Eight Minutes, Ironing, Flowers, Art

My second cooking school was in Italy. The chef was Piero. There were seventeen of us, mostly with a spouse or a gal from home. We had fun going to farmers’ markets, bakeries and a premier restaurant. Plus lessons, of course.

Often in restaurants they keep the oven at a certain temperature and the cook must judge the timing of a dish based on that constraint. Or use the Salamander (broiler). When asked, Chef Piero would always say “eight minutes.”

I had already joked with him about the eight minute rule so set up one of my colleagues to ask “how long?” We all called out EIGHT MINUTES!!! He laughed.

I rarely take out the ironing board but have a wonderful iron, a Rowenta. No more $8 irons for me! The board leaves much to be desired as it is flimsy and light and does not deserve a Rowenta.

There were a couple of my shirts to be ironed, which still hasn’t been done, and my husband asked why I didn’t just send them out with his shirts. I’ve not done that in a long time and I think I didn’t deserve that and had to wash and iron them myself. I’ve been sending my husband’s shirts out for years.

A few years ago my mother-in-law was visiting. I bought an inexpensive white denim . jacket that she insisted on “blinging” so I’ve silver around the collar and along the back horizontal seam. There is a peace symbol on the right arm and a LO VE symbol on the back. I’m thinking of the Beatles. I’ve another love symbol in script to iron-on and have ordered another and washed the jacket yesterday, hung it to dry and just need to iron it. I figure some of the old people in the neighborhood will recognize “Love, Love, Love” as the Beatles.

Flowers. I’d love to grow them. Tonight I saw a DIY piece on making a trellis and hanging flowers and herbs outdoors in coffee filters, ensconced in diy gutter boxes. I could do that on our balcony, we grill (he grills) out there but we have never taken a seat out there. Buying cut flowers is a chore, always re-doing arrangements. I’ve one on my desk for Dad, one for our immediate family made of three mini milk bottles (my husband grew up on a dairy), now one for his uncle who died last week. And one for fun.

He doesn’t notice the flowers, just knows they are present. I started getting scientific vessels so he would notice that after 16 years I started to buy HIM flowers (flasks and a graduated cylinder, even framed an old print of said items for him) to no avail. Ah, well, what is a wife and writer to do. I know, these days I’m “just the wife.” He might notice if the flowers were absent.

I realize that most of the art works in our home are from me and my family, as he just doesn’t care. Our home should reflect both of us but like the sole plastic colander he brought to our kitchen from college days, he has not brought much to the table for me to frame. His folks are moving after 40 years in their family home. I’ve been offered his high school graduation photo by his mother the other day and have the perfect spot for it. Next I get to go through his baby book, another gift from his dear Mom. Cheers! Dee


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