"May I?" Mom asked impishly. She plucked the stick of butter off the table and smashed/spread it directly onto her toast like she was crushing ants and shoveling a sidewalk at the same time.
"No!" I said.
"But . . . this way . . . I don't waste . . . " she protested.
Open butter sticks in the fridge were always studded with wheat toast crumbs, but this was the first time I'd seen her in action. It took me a while to realize that she meant to save water by not washing a knife.
I found a long, pointy knit hat in the living room.
Mom perked up, sidled over and plucked a library book from her knitting-sewing-ironing-magazines-library books-knickknacks-all-purpose Danish dining table. She opened to a page titled “Winter Hats for Gnomes.”
“I knit these for the grandkids,” she said, and produced two more long, pointy gnome hats. She’d used thick, gorgeously-saturated Malabrigo yarns from Uruguay, dyed in alizarin crimson, viridian and cobalt.
“Cute,” I said.
Petra had already told Mom to quit knitting for her kids (ages four, four and two), since they were refusing to wear Grandma's slightly itchy creations.
In between Twister, Temple Run, and Jenga With Sudden New Rules Made by Cheating Children, I noticed a Hal Leonard’s Guitar Method Book 1 and a kid's guitar sitting on the floor next to me.
I picked it up and played some songs - Greensleeves, Shenandoah, Red River Valley, etc. I thought I was doing pretty well, and mentally patted myself on the back.
“You’re horrible,” Italo said.
On the internet, Positano looks gorgeous and saturated with color.
When we showed up last month, it looked like this:
Haha! I still liked it, though.
Eventually, it looked more like this:
I'm not a photographer, so this view was way nicer in person.
And now, please enjoy this inviting chair that we found outside of our Airbnb.