A Land More Kind than Home & Reserve Petit Verdot 14

A Land More Kind than Home – Wiley Cash. New York: Harper Collins, 2012.

In the United States, it is estimated that some 125 churches illegally incorporate snake handling and other dangerous rituals into their services. These congregations, mostly situated in rural Appalachia, point to Mark 16: 17-18 as justification for their  practice: “They will cast out demons, they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them; they will place their hands on the sick, and they will get well.”

Told from the perspective of three narrators – a seven-year-old boy, an ancient Sunday School teacher and a sheriff who still hurts and hates – A Land More Kind than Home takes place over one bitterly cold, winter weekend in western North Carolina when Carson Chambliss, pastor of the River Road Church of Christ in Signs Following, convinces parishioner Julie Hall to bring her mute thirteen-year-old son Christopher, known as Stump, to the Sunday morning worship service. He’s been warned not to keep children out of the services – a warning that he has ignored. For the past ten years, 81-year-old Addie Lyle has made it her mission to keep children like Stump out of Chambliss’s reach, offering instead to teach Sunday School at her nearby home. She made this decision after witnessing a death in the church some years earlier. “I was afraid because I knew that church,” she explains. “I knew the man who ran it as if he thought he was Jesus Christ himself, and some of those people who went to that church believed in [him] like he might just be.”

But Chambliss prevails and, as Stump’s younger brother, Jeff, peeps through a crack in the newspaper-covered windows, he sees his brother “laying on the stage and Pastor Chambliss and that other man laying on top of him. Stump’s feet were kicking like he was trying to get away . . . and somebody was just banging away on the piano and just about all of them had their eyes closed except Mama. She was staring at them where they were laying on Stump and holding him down and touching him and she was crying and hollering for them to stop.”

Out of fear for his brother, Jeff cries out, “Mama!” Only that’s not what she, the pastor and the congregation hear. They believe Stump has been healed of his sinful inability to utter a sound. That evening, with Chambliss’s forceful encouragement, she brings Stump back to church. A few hours later, he is carried out.

Addie knows that the community of Marshall for years has been long on religion and short on love. “People out in these parts can take hold of religion like it’s a drug, and they don’t want to give it up once they’ve got hold of it. And when they’re on it, they’ll turn right around and kill each other over that faith, throw out their kids, cheat on husbands and wives, break up families just as quick.”

Even Pastor Chambliss excuses the fire that burned forty percent of his body when he was cooking meth as the hand of God purifying him. He steals another man’s wife with the same godly justification.

But justice and a step toward healing come to the community and the church once the wrath of Pastor Chambliss is gone. “At one time we were like a frostbitten hand that’s just begun to thaw,” Addie ruminates as the paper is torn off the church windows. “First the tips of the fingers come alive, and suddenly they can open and close. And then the palm begins to feel again. Upturned. Waiting. Witnessing. We began to feel again too.”

In short, Cash uses his story not simply as an examination of backward thinking on the part of rural church goers. Instead he examines the heart’s ability to process love, faith, tragedy and forgiveness. Like many Southern writers before him, he channels the voices of the people from his home state to pen this, his first novel. He’s written subsequent books, most recently The Last Ballad, but for many critics and readers, A Land More Kind than Home remains his finest.

My Wine Recommendation

It doesn’t get any more North Carolinian than NASCAR. So it’s no surprise that team owner Richard Childress established his winery in the northwest region of the state close to his racing operations. (And as every racing fan knows, he bought his team from the legendary, late Dale Earnhardt. Just saying.) It took some time for Childress to establish himself in the wine business, but based on a blended wine like the Reserve Petit Verdot 14, he’s making his mark. The folks of Marshall understand all about new beginnings. They would enjoy this red at their next community barbecue, as long as the good church deacons don’t catch them drinking.


Will the Real American Male Please Stand Up?

I’m married to a Brit – an international IT consultant who neither knows nor cares about SEC football. A guy who once debated in high school in England that classical music is better than pop (he lost the debate). A man who dances with two left feet. A non-drinker and non-smoker. When I began writing Summer Squall, he was apprehensive that I would base my male antagonist on him. “Never fear,” I assured him. I had a different type male in mind. Someone who excels in sports. A man who drinks bourbon while smoking a cigar and telling off-color jokes. A male who can charm the pants off a woman while lording his superiority over her at the same time. I wanted a Hemingway man.

You remember Papa, right? The egotist who exaggerated his heroic feats in the Great War. The guy who hunted sharks with a machine gun. The Great White Hunter who loved being photographed standing beside his kills. The aficionado of bull fighting. The writer who had no respect for any other writer (including his third wife). A person whose only comment on the death of F. Scott Fitzgerald was to call him “a poor son of a bitch,” conveniently forgetting that Fitzgerald was instrumental in getting Hemingway published. Hemingway’s image is so powerful that he is probably the one American author that even non-readers know, making their yearly pilgrimages to Key West to tour his house and see one of the six-digit cats. There’s even a martini named after him (made with pink grapefruit juice, of all things.)

American movies are full of this type male. He’s both Harry Bosch and Dirty Harry. He’s Rambo, Rocky Balboa, and probably any movie made by Bruce Willis, Steven Seagal or Sylvester Stallone. He’s the loner who despises any form of cowardliness, calling it unmanly. (“The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber” is a perfect example of the Hemingway code at work.) Matthew Adams in a Washington Post article, “Ernest Hemingway: the Man Behind the Cultivated Image of Hyper-masculinity” calls him the “macho face of 20th century prose,” citing his habit of shadowboxing while walking down a street and luring friends into the ring with him in order to test their physical strength. Fearful of being considered gay, he cultivated a masculine image that boarded on parody, boasting once of shooting a dog in such a way that it would take all day to bleed to death.

In Mary V. Dearborn’s new book, Ernest Hemingway: A Biography, the first one published in 15 years, she traces how the “golden young man” who seems carved by the gods down to his perfect white teeth became a loathsome human being who eventually gave in to his manic-depressive demons and killed himself at 7:00 am outside his home in Iowa while dressed in his “emperor robe.” “And,” Dearborn writes, “He told enormous whoppers.” As is often the case, she, like most of his biographers, traces his mental decent to the family dynamics in Oak Park, Illinois where a cold-natured mother and manic-depressive father ruled. (Those Daddy and Mommy issues have a way bringing down even the hardiness of men.)

How the male code is passed from one generation to the next brings me back to Summer Squall and my antagonist, who I named Mark – a man who hero-worshiped his father. I was inspired by Hemingway’s short story “Hills Like White Elephants” where a strong-willed male tries to force a vulnerable female to accept his world view. Changing the setting from a railway station in Spain to a marina in southwest Florida, I strove to examine the dynamics between what Hemingway called “the American” in his story and his female traveling companion, “the girl.” As I tightened the screw on Beth, my protagonist, I wanted Mark, my all-American hero, to become a “force de Jure” – equivalent to the violent weather that often visits the Gulf. I wanted readers to feel the tension as they eavesdrop on Mark and Beth.

Critics still debate the ending to “Hills Like White Elephants.” Does the American succeed in convincing the girl to do things his way, or does she choose a different path for her life? Readers of women’s fiction can probably predict the final choice my “girl” will make, but as I have her face challenge after challenge, I trust I have created an engaging read tracing her journey.

Back to my original question about the real American male. We are still a nation attracted to forceful men – guys who tell it like it is, who are suspicious of anyone remotely different from them, who see nothing wrong with women still being the butt of jokes and objects of unwelcome advances in the workplace. (And don’t get me started on equal pay.)

It’s 2020 and the Bro Culture is alive and well. But here’s an antidote that makes me smile. Over the Christmas holidays, a neighbor of mine took her grandchildren to Cleveland, Georgia, home of Babyland General Hospital where Cabbage Patch dolls can be adopted. She expected her granddaughter to adopt a doll but was surprised and delighted when both her grandsons wanted one too. There they were, fresh from the soccer pitch and baseball field, two boys who love sports and video games, breaking the male stereotype by choosing their dolls and naming them after two major league stars – Mike Trout of the LA Angels and Kyle Rudolph of the Minnesota Vikings.

Even if Papa Hemingway is rolling over in his grave, I suspect their fathers are proud of them. (Not to mention that one of their daddies still has his Spike doll from 1986.) And as to my Brit who sings like an Irish tenor and tells the funniest jokes and has my back always, I’ll take him any day over some of the jocks I’ve known. (Although it would be nice if he showed some interest in my Tennessee Volunteers.)


The Air You Breathe & Vista do Chá Syrah

The Air You Breathe – Frances de Pontes Peebles. New York: Riverhead Books, 2018.

Of all the pinup girls who graced the lockers of GI’s in World War II, none was more electrifying than Carmen Miranda. Known as the Brazilian Bombshell, she got the hips of North America swinging to Samba. At the age of 15, she was already a singing sensation in Rio de Janeiro where her thousands of fans bought her records like hotcakes. When Broadway producer Lee Shubert saw her perform, he immediately signed her for his newest Broadway musical where she became an overnight star. Soon, Hollywood lured her away. There she made nine films with Fox throughout the 1940’s, always dressed like an eye-popping nymph in her signature platform shoes, bare midriff outfits, and her “tutti-frutti” headwear, rolling her eyes in rhythm with her hips. Sadly, she died of a heart attack at the age of 46.

Author Frances de Pontes Peebles draws on Miranda’s life for her novel The Air You Breathe. In her story, the central character is a girl named Graca Pimental who grows up as the “Little Miss” on a sugarcane plantation owned by her father. Believing that singing is as important to life as the air she breathes, she runs away from convent school to pursue a musical career. Graca already has chosen her stage name: Sofia Salvador. “I’m going to sing on a stage,” she declares as a young girl. “I’m going to make people swallow my songs and hold them inside. I’m going to be known. I’m going to be seen.”

Craca’s rise and fall from fame is narrated by her handmaid and best friend, Jega – a dirt-poor, dark-skinned kitchen girl who becomes Graca’s companion and friend. She narrates the story looking back from old age with a voice as sad and aching as the Sambas she later writes. Like Graca, she too dreams as a young girl of being a singer, adopting the stage name Maria Dores. “All my brief life I’d felt a perpetual ache, like a rotten tooth I could never cure,” she reflects. “Jega was not allowed to want anything beyond the most base desires of the human condition: a meal, a bed, survival. But Dores? She’d been granted a notebook, a pencil, lessons, books, and words. She’d been granted music and an audience. She’d been granted a friend.”

Yet despite Jega’s longing to be famous, it is Graca who is truly the star, which forms the novel’s main conflict, just as her early death haunts the narrator’s tone. Whether it be for voice lessons, song lyrics, or a handsome guitarist, the two girls compete to have it all, always knowing that neither can survive without the other. For both, music is their one true love. “Music can do anything,” Jega says. “It can hit any note, move at any speed, play as loudly or as softly as our imaginations allow. In the deepest, purest parts of our imagination, there is no male or female, no good or bad, no villain or hero, no you or I. There is only feeling.” Yet despite their friendship, they each become increasingly selfish in their pursuit of music.

Their stage life begins in the Lapa neighborhood of Rio – an area favored by musicians, artists, intellectuals and “successful businessmen” who offer their protection to merchants and newcomers like the two girls. It is here that they learn the two-four rhythm of Samba – a musical style that dates to Brazil’s history of colonialism and slavery. In its beat and lyrics, there is “lament, humor, rebelliousness, lust, ambition, regret,” says Jega. “And love. There is that, too.”

They take the Samba to Hollywood, along with the backup band, the Blue Moon Boys. Their sound brings them fame, but also destruction as the Hollywood machine amplifies what is already a risky lifestyle filled with alcohol, uppers and downers. The story’s climax occurs when Graca and the Boys return to Brazil to perform at the Copacabana Palace – the one stage she was denied at the start of her career. It becomes her best and worst performance.

What can be said about Samba can be applied to the two girls. They are always there for one another. Crying, laughing, climbing, failing. In short, they are each other’s air. Dores. Graca. Jega. Sofia. The names do not matter. A good friend is simply that. Always there for the other …  until they aren’t.

My Wine Recommendation

If you had only one word to describe Carmen Miranda, it would probably be “vibrant.” Weighing less than 100 pounds and barely 5 feet tall, she nevertheless, delivered an energy and charisma that few could resist. For that reason, she deserves a vibrant, full-body wine like Vinicola Guaspari, Vista do Chá Syrah, 2012. Expressive and highly aromatic with multiple layers of blueberry, mature blackberry, bacon, black pepper, smoke and graphite, it earned a 95 from the Decanter World Wine Awards. Its palate is concentrated and firm with a savory, spicy, smoky flavor, with a note of liquorice on the finish. It’s a full-bodied Syrah that has lots of personality, just like Carmen. $45.


What’s Your Story? Tips on Memoir Writing

Everyone has a story to tell. A favorite childhood memory, a screw-up on a first job, an amazing trip, a memorable family gathering, a cherished pet.

Recently, I had the privilege of holding a book launch party for Summer Squall for some 50 women who belong to book clubs where I live. In addition to telling the backstory of my novel (which I will do in a later post), I shared tips on memoir writing, using Quicksand: A Cautionary Love Story as an example. Here are the points I made in case you too want to pen your story. If you would like to watch my presentation, click here.

  1. Know the genre.
    Memoir and autobiography are often used interchangeably, yet incorrectly. The difference is that memoir writing is not simply a chronology of your life but rather a sub-genre. A memoir focuses on a specific event at a specific time, while an autobiography spans the entire life of a person including such details as childhood, family history, education and profession.
  2. Read memoirs – lots of memoirs.
    At one time, celebrities were the only people who wrote memoirs, but a lot has changed. Reading memoirs is a great way to familiarize yourself with the rhythm of this type story and to grow comfortable with the first-person pronoun.
    Here’s a list of some of my favorites.
    – The Glass Castle – Jenette Walls
    – Angela’s Ashes – Frank McCourt
    – The Liar’s Club – Mary Karr
    – Rocket Boys – Homer Hickam
    – Marley & Me – John Grogan
    – I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings – Maya Angelou
    For the New York Times list of the 50 best memoirs of the past 50 years, click here.
  3. Collect your primary source materials.
    Because the events of my story occurred long before email and texting, I had a plethora of materials – letters, calendars, cards, photos, trinkets, music. So collect anything and everything that can assist you in your deep dive back into your past.
  4. Narrow the focus of your story.
    While Quicksand covers ten years of my life, your memoir might be limited to just one day. In many ways, a limited time frame can improve the impact of your story. Think like a cook: a sauce reduction thickens and strengthens the flavors of the sauce. Same is true in writing.
  5. Focus on 3 primary elements: the event(s), emotion(s), the impact.
    When you choose an event for your memoir, think about how the event affected you and what you learned from it. As you identify the feelings you experienced, remember every writers’ mantra: “Show, don’t tell.” In other words, show yourself in actions that demonstrate the emotion. Body language is always a good place to start.
  6. Break down your story into scenes and get to writing!
    Don’t worry over the perfect beginning to your story. Simply choose a starting point and begin. In most cases, start with some type of conflict. You can always interweave a backstory into the narrative later. While John Updike’s short story “A&P” isn’t a memoir, it reads like one and illustrates just how short an event can be, plus it illustrates the power of a great first sentence: “In walks these three girls in nothing but bathing suits!”
    Here’s a link to the story.
  7. Find your voice
    Without a doubt, this is hardest element of memoir writing – the relationship between the author (you) and the character (you again). I was in tears trying to find just the right voice and didn’t discover it until some five chapters into my narrative. Once I did, I rewrote the beginning, using a prologue to set up the memoir. For the remainder of the chapters, I used a conversational voice, envisioning my audience sitting in the room nodding and listening.
  8. Study the craft of writing.
    I attended numerous workshops and seminars offered through universities and local writing groups. If that isn’t an option for you, there are numerous books available through Amazon. One of my favorites is Scene and Structure by Jack M. Bickham. I’m also fond of books by K.M Weiland and am using her workbook Outlining Your Novel as I begin my third book. In writing Quicksand, I connected with Rachel Simon, author of Riding the Bus with my Sister, at a writing convention. She became my writing coach.
  9. Expect to make multiple drafts.
    I hate to tell you, but much of what you write will land in the trash bin. That’s part of the process. Don’t even name your memoir at this point. Simply call it “Draft 1” and get going. With both of my books, I went through four drafts. Yes, that took some time, but the results were worth it.
  10. Search outBeta” Readers.
    You want honest and helpful feedback on your writing, but this does not necessarily come from friends and relatives. As you begin your writing journey, you’ll meet others along the way. Exchange drafts with them. One of my readers had served time for a Ponzi scheme, which helped me greatly with scenes involving courtroom protocol. Join online writing groups. It’s another great way to get beta readers. Prepare specific questions for them to address. This helps guide their reading.

Yes, writing is a daunting. But if you have a story within you, then write it. You will be so proud of the results. I know I was.

The Dogs of Babel & Stinson Vineyards Monticello Rosé

dogs of bable coverThe Dogs of Babel – Carolyn Parkhurst. Little Brown Company, New York. 2013.

In her debut novel, Carolyn Parkhurst blends love, grief and mystery with the devotion and companionship of a good dog. When college professor Paul Iverson arrives home from work one day, he is confronted with horrible news: His wife Lexy has fallen to her death from the apple tree in their back yard. While the police quickly rule it an accident, Paul has his doubts when he begins to notice “clues” around the house – books rearranged on shelfs; a frying pan used that day to cook a choice steak. Without any witnesses to the accident, his grief drives him to investigate the incident further with the help of his dog Lorelei. She is the only witness to Lexy’s fall, and if she could only talk, he would have the knowledge he seeks.

A linguist by training, Paul takes a leave of absence from his teaching and embarks on a series of grief-fueled experiments to teach Lorelei to talk, an endeavor as confounding as the biblical tower referenced in the book’s title. Locking himself away from friends and colleagues, his project draws him into memories of his meeting, courtship and marriage to the creative free-spirit that was Lexy. Yet for every memory of her joie de vivre approach to life are equal measures of her rage and despair.

Parkhurst heightens the story’s mystery with references to the afterlife – from a ghost Lexy is convinced she sees in a New Orleans lobby during Mardi Gras, to the death masks she creates for grieving families. Even Lorelei’s name has meaning as it refers to a powerful river-spirit who bewitches men to their deaths.

In the end, Paul must decide whether the woman he loved did indeed slip from a high branch on a beautiful sunny day or intentionally plunge to her death in front of the one creature she loved even more than Paul – her dog. Parkhurst’s powerful and haunting story rewards the reader with a conclusion that offers peace and comfort in a fur lining.

stinson vineyards roseParkhurst sets her story in Virginia so it goes well with the Stinson Vineyards Monticello Rosé. As described on the bottle, the wine is “a crisp and refreshing Southern France style rosé. Fresh and fruity with a hint of smoke on the finish,” just like Lexy. It pairs well year round with seafood, poultry and light Mediterranean fare. (Suggested retail price – $17)


We are All Made of Stars & London Cru Chancery Lane Chardonnay

we are all made of stars coverWe are All Made of Stars – Rowan Coleman. New York: Ballantine Books, 2015.

Can a novel set in a hospice be joyful? Can a book about death-bed letters be uplifting? It can when crafted by the capable hands of Rowan Coleman, whose writing style is often compared to Jojo Moyes (Me Before You). During seven days in a London neighborhood, the lives of seven characters evolve from being stranger to companions, friends, and love interest.

Stella, the central character, is a night nurse at the Hospice of St. Francice. She chooses this shift so that she and her husband, Vincent, can co-habit as he struggles with PTSD and alcoholism after losing not only a leg and but also a close friend in Afghanistan. She occupies the long night hours writing letters for dying patients. It is one such letter that gives the book its title: “I am the air, the moon, the stars,” a patient writes to his beloved. “Everything made becomes part of the universe, and everything that is part of the universe becomes us. For we are all made of stars.” Whether the letter’s intent is to apologize, to confess, to advise, or to reassure, Stella faithfully pens them, promising not to mail them until after each patient passes on.

It’s a promise she keeps until she meets Grace and hears her dark secret – a secret she feels Grace should share while she is still alive.

Across the hall from Grace is Hope, a twenty-year-old with cystic fibrosis who is recuperating at the hospice from a dangerous infection. A college dropout, book cover designer, and writer of songs, she is resigned to living her life with her mum and dad, safe from the outside world. Her best friend, Ben, sees it differently, encouraging her to take a chance and embrace life. “When you feel afraid,” he advises her, “go outside at night and look up, because when you do that, and you think of all those other stars out there, nothing on this earth is frightening anymore. Nothing.”

Down the street from Stella’s home lives Hugh – a reclusive historian whose daily routine is interrupted by a new next door neighbor, Sarah. A struggling single mom to a ten year old son, she encourages Hugh to live in the now: “It’s not easy, being in this world. Picking yourself up, getting yourself together, time after time, only for some bastard to whack you back down. But what else can you do, right?”

These seven characters are interconnected by a cat. At the hospice, where he seems to know exactly who needs comforting, his name is Shadow. When he is eating bacon at Hugh’s house, he’s known as Jake. And when he snuggles next to Sarah’s son, he answers to Ninja. In some ways, he is the living embodiment of the book’s theme – the connections between people and the universe that surrounds them. Cats live in the now – a lesson that all the characters learn. “This is what matters,” Hugh realizes. “This moment, this present, this life, this death.”

The book ends, appropriately, with a letter written from Stella to Vincent addressing, among other things, the importance of hand-written letters. “On the page,” she writes, “words become immortal, beautiful, personal, heartfelt, and special. A letter is a memory that will never be lost, will never fade or be forgotten.”


My Wine Recommendation

London CruA short trip across town would take these characters to London Cru – a winery based in a former gin distillery in South London. Using grapes sourced from Germany and the south of France, they produce cool-climate wines that have won numerous awards. For a versatile bottle that would please everyone, choose their 2017 Chancery Lane Chardonnay. With a taste more like Chablis than an oaky Napa Chardonnay, the wine is light and fresh with flavors of apples and pears. It pairs well with game, oysters, or even a fresh English garden salad. $20

My Brilliant Friend & Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio Rosso DOC

my brillant friendMy Brilliant Friend – Elena Ferrante. New York: Europa, 2012.

Childhood memories are often dominated by someone like Lila – the one who excels in every subject, the one who throws rocks at bullies, the one who cares nothing about what others think of her including her teachers, the one who takes her best friend’s hand and leads her on big adventures. On the outskirts of Naples, Italy following the Second World War, a brazen friend like Lila can help a timid girl navigate the domestic complexities of her working-class neighborhood and dream about a life beyond the piazza.

Elena Ferrante (the name is a pseudonym of the unknown author) draws perhaps from her (or his) own experiences growing up in post-war Italy to pen the four novels that follow the coming-of-age lives of the narrator, mild-mannered Elena Greco, and her courageous best friend, Lila Cerullo. My Brilliant Friend is the first in the “Neapolitan Quartet” and vividly captures the personality of a community through the antics of children; much like Harper Lee did in To Kill a Mockingbird. From the neighborhood ogre Don Achille, whose presence looms over the novel, to the mad widow, Melina Cappuccio, to the handsome yet cruel sons of the neighborhood bar and pastry shop, Marcello and Michele Solara, Ferrante draws the reader into the tapestry of a story where family poverty and plenty live side by side.

“Our world was full of words that killed,” Elena ruminates. “Croup, tetanus, typhus, gas, war, lathe, rubble, work, bombardment, bomb, tuberculosis, infection. With these words and those years I bring back the many fears that accompanied me all my life.”

The central struggles in the novel center around two factors that determine the girls’ futures – education and money. While Elena and Lila begin as equals as they play with their dolls and enter first grade, it is soon evident that as the daughter of a city hall porter, Elena has more advantages than Lila, whose father is a lowly shoemaker. Elena’s parents agree to pay for a tutor so that she can excel on the entrance exam for middle school, while Lila’s parents refuse the expenditure, feeling that it is time for her to work in the family store. In the years to follow, Elena struggles with her studies and worries about puberty, while Lila embraces shoe design and the growing advances of young men, especially handsome Marcello Solara and the upwardly-mobile Stefano Carraci. Struggle seems bred into the girls since they see so much of it around them. “We grew up with the duty to make it difficult for others before they make it difficult for us,” Elena explains.

Adding to their struggles is their gender. As was often the case for females in the 1950’s, both girls gradually realize how dependent their lives are on the fortunes and misfortunes of men, especially if they wish to escape the confines of their neighborhood. Escape is, indeed, a key theme to the story. Chapter One begins with the adult Elena learning that her old friend Lila has disappeared from her home in Naples – a feat that the young Lila often expressed: “She wanted to vanish; she wanted every one of her cells to disappear.” The final chapter of the story shows the beginning steps Lila is willing to take on her transformation journey.

Elena’s telling the story of their friendship from its inception is her way of recreating what has long since disappeared through the years – two girls who once were inseparable.

My Wine Recommendation

lacryma christiLegend says that when Lucifer was expelled from heaven, he managed to steal a strip of it and bring it with him to earth, so forming the Gulf of Naples. Pained by the loss, Christ began to cry, shedding tears upon Mount Vesuvius. When these sweet tears blossomed the grape vines on the mountainside, they created a heavenly taste: Lacryma Christi. In actuality, the wine that carries the name for Christ’s tears, Lacryma Christi del Vesuvio Rosso DOC, comes from the Sannino winery, founded in the early 1900s on the fertile ground of the Vesuvius near the city of Herculaneum. Their 2016 vintage has an intense ruby-red color with aromas of cherries , raspberries, and black pepper. Naturally, it pairs well with spaghetti and meatballs, Bolognese sause, and pizza Margherita. $17.