Day 8: Joy

The wafting aroma of garlic, tomatoes and basil reached upstairs, all the way to my corner childhood bedroom.  One of the primary scents of my youth, the reminder upon awakening that it was Sunday morning. As a teenager, I would rise closer to noon, padding downstairs in a concert tee and plaid shorts, drawn by the pull of the scents. My mother would fix me a breakfast of freshly fried meatballs paired with a hunk of Italian bread and a little sauce.  I’d always ingest it too hurriedly, scorching my mouth and regrettably numbing my taste buds for several hours… and yet it was well worth it. 

Growing up in a close-knit family, we would gather every evening for dinner as a family, however it has always been those late afternoon to early Sunday evenings that are distinctive. Even today, my husband and I gather around the table together with my mother and father, brother, sister in law and their two babies.  Twirling spaghetti or stabbing penne, slathered in the marinara and ricotta, sprinkled with Parmesan or Pecorino Romano.  Smearing every extra bit with that thick cut seeded bread, our plates left so clean we could practically re-shelf them.   Exchanging the experiences of the previous week, laughing and eye-rolling at my dad’s stories heard over and over, and now, giggling with our little nephews, taking note of the wonder in their big moon eyes.  I am liberated with the sound of my father's laughter mirrored with my own, a deep conversation with my mother, the guitar strumming resounding in the background.  My brother and I joking, teasing.  This bliss translated into my relationship with my husband, including and sharing in these minutes with him.

And then I place down my fork, take a sip of my red wine, pause, take a quiet look around the table, and revel at this glimpse in time.  We are the same family around the same table and yet we grow and age with every photo, every gathering. 
These simple moments are irreplaceable; the source of all my joy.