Zucchini flowers grow at the top of the zucchini vegetable. They are removed when picked. They look something like a fragile lily and are delicious. The taste is subtle and delicate and reminds one of the taste of zucchini but different.

Preparation:

Mix white flour and beer until you achieve a thin consistency.

Dip the entire flower into the mixture and deep fry in vegetable oil at a high temperature. Drain on paper towels and salt generously.

variations: first stuff with a slice of fresh mozzarella and then dip and fry
or
first stuff with fresh ricotta (salt and pepper it), fry as above
or
first stuff with fresh ricotta and a bit of anchovy, fry as above

TOTALLY worth the calories.

I am very well aware of the problems with the Catholic Church. I know there are priests who cannot deal with their restrictions and who engage in unpleasant and criminal behavior. It should have never been tolerated. Why things are tolerated in any bad situation is just an example of the weakness of humans. We can't face our own faults. We can't accept our own imperfections. Hiding things helps us not to face reality. We all know, hiding anything only makes it ferment and grow. That is why, while realizing the vulnerability and imperfections of my chosen organized religion, I can appreciate some of it's teachings and organization.

Confession, or a vocal outward communication of a mistake or fault makes you feel better instantly. I always felt God would forgive my sins as I discussed them with Him privately. My religion believes in sitting before another human being who is trying to live in the image and likeness of Christ and in telling him what you did or even thought that was wrong. Sometimes I do not want these men to know my business. Then, I laugh at the preposterous notion that it means all that much to anyone else. Afterward, just like communicating well with your spouse or kids or sticking to good eating habits, you feel purged, clean, newly slated, and strong.

The Catholic Church needs to follow their own teachings.

Last night, my parish pastor came around for the block collection. In all the years I have been enduring this ritual it always seems to cause some jitters while waiting as he goes to each house on the block before getting to our house. Is the house clean? Is there iced tea made? Are the kids well behaved and mannerly? Are they being respectful and looking interested? Of course, the object is to collect money for the annual collection. I have made my peace with assisting my church financially. It is a necessity and we are glad to help. At times, I can see the church as a business, as a corporation, as a self centered government. And then I see an example of a good person, who is dedicating his life to doing good things and being a good example in a world full of the otherwise. I see a person who smiles, and winks and visits the sick. He is humble and his persona fills with grace and reverence when he lowers his head for a prayer. He blesses my house and my family including my dog and it feels good. He is dignified and respectful. My kids feel it too.

Someday they'll realize he, and their religion, are a good examples.

If they don't it will be a real shame.

"If you have a library and a garden, you have all you need".

I came from a blue collar working world. My mother's cousin's son had "a good job" and a college degree and my father's cousin, a nurse, married a doctor. There weren't any corporate administrators, lawyers, bankers, teachers or stock brokers. City work, Postal work, Septa work and Government work is how we evolved. Pensions were a luxury and a 401K was a foreign object. I think my husband and his sister were the only two people in their family to go to college. The funny thing is we never knew we weren't some kind of elite. Both me and my husband came from families that had pride and dignity, who weren't afraid of hard work and never felt second best. I certainly value education and am so proud and pleased that my younger cousins and now my son are college bound and looking at a wider world. They are so well prepared now. In some ways, it makes things harder. Everything has to feel so right in order to proceed. Plans and goals need to be rewarded. Decisions have to feel right. College isn't even always so respected now. Education has always come from life. Both are important stepping stones to evolving. When I think of the under-appreciated fortitude of my grandparents, I wonder if they felt any self pride. Certainly there was no martyrdom. No one was carving out time for themselves, or worrying about quality time with toddlers or what schools were better or SAT scores or communication skills or summer camp. No one cared about creative urges or intelligent curiosity or facials. There was work to be done, life to be lived, schedules to keep.

No one told them what to do or how to do it. There weren't any counselors, head hunters or life coaches. They didn't even have parents who could lead them or, in some instances, even speak the same language. Did they realize how hard those hurdles were for them? Does anyone realize how easy, in many ways, it is now?

Or is it harder? Does our high expectation of things make life harder?

My grandmother was a bit sophisticated in a sense. She had a savings account and certificate of deposits. She worked in a men's coat factory and at the telephone company and pinched and saved for her retirement. She later traveled with the senior citizens. My grandfather had a luncheonette for a short while (my grandmother talked about making the really big pot of meatballs like she did it for 50 years)(she had to stand on a chair to stir the pot because she couldn't reach it) and he was a number writer. Clothing was a way for them, especially my grandmother, to show the world who they were and what they stood for...skirted suits, small spiked heeled shoes usually in black or brown, hats, matching jewelry, gloves, pins and coats were appreciated. Starched white shirts and shined shoes had the boys looking sophisticated.

My maternal grandparents lived in NJ in a large home on a lot that had a big fenced in yard, a bird bath, a garden and a garage. I thought they were the big time. My grandmother had big gold glass and plastic grapes on her dining room table. This was art to me (as there was no other type of art anywhere). There wasn't a book in sight. They read the papers. They all read the papers. My grandfather came here from Italy when he was about 7. He was a tall, big but lean, quiet man who was the ying to my grandmother's yang. She was very small, about 4'10", with a big bust and a defiant strut. She was loud and in control. My grandfather drove a crane. He worked for the same company for years, which, if I remember correctly was owned by a woman. He came home at the same time every evening with an empty lunch pail and removed his boots on the front stoop. The brown soap at the white enamel kitchen sink was for him. It was the gritty kind sort of like facial scrubs of today. The first time I saw a surgeon scrub in the O.R. I was reminded of my grandfather washing his hands. A surgeon uses a brush that is removed from a plastic wrapper that is prepped with a brownish antiseptic soap, a sponge is on the opposite side. A surgeon will wet his rope like arms brought together at the hands; from elbow to hands he'll scrub for what seems like a long time making sure to get in between every finger and also the backs and palms, then he'll rinse from top to bottom and towel off before he slips his hands into the perfect sized gloves awaiting for him by his scrub nurse who knows if he prefers powder.

My grandfather would scrub his hands with soap and rinse in the same methodical thorough way. His towel would be at his side or handed to him by my grandmother who would be cleaning the sink as she pushed him away. He would then sit at his place at the table. He never had to get up for a knife or a soup spoon or for salt or cheese or a drink. He never cooked or helped in the kitchen. He simply ate his entire meal, and then and only then, he would drink his large glass of water, wipe his mouth with his napkin and then get up to sit in his chair before going out to the garden or garage. He did little talking and very little laughing and if he chuckled it was a body moving laugh and it was over. No lingering. I do not remember him saying, "oh, that was good", or "great dinner", or "I ate too much". Never. I never remember him ever eating in between meals. He had a large strawberry looking nose and thin lips and small blue eyes that exuded gentleness, kindness and discipline. I never remember him with hair, only a few strands at the sides. He paid the bills and wrote out the checks never thinking to "teach" my grandmother. She never wrote a check in her life and could not understand the concept of banking. She never worked outside of the home, never earned her own money, never drove a car, never went away for a weekend with her girlfriends. Her daughter's became her girlfriends. She devoted her whole life to her family and her home and then expected them, especially Auntie Ann, to always be there for her. Always, at the drop of a hat, no excuses.

My grandmother's sister in law, at one point, worked for me as a home health aide. She was in her 80's. She could not read or write. She was happy and helpful and one of my best employees. Her granddaughter helped her with her paperwork. She worked to help pay her grandson's gambling debts.

Later, when grandpop had some health issues, I told him to drink more water. He told me he wasn't thirsty. "Water is good for you, though. It helps flush out your system and regulate your temperature". I was an educated nurse, after all. He just looked at me without surprise and said "I can't drink if I'm not thirsty. It just doesn't make sense." His body lead by his shoulders would giggle a bit and allow an abbreviated laugh.

"Assume a virtue, if you have it not."

The Seven Contrary Virtues:
humility, kindness, abstinence, chastity, patience, liberality, diligence

The Contrary Virtues were derived from the Psychomachia ("Battle for the Soul"), an epic poem written by Prudentius (c. 410). Practicing these virtues is alledged to protect one against temptation toward the Seven Deadly Sins: humility against pride, kindness against envy, abstinence against gluttony, chastity against lust, patience against anger, liberality against greed, and diligence against sloth.