Monkling's Blog

As we usually do, we attended the Easter Vigil tonight. In some ways, this Easter Vigil was special. Our parish built a new Church and it was the first Easter Vigil in the new Church. We also have a newly ordained priest assigned to our parish and this was his first Easter Vigil as a priest.

For those you unfamiliar with this particular Mass, it starts out with the priests & deacons starting a fire in the entrance to the Church. A few days ago, I saw our parish’s Plant Manager carrying the uh… no clue what it’s called and I said, “Oh! It’s the fire thingie!” You’d think the mother of a seminarian would know the proper term for it.

When you go into the Church for the Easter Vigil, it’s dark. Mass started at 8 but we got there early. It was still light out but as it the time crept towards 8, you could see the light through the stained glass windows fade. It seemed like someone was outside hitting a dimmer switch.

It’s late so I’m tired and all over the place tonight. Remember a while back I said I was asked to write something about being the parent of a seminarian for a new website our diocese was preparing to launch? It’s now live. If anyone is interested in checking out the website, use the email link to contact me & I’ll send you the url.

Yes I did initially have that information here but it revealed way too much – our last name, our parish… I don’t want that stuff posted here for the entire world to see but I’d be happy to share it via email.

Normally I like to be faithful to tradition. Mardi Gras, to me, means New Orleans, beads and Cajun food. Usually I cook Cajun food for Mardi Gras. That was before I discovered this Italian pastry thing so today, instead of Fat Tuesday, we’re going Italian: Buon Carnevale!

This is what converted me was this recipe found on another blog, Bleeding Espresso:

They’re called by different names and there are a dozen different recipes so, since no one could concur with exactly how to make them, I made up my own recipe. The result – little pastry strips of heaven.

I will try not to eat them before Frank gets home from work tonight. I’m sure he’d like them if only he got a chance to taste one or two.

In case you are wondering what seminarians living in Rome cook for Mardi Gras, apparently it’s gumbo. Large quantities of it. We spoke to Steve on Sunday and he was complaining that his hands still smelled of garlic from 2 days before. (It seems he was in charge of chopping onion & garlic.)

I’d write some more but I have to go run inside to eat some more.

Happy New Year!

For the next few days, this blog is turning into a travel blog. I am taking all of you with us to Roma. And we are going to time travel, too, all the way back to Tuesday.

We arrived in Rome half an hour early. I didn’t expect Steve to be there yet but he checked the flight online and was there waiting for us. We then spent almost an hour waiting with him to make sure another priest arrived safely and found his ride.

As we were walking towards the airport exit some annoying man tried to get us one of those illegal cabs so we decided the hell with a taxi and took the train. Huge mistake. We had to take two trains and lug the heavy bags for what seemed like miles up and down stairs. It took us probably an hour and a half to get to the seminary from the airport.

Once we got to the seminary, things were better especially since we were no longer lugging luggage. Steve showed us a bit of the seminary. Their hall was decorated very elaborately with multiple Christmas trees, a train set and a Sponge Bob Santa.

He showed us photos and videos of his trip to Poland. While there, he toured salt mines. There was a chapel in there, a restaurant, and many statues of things made of salt – Pope John Paul, the nativity, gnomes. Many, many gnomes.

There were also pictures and video of the family he spent Christmas with, also the 2 little Polish girls putting on a show singing Christmas carols in English and Polish with Steve playing music for their show on a pink Barbie keyboard.

We walked along the Tiber River and he showed us the damage from the floods when the river rose early this month from all the rain. We walked by Castel Sant’Angelo where there was a man dressed like the statue of liberty just like by Battery Park in NY. How odd is that?

Will try to get online tomorrow with New Year’s Eve Roma style.

I’m not sure if everyone knows what strufoli are so first off, I had best explain. When we were kids, we used to call them Honey Balls. They are little balls of dough (made with flour and egg) that are deep fried. Then they are covered with honey and piled into a triangular mound sort of like a Christmas tree & covered with colored round sprinkles. You must use the round type. Nothing else is allowed.

You can see a picture of them here. The recipe that goes with the photo, however, is not how we used to make them.

Strufoli are only made at Christmas time. In our family, it was one of the traditional Christmas cookies (although I’m not really sure you can call them ‘cookies’) and they were made every single year. It just wasn’t Christmas without them. I recall my grandmother making them also but they weren’t as good as ours.

For all the other cookies, mostly it was my mom who baked them. I’d help or I’d take over making some but my father never got involved in the cookie baking. Except for the strufoli. That was an annual tradition. Big Al & mom would make the strufoli together. Always.

A few years before my mom died, she was in the hospital for 4 months. It’s a long story but the short version is, she went in for surgery for a brain tumor, developed every complication under the sun, had several more brain surgeries plus assorted others & we didn’t think she’d ever come home. But, through some miracle, she did come home – right before Christmas.

After being in a hospital bed for 4 months, she needed to use a walker and she certainly wasn’t up to cooking or going out. We were, however, going to have Christmas. My siblings & I decorated the house before she arrived home. We were all ready to have Christmas with Mom, something we never thought we’d be doing only a month prior to that.

I don’t remember the details of who cooked what. My dad may have cooked Christmas dinner that year or we may have all brought something. Those details are gone into the black hole of my mind. What I do remember is my dad made strufoli.

After dinner, the desserts came out. All the cookies, the cakes, the pies and my father proudly put down the platter of strufoli because, after all, it wouldn’t be Christmas without them. I can’t remember who took the first one.

“What are those black things in there? Did you put something different in the dough?”

“No,” my dad said. “I made them the same as we always do.” We passed them around, examining them.

“Uh, Dad. These don’t look right. I think they’re bugs.”

My mom looks at them and agrees. “Didn’t you see there were bugs in the flour?”

Big Al replies, “I thought it was supposed to look that way.” He pops the strufoli into his mouth. “I think they taste better like this!”

Frank tries one, as well, because… well he’s just strange. “They taste fine to me!” And if that wasn’t bad enough, being married to someone who has no problem with eating bugs, it seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Stephen ate some, too. Theresa remembers one of my brothers eating them, too, but we can’t remember which one.

This year we’re having Christmas Eve over my father & his wife’s house. I’m thinking of making strufoli. I will, however, be checking the flour for insects.

Yes, you read it right. Not “Holiday Tree” lighting. Christmas tree – because that’s what is in my house. And guess what? If any of my Jewish friends or any other non-Christian friends were to walk into my house, they wouldn’t be offended by the fact that I am calling it a Christmas tree. This is because I don’t hang around with politically correct word police. So there.

Oh, no. Now if anyone wandered onto my blog, they will think I am being non inclusive and they won’t ever come back here again. Bahahahahaha!!!! My evil plan is working. I have evicted all the Christmas hating fanatics from my blog. Hmmm… come to think of it, I don’t think I have any of those people reading my blog so I guess I didn’t lose anyone this time around.

Getting back to the grand lighting. Yes, we did it just like in Rockefeller Center. All the lights were draped around the tree and then we had a count down. No, wait. There was an episode first. Theresa informed me that the star was crooked.

“Not to worry!” I exclaimed. “I will fix it!” I climbed up on the step stool and took hold of the crooked star. It then exploded in my hands. Well it didn’t exactly explode but that sounds so much more dramatic than simply saying it fell apart. “Oops. I don’t think it was supposed to do that.”

“Lucky thing I got it all on video,” Theresa informs me. No doubt she’ll be uploading it to Facebook, the evil child. That’s what I get for letting her use my camera.

I managed to fix the star because there was no way I was going to head out to the store to buy a new one. If I need to scotch tape a damn flashlight to it, we’d be using that star.

After carefully putting the crooked star back, I jumped down. “Okay, now count down!” I ordered Frank & Theresa. They just looked at me. “Hey, I’m not lighting the tree without a proper count down.” Reluctantly, they started counting down. At the proper moment, I hit the switch and then clapped wildly. They joined in, swayed by my enthusiasm. All this and I didn’t even drink any alcoholic beverages while all this was going on. Somehow I didn’t think it would be wise to drink spiked eggnog while climbing on step stools.

Tonight we are having:

• Liebfraumilch wine
• Sauerbraten
• Potato Pancakes
• Spaetzle
• Apple Strudel

What nationality are we pretending to be and what holiday are we celebrating?

I believe in celebrating anything that sounds like fun and involves good food and drink. We also have 2 different German beers. So anyone coming over to join us? Dinner is at 6.

I’m practicing my Italian.

Last night we went to the Easter Vigil, which I always love. I enjoyed that Mass so much that I didn’t even feel sad looking at Stephen, thinking this is his last vigil at our Church. It’s entertaining watching my son up there because he’s always looking around, making sure everyone is doing what they’re supposed to be doing – like checking the book that the altar server has to see that it’s on the correct page. It just amuses me.

The Easter bunny made a stop to our house. You’d think that with having kids in their twenties (or almost in their twenties) that he’d skip our house but nope. He was here:

The little bunnies move so there were races this morning across the kitchen table. And I don’t think you can see it but there’s a teeny little Etch-o-Sketch in one of those eggs. If Steve hadn’t needed to run off to Church again to play the organ at the 11:45 Mass, I’d have made the kids do an Easter egg hunt, too, because I’m immature like that. Or fun, depending on how you look at it.

We’re off to dinner at Luigi’s in a few minutes. We may get a guest or 2 stopping by later for dessert but, if not, we’ll just be forced to eat this all ourselves:

That would be a shame, eh?

Since Lent begins tomorrow, I like the whole concept of partying the day before. Of course here in NY, there weren’t any Mardi Gras parades. Well there may have been but if there were, I didn’t hear of any. The only parade in town today was the Giants Victory parade. I don’t think any of the football players were tossing beads to the crowd, though. Footballs, maybe.

In other, less hectic years, I’ve always cooked some sort of Cajun dinner for the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. About 20 years ago, Frank had gone on a business trip to New Orleans and brought me back a cookbook by that Prudhomme guy. There are some real good things in this cookbook but none of them will be made tonight for dinner. I will have to make up for that next year.

I’m not sure non-Catholic people know this but on Ash Wednesday, we’re supposed to fast. It’s nothing like Yom Kippur where you can’t eat anything at all from sundown to sundown (or, at least, that’s what I was told). We’re supposed to have a small meal for breakfast & lunch and then just 1 large meal at dinner. Oh, and no meat and no snacks in between meals.

Now here’s the weird thing – normally I don’t really eat in between meals. Well unless we’re in that PMS phase, in which case I’ll eat anything that isn’t nailed down. But normally, I just don’t. However, on Ash Wednesday, I am always ravenous. It’s like the idea of not being able to eat is making me want to eat.

Then there are the TV commercials. Of course every single commercial tomorrow ill be about food. Personally I think all food commercials should be banned from TV on that day.

Yeah, that’s it. A ban. I think I’ll start this huge Internet petition to ban food commercials on Ash Wednesday. Just as soon as I find some chocolate…

Today is the feast of the Epiphany & I just discovered a new tradition I want to establish. The problem is, it will have to be delayed until next year because a) I found out about it too late and b) there is no time today what with dropping Steve off at the airport, going to the nursing home to visit MIL and going to the hospice place to visit BIL.

It seems that in Italy, La Befana goes around leaving candy for the good children and coal for the bad children. Now while that sounds very similar to Santa Claus, she doesn’t dress in red, ride in a sleigh and have a white beard. She traditionally looks like a Halloween witch with a broom.

According to the legend, the 3 kings stopped by to ask her for directions to baby Jesus. She put them up for the night and they went off the next day, asking if she wanted to join them. She said no, she has to clean. (Hmmm…. sounds kinda like my mother but sure isn’t anything I’d ever say. “What, a chance to go out?? I’m there!)

Later, she regretted her decision and went off trying to find the 3 kings and baby Jesus. She left candy for the good children because ya never know, one of them might be Him. Families leave out a glass of vino for La Befana.

From what I was reading, celebrating this holiday means eating. No surprise there, with it being an Italian tradition. Why didn’t our family celebrate this? I have decided to adopt this tradition so next year, there will be a 3 Kings Day feast.

I don’t know about you guys but I can’t wait for this blog to get back to the business of being funny. Although, I do think those gingerbread cookies were pretty funny. How did I get to be bigger than Santa, anyway? What was up with that?

Wishing everyone a peaceful Christmas. May you all spend the day surrounded by those you love.