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How lucky am I to have the family and friends that make up my life? I commute a hefty distance into Manhattan and have been blessed with good friends. Tonight, as our train continued to be delayed, the ‘usual suspects’ and I shared tales of our early commuting experiences and laughed so hard that it kept our minds off the fact that we would probably not get home until 10pm.
Home. To kids who still meet me at the door and yell, “Mom’s home!” My pug Izzy even greeted me, snorting and sneezing and laid down for that ever so sad look to rub her belly. Then it comes down to food for everyone. Pastina for the kids; roasted pepper sandwich for my husband and anything for Izzy! (She is a Pug after all).
 How does that equate to being Italian? EVERYTHING ties back to being Italian: how you communicate with people, how you share that bag of popcorn on the train when someone missed dinner, how you make each other laugh so hard, that the time on the train ride flies and you are home before you know it. And then cooking at 9:30pm…and not minding at all!

Pasta on the floor could mean many things, kind of like spilt milk, a metaphor for life. Ever heard of the 5-second rule?

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