Author: Mara L.

I’m traveling up North, and Jens is traveling down South. What better place to stop over than in the Italian alps? We had some amazing ravioli last night. The dough wasn’t regular pasta dough, but made of potatoes. Incredibly fragrant, never before have I seen this done with such finesse. So I talked Jens into taking photos. First of the beautiful dish, ravioli filled with herbs served on a foamy sauce made from mushrooms. Then of the empty plate, just a little flower left that I’m sure was edible. It’s still fairly cold and rainy up here, but summer is around the corner. Lots of tiny mountain flowers everywhere, and many of them make their way into local cuisine. So we had a look around and found a spot with our ‘ravioli flowers’. These are from the garden of the monastery where Jens is working, and where I’m currently dropping in for some restoration of spirits.

I talked Jens into taking a photo, according to my specifications, of my oldest childhood companion, received when I had to undergo a small-scale surgery at the age of four. Trying to tell myself that we are both aging well!

Each year, the pre-holiday mood takes me by surprise, though really one should know to expect it. It just creeps up on me, quicker than I expect. And I’m not sure that I like it, though I definitely like all the nice foods. Everyone seems to disappear from the face of the earth, or rather, the work-earth, boarding planes and heading toward family life. Time to wander through Central Park. At the tennis courts, people had shovels, to clear away the snow and play for a bit. I did my share with the shovel, faint memories of serious snow in the alps on my mind. That’s what I mean about my mood at Christmas, always a bit too close to home-sickness to be genuinely enjoyed, and yet too quickly over, and then it’s back to…work.