A Rare Sunday
Only yesterday, Saturday I was included in an invite for a lunch gathering with my lovely Young John. The last year or so I haven’t seen much of him and for years he was like the only person I reached out to every week, he’s a busy man and has made time for own health in recent years.
If you are not sure or a new follower Young John is my lovely Greek taxi driver who has been driving taxis for forty plus years and was screwed over by the Uber/taxi license debacle of years past. He started driving me to rehab/physio appointments around fifteen years ago. Car-pooling myself and others generally older than me to all kinds of appointments. Young John is someone who in a day drives all over Melbourne scooping up regular people he has been driving for a lifetime and I’ve been lucky to have met him when I have. He always squeezes me into his schedule when he can.
Honestly, Young Betty was up from 6am (sleep in for her) but cooking like only a Yia-Yia or Nonna can. Do. When anyone else would do a lasagna or meat and salad for a BBQ or some roasted vegetables on the site. A Ya-Ya does it all.
I learnt years ago if you finish your plate as my upbringing taught me a Nonna will assume you loved it and are still hungry. Once had my aunt (the Italian Nonna) give me three serves of her food. Delicious that it was, the third time I didn’t eat it all as it was the only way for her to know I really couldn’t eat anymore.
Young Betty worked her way around the table deriving us and she passed behind my chair I told her I was not going to start until she sat and stayed down. Also, a sign of respect from my white Aussie upbringing, but often frowned upon by the European elders.
Finished with cuppa chino and some cake. I helped clear the table and shared the very amusing anecdote about packing dishes styles someone shared with me this week.