And so we come to Christmas eve. Our household tradition is to make pasta, something we only attempt once a year (because, in truth, we’re not very good at it). It gets everyone involved and believe me, a lot of hands are needed as those sheets of pasta get ever thinner and seem to stretch straight across the kitchen. The process involves improvisation and several glasses of wine. I have heard other people cut the pasta into 12 inch lengths as it rolls out of the machine. Poppycock! Balderdash! What’s the fun in that? Our pasta is three, to five feet long and is a three person operation, at least. One noodle feeds a family of four. Okay, okay, I admit the results of our efforts are…variable, but by the time we sit down to a hearty bowl of noodle (singular) we are feeling the glow, the accomplishment, the laughter, and damn, doesn’t this taste delicious?!
If you forgive the pontification: kinda like life. The more engaged, the more you reach to touch other souls, the more glowing, joyous, and satisfying.