Atlanta in the Fall

Atlanta in the fall is a delight...and remains so late into the season. To wit, these two photos, taken at the park in my neighborhood.

But which one is better?

(For my little photo hobby, as if I have time for it).

What I'm Drinking (for Thanksgiving & beyond)

I pretty much drink this wine every night. Colosi 2012 Rosso (Terre Siciliane).

It's a Nero d'Avola blend and it's amazing. I don't know why everyone isn't drinking Sicilian reds and nothing but Sicilian reds every night.

And I think it will go great with the Thanksgiving turkey!

Along with a wonderful Aglianico from Puglia.

Happy Thanksgiving!

A picture of me

At a certain age, there are no good pictures. I'm at that age. So how do you explain this photo? He makes me look thin. I swear that's not how my legs look! But what a photog this guy is. This guy...a.k.a., my three-year-old son, Leo. Best portrait photographer ever.

"Lui is bravo"

Says Mike, Il Nostro Inviato, about our son, Leonardo.

Lui _ is_bravo.

Fair enough, he is bravo. A little combustible package of bravo-ness.

Anche carino.

And charming.

Sign me,
Living in Two Languages
(Due lingue fantastiche)

I heart Bialetti (and I've got the t-shirt to prove it)

I'd honestly like to think I am the only woman in America obsessed enough with the classic Italian Bialetti moka coffee pot that her partner bought her this t-shirt.

But even if that's not true, I get to keep the t-shirt.

So cool!

This is the logical next step when you own, no joke, nine moka coffee pots, some of which you've scattered at relatives' houses and a certain college in Southern Vermont to ensure visits go smoothly.

Of course, the t-shirt came in a cutesy little bag with the Bialetti logo from the fantastic (and new, or new to me) Bialetti shop where Il Nostro Inviato bought it.

Is it wrong to wonder what other Bialetti baubles the store might have sold (i.e., perfect little Christmas gifts for Mamma)?

Maybe. But I'm wondering just the same.

"Eleventeen"

I only have to hear it -- "eleventeen"-- once for it to instantly become my favorite number.

The best number that has never existed.

Let's play a game.

Take someone who's wanted to be writer since she was nine, and then add a child.

(Oh, not just any child, sure. My child. My gorgeous little boy. Leo. L-E-O.)

And then go one step further: allow the writerly mother in question to indulge in a fantasy she never even had.

Which is: Listening while someone, her little someone, learns to speak.

I've written about this topic before (notably here and here). And even if you love me, you may be blanching right now from boredom and pity (for me).

But, oh God, it is so awesome!

The writer's equivalent of someone learning to walk? Run?

When Leo says "eleventeen," I don't correct him. (Probably not something I should admit.)

It's just so cute. Eight, nine, ten, eleventeen.

I do the same thing when he says "fi-ruh" (for the word fire). Ditto: lello, and hangerburger (to go with your hotdog).

It's the greatest blooper reel ever created, as far as I am concerned.

And besides, why correct him when he says, "I want to swing very higher"?

Swinging "very higher" sounds like something I'd like to do, too.