I’d like to thank all the little people….

It is an amazing feeling to be the tallest in the room! I went to a dinner party last week with my parents and some cousins at my godmother’s house (yes, even Atheists have godmothers) . This is something I have not done in over 20 years and it was fun to see my family and have adult discussions over wine and awesome Italian food and pastries. Here is a group of us in the world’s largest kitchen! Holy crap, my cousins have a kitchen bigger then my entire house! It was something like 8 billion square feet. There were 6 more people around the stove at the same time this picture was taken.

We made polenta, which is a delicious peasant meal made with cornmeal. Traditionally, the way we have it with my family, is that we make it in a giant pot and pour the cooked polenta out onto a giant wooden board and then it is covered in a rich meaty tomato sauce. Everyone eats off the same board with nothing but forks working our way into the center while the kids trace out some path or try to make a map of Florida in the cornmeal. It is such a community affair and I always miss it.

At my godmother’s house, we did it slightly more civilized. We ate off plates instead. This didn’t diminish the ritual or the relevance for me. It was a great time.

Of course, the 400 pound gorilla in the corner was actually a 160 pound Italian guy, my father, with ALS. As his disease progresses, it affects (or is it effects? Can you remind me Terri?) his speech, breathing and swallowing. This is very different than the kind of ALS that affects the extremities (ala Steven Hawking). He was virtually non-verbal and had obvious difficulty clearing the food out of his mouth which frustrated him, I can tell. I was sad but it was certainly good for all of us to get together like this.

On the left, is my cousin (for Italians, EVERYONE is a cousin and I have no idea if he really is) Rafael. Then there is yours scruffily, me. Then my dad, my mom (who hasn’t let go of him since his diagnosis and then my other cousin Nazzareno (spell check wants to call him Mozzarella!).

Trust me, my pants were not as parachuted as they appear.