GP isn't home for dinner tonight which means the kitchen is on vacation.  No cooking will be done.  When the husband is home, the table is set, dinner is prepared and we all three sit and eat together.  It's sacrosanct.  But that's Italy for you.  Kids have to be home for dinner.  They rarely eat at friends houses or out in town but go out after the family meal.  Dinners are the time to be together, talk about the day, pay respects to the older people in the family who often live with them or near enough to share meals.  GP takes this tradition very seriously and we have been butting heads over it for 30 years.  It may be that I was raised eating dinner off TV trays, or it may be my years of waitressing that makes it impossible for me to leave dirty dishes on the table, or it may be the familial AADD, but I have a hard time staying seated after I've finished eating.  GP and my in-laws will stay at the table for an hour or more, surrounded by the remains of the meal, crumbs and spills, dishes and napkins.  It makes me nervous.  I have to get up and move to the sofa in the kitchen (with a glass of wine of course) or I'll start scraping crumbs from the cloth like in a Michelin star restaurant.  God forbid I volunteer to do the dishes.  THIS IS NOT DONE!  My most vivid first memories of Italy are the endless meals.  It wasn't just with the numerous courses, but the conversations that went on and on, sometimes loud and fist thumping, often repeating the same conversation of the night before.  Talking just to be talking.  I'll never forget the weeks long conversation about a new water heater.  What size, shape, color, power, around and around and around.  I felt like screaming, "Just buy the damned thing and stop talking about it!"  I think GP's family shared more words in a week than our family did in my entire youth.  Before I learned the language I was sure they were arguing as Italians are often very passionate speakers.  After some time I realized that my mother-in-law was not in fact going to stab GP with a carving knife but just wanted him to take a second helping.  So mealtime is family time, just like on Leave It To Beaver, and as I know it's a wonderful tradition I save my slovenly ways for summers and GP's business trips.  So this morning I told Grace to eat a big lunch.  I've pulled out the yogurt and cookies.  We're good.  I may even talk to her.  xxoo me