Modern

The rain is coming down hard. As I sit here writing the introduction, the cookbook has me conjuring scenes in my head of what it must have been like to live in America as an imigrant in the late 19th century. As I think of the stories my mom has told me about her grandparents, I get this feeling inside me about my own life, and the only word I hear is "modern". I bet my great grandmother believed her life to be "modern" too - she came from rural Italy to the city of Chicago where life's goods were more accessible. I would have loved to know what that experience was really life for her.

There are traditions that survive generation after generation. Some good, and others, well, not so good. Preserving the ones that bring us comfort and keep the family spirit alive are important. I've always felt the absolute necessity to take the traditions in my own family and make them my own. I don't live in the 19th century, and I'm not a product of that time. My life is here, now. What began many generations before me can still have life, but now I'm breathing life into it, and it looks and feels like me.

Some people don't like progress or change. Some believe changing tradition wipes out the memories or dishonors the loved ones that went before. But movement is the way of Life. I need to hear my own voice amongst the voices of the past. I can hold my beloveds close, and still remain free to express my own truth.

What I love about this cookbook - four generations of women's voices are heard. Each generation expressing the truth of the time. And, our voices are in harmony.

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