Pasta Sunday Quotes

Think about it: If you have saved just enough to have your own house, your own car, a modicum of income to pay for food, clothes, and a few conveniences, and your everyday responsibilities start and end only with yourself… You can afford not to do anything outside of breathing, eating, and sleeping. Time would be an endless, white blanket. Without folds and pleats or sudden rips. Monday would look like Sunday, going sans adrenaline, slow, so slow and so unnoticed. Flowing, flowing, time is flowing in phrases, in sentences, in talk exchanges of people that come as pictures and videos, appearing, disappearing, in the safe, distant walls of Facebook. Dial fast food for a pizza, pasta, a burger or a salad. Cooking is for those with entire families to feed. The sala is well appointed. A day-maid comes to clean. Quietly, quietly she dusts a glass figurine here, the flat TV there. No words, just a ho-hum and then she leaves as silently as she came. Press the shower knob and water comes as rain. A TV remote conjures news and movies and soaps. And always, always, there’s the internet for uncomplaining company. Outside, little boys and girls trudge along barefoot. Their tinny, whiny voices climb up your windowsill asking for food. You see them. They don’t see you. The same way the vote-hungry politicians, the power-mad rich, the hey-did-you-know people from newsrooms, and the perpetually angry activists don’t see you. Safely ensconced in your tower of concrete, you retreat. Uncaring and old./HOW EASY IT IS NOT TO CARE

Even then Jacky had a chance to save himself. The feds offered him the complete package—immunity, the program, the whole nine yards—to go rat on Pasco Ferri, but Jacky told them they could line up and suck his dick. So now a series of punks perform that service for him as he resides in the North Wing of the old stone house, plays cards, and cooks pasta for the guys on Sundays.

Small gains came, and I held onto each one. I formed small, non-negotiable habits previously not part of my life. Deeply in love with wrestling now, I assessed every aspect of the sport to identify where I could make gains. Making sure I chose my weekly training partners every Monday would ensure I had the right partner to challenge me. I wanted to be deeply challenged in every practice. Sunday, I made my meals for the week—grilled chicken and pasta were cheap, simple, and nutritious. I don’t remember ever eating fast food. When I had a day full of classes, I filled my backpack with veggies to make sure I had the energy I needed to thrive in practice.

My mother had just finished kneading a large mass of pasta dough and was patting it into a nice round ball before putting it aside to rest. That meant ravioli. We always began Sunday dinner with either ravioli or lasagne. The homemade pasta meant ravioli, because we buy the large sheets of dough for lasagne from Constantino's. Sitting on the stove, waiting for the oven to get up to temperature, was a roasting pan holding a large pork roast studded with garlic, glistening with olive oil, and surrounded by rosemary sprigs.

Monday: Pasta • Tuesday: Legume • Wednesday: Dough (homemade quiche, pizza, or tortillas) • Thursday: Bread (to go with our veggie “fridge-cleanup” soup or salad) • Friday (shopping day): Potatoes and fish • Saturday: Wild card, dinner with friends or dinner out • Sunday: Grain and meat