#mimaw

Did you know?

A restaurant on Staten Island, New York hires only Grandmother's to cook. The restaurant creates home cooked meals for a happy family atmosphere. It's now a Netflix movie.

Will you watch this?

Have you dined at Enoteca Maria's restaurant on Staten Island in in New York? They've been in business 15 years. 🎉

Maybe someday it will become a franchise in every city?

Just think, so many Nana's Mimi's, Grammies and Nonna's will feel respected and appreciated by their homemade cooking expertise and their love.

This world needs more love, less hate.

Mangia e statti zitto!

(Shut up and eat! in Italian)

Sometimes death is not poetic. It’s not a head in the oven like Slyvia Plath or falling asleep like Virginia Woolf. It’s often not so tragic as Tupac Shakur or Amy Winehouse—incredible talents lost by circumstance. Lost too soon. 

No often it’s family sitting around a hospital bed. Standing over someone you have known so long you that you are not sure of who you would be without this person. This person is in pain. You don’t want to let them go, but you have to. It’s not fair. It’s not dramatic. It’s just death. 

Life moves on around me and it doesn’t make sense. I want to pick up the phone and call my grandma. I want to be annoyed by her. I want to laugh at her idiosyncrasies. I want to here her tell me about how much more fun I was as a baby. I want to laugh so hard I almost cry when I think of her voice. 

I texted everyone “she’s gone” the moments after she passed. Death is to final for my liking. She’s gone doesn’t quite capture it either. But she’s not here anymore. Not on the other line texting me “see you soon bear! hugs!” No one will call me “bear” anymore. 

Day 7- A photo of an animal you’d like to keep as a pet