt piped up.

"First letter, sounds like..." my grandmother murmured.

"B."

"Hmmm..." she said, rubbing her face more, the skin on her arms thinner than I remember, "Bro... Bragg!"

"Ding ding! That's it."

"Heeey!" We all clapped for her epiphany.

We talked about the Olympics, and I think I scarred my grandfather by mentioning that all the figure skaters are so small because they're all muscle and haven't hit puberty yet, even though they're in their twenties. He laughed, as did my grandmother, until tears streamed down their faces.

"Wow, Amy," my grandfather said. "That's... something." Which is the equivalent of Kristen's theory that, when you hang out with me, there is always a point in the evening when some line of taste and decorum has been crossed, and she then says "...And there it is."

"Well, it's true," my aunt said.

"That's why she said it," my Mom said. My grandmother wiped the tears from her eyes.

We talked more over the pie and coffee that nobody really had room for. They grilled me on my Italian skills ("Hey, do you know 'get away from me, you creep'?" my aunt asked) and when I'd be back. My grandmother mentioned how the doctors tested her for dandruff to ingrown toenails and everything between and she was fine. "They put me on that treadmill for the stress test and they had it on such an angle I may as well have been climbing Everest and I was fine." I resumbit my plea to the universe that I take after the paternal side in graceful old age as well as physical appearance. I'd love to be damn near eighty years old and able to strip the wallpaper from my bedroom and ace the stress test.

My grandmother slipped me some cash as I was getting ready to leave, and I thanked her effusively. It's a small thing, but it really helps me out. My family called out to me, wishing me a safe trip. I drove out, beeping twice at the end of the driveway as is our tradition, and was extremely thankful for my nutty family.

I think I'm starting to get excited. I got my final 1099 in today (I think, I hope) so I can get my tax stuff ready and hopefully figure out my tax bill. I bought my adapter for the international plugs, some black pants to wear on the plane, a lock for my suitcase in case I buy any fantastic Gucci or Prada something-or-other, and watched a show on the Food Network about Giada De Laurentiis and her tits' trip to Italy. I am going to eat gelato and drink wine until I puke. I am going to throw coins in the Trevi fountain. I am finally going to step foot on the European continent. Sweet. Fuck money, I am going to see and do it all. I am going to buy Alicia a birthday card in Italian. How cool is that? If it works out, I am going to ride on a Vespa with someone, a la Roman Holiday. And, oh, eat. And see cool art. Like Apollo and Daphne.

Well, my brother is home, and his friends are looking for him on the internets, so I'd best get ready for bed. Maybe I'll read my old yearbook. Or just pass out in my twin bed of yesteryear.