I’m washing a white bowl in the kitchen sink. The bowl is round, twelve inches in diameter, five inches deep. Hands down it’s my favorite bowl in our kitchen, useful for mixing pasta with a sauce, the perfect size for a big salad. In the cupboard where it’s kept, three smaller bowls nest inside it.…More
Author Archives: Rick Bailey
Rick Bailey grew up in Freeland, Michigan, on the banks of the Tittabawassee River. He taught writing for 38 years at Henry Ford College.
A Midwesterner long married to an Italian immigrant, he has learned the language and food of Italy, traveled around the country, and, in the process, he has been (partly) made over–italianizato. In retirement Rick and his wife divide their time between Michigan and the Republic of San Marino.
My Friend Fennel
Of course growing up in a farm town in Michigan, I never had even a distant encounter with fennel. My parents joked once that Greg Fraser, a kid in town, was sent by his mother to the drug store to ask for anise. And he pronounced it anus. The local druggist, Fred Gaul, must have ratted…More
Please State Your Sweet Nothings–from And Now This
Michigan Ear Institute, it’s no surprise, is a noisy place. I’m sitting in the waiting room when Mr. Robinson walks in. He steps up to the check-in window, signs in, and waits. The receptionist looks up. Her lips move. “What?” he says. Lips, again. “What?” he says, again. “HAS ANY OF YOUR INSURANCE INFORMATION CHANGED,…More
Kissing Age–from American English, Italian Chocolate
Last night, halfway through Jeopardy, I asked my wife if she wanted to suck face. She shook her head in disgust. It’s not our usual nomenclature. “How about a smooch?” “No.” “A peck?” “No.” “A buss?” “Why do you talk that way?” She pointed at the TV. Alex Trebec was introducing Arthur Chu for the…More
No Exit from Guyville
“So sorry to hear of your loss,” I wrote. “We’ll be thinking of you guys.” It was an email to friends ten years our senior, a couple who had recently lost a father 94 years old. Not to Coronavirus but to plain old old age. It was an ordinary passing–although no passing is ever really…More
Grubs for Lunch–from And Now This
My friend Luigi asks, “Do you think prehistoric people were happier than we are?” We’re standing in line at an airport food vendor called the Dogpatch Bakehouse. Our flight is on time, but my stress level is high. I took a few wrong turns driving from the hotel to the airport, then left my phone…More
Wreckage–from The Enjoy Agenda
I was ten years old the first time I saw a real car accident and its aftermath. It was a humid summer evening. My father and I were closing our service station when the township siren sounded. A cop car screamed through town. Then the phone rang. My father took the call, listened a few…More
The Scream in My Heart–from And Now This
Chimps are funny. When I was a kid there was a television commercial for Red Rose Tea. Four chimps, dressed in plaid jackets and black slacks, playing swing music at a club called The Savory Ritz. On stage there was piano chimp, trombone chimp, and string bass and drummer chimp. Also, in the foreground, lady…More
Comfort, Comforter, Comfortest–from American English, Italian Chocolate
“Help me with the piumino,” she says. My wife is holding an armful of comforter cover, still warm from the dryer. We’re going to stuff the comforter (piumino in Italian) into the cover, an ordeal that makes me long for the simple days of my youth, when bedding consisted of flat sheet, blanket, and bedspread.…More
When We Went Hither–and what we swore
“Don’t even think about it,” Tizi said. We were walking down to the local market the other day, a two-mile round trip on foot. It was a bright morning in October, perfectly autumnal. I was telling her about a professor of mine who used to say au-TOOM-nal, a pronunciation I liked and tried on for…More