it's a grand old flag

Last night Kendis made grasshopper pie, much to the culinary confusion of the Runfola family. But the dessert was an almost ridiculous success: Luigia was on the phone to friends to share the recipe, and even “I’ll just have the broth” Virginia took a second helping (although, after a scan of the biscuit box, she was careful to avoid all noticeable bites of oreo). And it surprised me—the mint-choco combo isn’t one I would normally choose on my own, but something about that pastel green made me near giddy. I didn’t even need to take a bite before I knew: America. It smells like America! Tastes like America! Like Baskin Robbins and barefoot summers and birthday parties on back porches. And it drove me to something I’ve so far avoided quite well.

THINGS I MISS ABOUT AMERICA:

:: toasters
:: water pressure
:: front lawns and picket fences
:: smiling strangers
:: dryers
:: space/mountains/wilderness
:: friends’ cars in the driveway
:: leftovers
:: libraries
:: maple trees on city streets
:: coats, hats, and mittens in the mud room.
:: high school stadiums and back-to-school specials
:: wait, wait don’t tell me
:: cold basements + down comforters
:: letters to the editor
:: get fuzzy
:: red, white, and blue

Luckily, there’s an equally long Things I Love About Italy to balance it out, but I still feel guilty that this list exists at all.

Oh well. Now you know. Those no-place-like-home clichés? Too, too true.