Counting the Cars on the New Jersey Turnpike

Today we took the NJ Turnpike to exit 3 to visit my cousin Linda. Well, Linda and her family, her sister, Judi, and her family, and their mom, Aunt Edith [wife to Dad's brother, Aldo Garbarini]. Sis and Don drove there too, all the way from Connecticut.

It was so good to see them all. I wish we saw them more often, but change is in the air. Linda and Judi drove up to visit Dad last month, and now we four "girl" cousins have a plan to go to NYC in December. [Here's My Cousin Linda's wonderful blog, called Design & Psychology: http://web.me.com/silverdesign1/Design_%26_Psychology/Blog/Blog.html.] We had a delicious meal: shrimp, grilled chicken with mango salsa, bread, pasta salad. And good desserts, including a Grasshopper Cake that Figgy and I made last night til 1 A.M., Judi's yummy apple crisp, and rich little Italian pastries that Sis and Don brought, all wrapped up in white bakery boxes with that red and white string that says This is something special.


We went to visit Aunt Edith and Uncle Aldo fairly often when I was a girl. Happy memories of driving down to South Jersey with my parents, Dad teasing me to "start off slow" with the appetizers, maybe an olive here, a piece of cheese there. [In fact, the first letter my mom wrote me at college, when I was homesick, said that she and Dad had driven down over Labor Day Weekend and everyone missed me.] I was the youngest of the six cousins on my Italian side, and as a kid, didn't interact much with the older ones. But now, it's a different story. I'm in the inner circle! And I like it.

Aunt Edith always encouraged me as a writer, took an interest in my work, and that has meant a lot to me. For a while, I changed my byline to Alice Rose Hurley. [I'm named after both of my grandmothers--Irish Alice and Italian Rose, and liked the idea of honoring that.] You might want to think about that, Aunt Edith said. Garbarini is a good name. She was also a thoughtful aunt who gave us great Christmas presents: one year, we each got our own electric alarm clock [the fact that I got one just like my older siblings made me feel like maybe I wasn't such a baby after all] and another, I got something I loved: one of those plush dolls that has a hidden zippered compartment to hold your PJs for a sleepover.

Even though the trip took about two hours each way, enjoyed some car capsules:

• The sky driving back. Thick blankets of rolling clouds.
• Listening to 60 Minutes, especially the report about Bill and Melinda Gates sharing their billions and billions of dollars to stop infant deaths in India and help low-income kids in America go to college. True, we didn't see the people or the picture of their three kids--and I would have loved to--but their voices said a lot. Must have been how Dad and his brothers felt growing up in the Bronx--no TV, but some sitting around the radio.
• Our E-ZPass was out of funds, so we had to stop and pay cash. Person-to-person interaction vs. electronic toll taker. Sug on my lap--with her fresh purple bows from yesterday's grooming salon visit--made two of the women collectors very happy.
• Hearing H. and Figgy rave and rave about the three-part book series starting with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. He read them first, then got her hooked. Somehow I missed the boat. But yesterday, Figgy curled up and finished the third one, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, and was going on and on about it.  Mom, it's so good. Oh, now I really want to read the first one, I said. Okay, but there's a line, she said. Two friends already have dibs on it. Ima gonna get the paperback tomorrow.

There were also tense turnpike moments, seemingly a foregone conclusion in this family. My one big regret is that I did not get to see Dad today. And, of course, that he couldn't go with us. He always did in the past. But tomorrow, after I drop Figgy at Montclair High at 7:50 A.M., and before I head to Hell Camp [I mean boot camp] at 9:30 and work deadlines after, I'm going to pop in to room 111, maybe with a warm muffin from Whole Foods.

It does break my heart that Dad is alone, and lonely. This is an ugly road.