What I Got From My Grandpa

I just found out tonight that my grandpa, Michael Del Val, passed away today. He was 89 years old, and since my grandma died two and a half years ago, he has been pretty lonely. He lived where he was born, in Rye, NY, the son of Italian immigrants who passed through Ellis Island and made a better life for themselves and their children. He was my last surviving grandparent.

Living as far apart as we do, I didn’t see my grandparents very often, so making the big trip East was always an exciting adventure. It meant getting on airplanes, playing at the ocean, and sometimes even getting into New York City, that most magical of places. In my adult years, I made a concerted effort to get out to see them as often as I could, which wasn’t very often. Of course, I am feeling terribly guilty about this today. I should have made the trip more often; I should have called regularly; I should have sent letters and cards; I should have…but life moves at a fast pace, and all the should haves get pushed to the wayside in favor of stupid things like laundry and shopping and making dinner.

I didn’t have much connection to my grandpa. After I heard the news, I began making a mental list of the things we shared. He was a New York State Hall of Fame basketball coach who was still assisting the local team last season. My dad was a long-time high school basketball coach, too, and I am a crazed fan. I love nothing more than to see a good high school match-up between two rival teams. I got that from Grandpa.

Both my parents have very dark hair and eyes. My grandpa’s eyes were a wonderful blue. I always took pride in having his eye color—I am the only grandchild who got them from Grandpa.

Both Grandma and Grandpa played tennis into their 70s. In fact, my son plays for his high school team with their rackets. I play poorly but love to watch tennis. I was thinking this morning about trying to get tickets to the US open for the three of us to go to in August—that is not to be, but both my son and I got our love of the game from Grandpa.

Finally, my favorite thing to do in Rye as an adult was to have Grandpa drive me around and talk about the town. He would point out the places that had been important when he was young. He also always noted the stone-walls his father had built decades ago throughout this beautiful community. We would drive past the mansions and estates—this is Westchester County after all—and ohhhh and ahhhh. Then we would make our way back to the little house on Adelaide Street where my dad and his siblings grew up. The front porch called to all of us as it sometimes had the only breath of moving air that could be found on those hot August trips. The little bit of history I have about his family came from car rides with Grandpa.

And then of course, there’s my name. My parents had the brilliant sense to give me a two-D name. In my life as an actor, people always ask me if Dayna Del Val is a stage name. It’s not—I got part of it from Grandpa.

I will miss the chance of not having taken the time to try to get to know him more, but actually, my list is pretty long and all of it is pretty important to me. Now, Grandpa will live in my memory, and I will remember and honor him every time I swing a racket or cheer for a team or look at a stone-wall or write my name—all things I got from my grandpa.

-Dayna Del Val

Fun Wedding Choices

My mom and I went to her good friend’s youngest son’s wedding two weeks ago—did you follow that? It was a really beautiful wedding, and the reception, which was quite traditional in many ways, also had some absolutely darling and personal choices that helped make this wedding fun and memorable for both the couple and their guests.

While we were waiting for dinner, servers carried around plates of small glasses filled with tomato basil soup. Quartered triangles of grilled cheese sandwiches were settled on top. It was a tiny drink of soup and two-bite sandwich. They also served spoon-fuls of macaroni and cheese with toasted bread-crumbs. Finally, they used whole pineapples as the base holder for fruit kabobs. The food was clever and really tasty.

We also got the chance to do something that I had never done at a wedding before. Rather than having a guest book, which I contend no one ever looks at again, they had a photo booth at the reception for everyone to use. It was a fun and new way to remember the guests who helped them celebrate their day.

Each shoot produced two copies—one went to a photo album where we could write notes to the couple, and the other went to us. People stood in line before dinner and after for the chance to take these photos. The booth easily held couples and groups, and everyone really enjoyed it. Receptions can get kind of boring, but this added a festive element to the event. It was fun to see other people’s photos and read their good wishes for the newlyweds.

This wedding was memorable because the bride and groom made some unique choices and created a fun environment with their whimsical hors d’oeuvres and entertaining way to catalog their guests. What a lovely way to help a young couple start their lives.

-Dayna Del Val

An Unusual Obsession

My grandmother was a schoolteacher—in fact, for a little while in her career, she taught in a one-room schoolhouse. My mother is a teacher—she teaches elementary music. I have been, at various times in my life, a teacher. We all worked in a profession that required casual dress clothes, but we all have the same obsession—beautiful formal dresses, which we have named fairy princess dresses.

My grandma had incredible style. She had hats and gloves and shoes and purses and jewelry for each of her beautiful suits. When she took a trip to Europe in the 1960s, she had a gorgeous green velvet frock coat that I still have and wear today. I went to my Junior Prom in a dress she had worn to a formal event in the late 1950s—it had a sea foam green bodice with a black lace overlay which moved down to a stiff black satin skirt and matching bolero jacket. It is too exquisite for words, and I am pleased to say it still fits, so now I have to find a reason to wear it again.

My mother, who has been known to wear things like red-checkered, flannel bib overalls, much to the delight of her kindergarteners, also has a pension for dress up clothes. Two weeks ago, we were shopping for a fairy princess dress for her for a legitimate reason, and she made me try on a floor-length Cerulean blue gown—which I have no need for—and insisted I buy it because it was on sale and I would, no-doubt, need it for some reason, which has yet to be discovered. What did I do? I bought it. It now resides next to the silk cocktail dress I recently purchased, which hangs next to some other FPDs that have not seen the light of day. Of course, I have exquisite shoes and bags and wraps to go with these clothes. I could be, as they say, all dressed up with nowhere to go at the drop of a hat most days.

We have often pondered our obsession with FPDs. Does it come from our collective fascination with the original Barbie and her spectacular wardrobe? Has Hollywood ruined three perfectly good and otherwise sensible women? Is it genetic? It’s hard to say. All I do know is that if an FPD crosses my path and is a total bargain, it’s virtually impossible for me to put it back on the rack. I don’t mind this obsession—it could be much worse. If I ceased to be today and someone went through my closet, what is hanging there would give off the impression that I had lived a really glamorous life. Maybe having the dresses in place keeps the potential for “glamor at any moment” alive, or maybe it’s just fun to have them around waiting for the perfect event to come my way. Either way, I don’t see this obsession lessening for either of us any time soon, and that’s ok with me.

-Dayna Del Val

My New Favorite Salad

On my recent trip to western North Dakota, I was at a 50^th wedding anniversary party of a relative, and she made perhaps the most incredible salad I have ever had. I asked for the recipe, and I made it for the first time this week for some friends. They agreed that it was amazing, so I am sharing it with you as well since it’s too good to keep for myself.

Dressing:

• 1/2c sugar—I didn’t use quite that much, just for the record, and it was absolutely sweet enough.
• 1/3 c lemon juice
• 2 Tbsp finely chopped onion--I just added this to the greens rather than the dressing for easier mixing
• 1 tsp Dijon mustard
• Salt
• 2/3 c oil—any kind--I used canola.
• 1 Tbsp poppy seeds

For the salad:

• 1 large head romaine, but I used a large package of organic greens and that was also very good.
• 4 oz shredded Swiss cheese
• 1 apple or pear diced
• 1/2 c dried cranberries
• 1 c salted cashews

I was thinking, as I was eating this with my friends the other night, that mango would be incredible in this salad. This is the kind of recipe that can take a lot of imagination, in my opinion, and be as good or better than the original. The dressing is absolutely incredible. The combination of flavors is delightful and pretty unexpected. Try it and add to it, and then let me know what you’ve done so I can “borrow” your ideas!

-Dayna Del Val

A Simple Gift for Those in Need

My mother does something that I didn’t even know she was doing until a few years ago, but I love it and have started joining in. She collects the little shampoos, conditioners, lotions, soaps, and whatever else is provided in hotel rooms and makes packets that she delivers to the homeless shelters in town.

Her thought is that perhaps in a most distressing time in life, getting individual bottles of personal care items will make someone feel better. She gathers these bottles and other items together, and twice a year—sometime in the summer and then again at Christmas-time—she puts them into sandwich bags to create little gift bags. Most often she asks that they be given to women, but you could handle that however you wanted to.

I don’t know about you, but I love the little bottles of products when I am in a hotel room—I like how individual they are. I like to see what companies are paired together, and I love to smell the soaps—sometimes they are really wonderfully exotic—the last one I brought home was grapefruit bergamot. As much as I love them for myself, however, I love the idea of sharing them with someone who has little to nothing of her own. I dutifully pack each of these bottles and soaps into my bag and use the old ones I have brought from home for myself.

As you travel this summer, think about collecting these items for your area homeless shelters. I can only imagine how awful it would feel to be homeless or at-risk, and I am betting that getting these little bags of personal products goes a long way toward making someone feel not only clean but “normal” again. It's a simple way to make a small difference in the lives of others, and that's always a good thing.

-Dayna Del Val

A Weighty Issue

OK, I’ll admit it—I have a numbers issue. You know how every health magazine and consultant says it’s not about the number on your scale but about how you feel or how your clothes fit? Yeah, I don’t believe that. For me, it’s totally about the number on the scale. In fact, the number on one scale in particular.

I bought a scale years ago, but every morning I had to put an eight-pound weight on it (the eight pound weight was not mandatory, but it was the only weight I had) to make sure it was weighing that correctly. Then, when I stood on it, I had to add five pounds to the number because it wasn’t accurate. Eventually, that stopped having much charm for me; plus, it was crummy to have to add pounds to the number since that is my primary focal point.

My mother has a scale at her house that is, as we figured it for this blog’s purpose, from about 1940. It was my grandparent’s, and now it holds a place of prominence in her bedroom. Like a homing pigeon, whenever I go to her house, I say hello and head straight into her room to do a standard weigh-in. In fact, recently, my mother was out of town, and I needed to get something from her house. I got inside, found what I needed, and headed straight for the scale. She had written me a note, knowing that I would no doubt make a scale stop. I wrote back. It’s nice to be consistent.

This scale is not only delightful because of its age and design, but it is also unfailingly accurate. I don’t have to prep it with any sort of free-weight, and my weight is the same at the doctor’s as it is at my mother’s. That gives me a tremendous sense of satisfaction when the number is in an appropriate range and a terrible sense of defeat when it is beyond the scope of my acceptable few numbers.

I like this scale. It doesn’t do anything fancy—I don’t know my metabolic rate or my bone density level or my fat percentage when I stand on it, but I do know that it sets the tone for how I approach my day from that point onward.

I kind of envy women who don’t care what the scale says. I am almost incredulous to women who say, “I haven’t weighed myself in years.” I would weigh myself multiple times a day if that scale were in my home, so it’s good that my mother lives close but not too close. It’s unfortunate that so much of my sense of self is tied up in the number presented on that scale, but I don’t seem to be able to break that. At least I can appreciate the age and history of the scale as I watch the dial settle down, and if all goes well, I can hop off and get a treat from my mother’s kitchen—only to head back to the bedroom again.

-Dayna Del Val

Perfect Rice at Home

OK, I am a pretty healthy eater—disregard the fact that I got up this morning and began eating the rest of the left-over puppy chow from last night! Aside from that, I do pretty well eating whole grains, vegetables, and fruits. I have to admit, however, that I love white rice—especially white basmati rice.

Is there anything better than a bowl of fluffy, white basmati rice at a Thai or Indian restaurant? I could, and often do, eat it by the bowlful. I love how individual each grain is, how not sticky it all is, and how light it tastes. I have never been able to duplicate it at home. I supposed it was because I didn’t have a rice maker, but I am not going to purchase another appliance—especially one that really only has one purpose. I decided I was destined to be stuck with sticky, not-very-interesting rice at home. That was the case until this past Tuesday.

I had purchased a bag of basmati rice from the grocery store, and it had a recipe sewn to the burlap bag. For whatever reason, I read it. I mean, who needs a recipe for rice? Apparently I do. I have always made rice like this:

• 1 part rice
• 2 parts water
• dash of salt

Bring the water to a boil and add the rice. Simmer until done. Easy peasy, right? Easy, but not correct according to this recipe. This one directs:

• 1 c rice
• 1 ½ c water
• 1 TBS oil
• pinch of salt

Rinse the rice 1-2 times to get rid of extra starch and drain—I did mine in a small colander—worked great! Put the rice in the pan and add the rest of the ingredients. Cook uncovered on high until it boils, stirring occasionally. Once the water is slightly below the level of the rice, turn the heat down, put a lid on, and simmer for 20 minutes.

What a transformation! My rice tasted like restaurant rice; it looked like it, too. I will NEVER make rice any other way again. It’s a mini culinary present! AND, I didn’t have to buy another appliance—yippee!

-Dayna Del Val

A Weekend Well Spent

I spent the weekend in the southwest corner of North Dakota with my son, my mom, and my aunt. We drove across the state—all the way across the state. It’s a long drive, but with each mile west, it gets more and more beautiful. I was born in that part of the state; my grandparents lived there and are buried there. I love it there.

We have had a lot of rain this spring and early summer, and the prairie landscape is at its most beautiful. I know that where I live full-time seems quiet and slow-paced to people who live in the major metropolitan cities of our country, but trust me when I say that life in the southwest corner of North Dakota runs on its own gentle clock. The grasses sway in the ever-constant wind; the birds swoop in and out of dips and valleys. The clover creates a permanent sweet perfume, and the air feels perfectly fresh. You can drive for miles before you pass a truck, and the driver waves at you. It’s pretty idyllic.

My relatives all live successful and busy lives, but they do so at a different rhythm than the rest of us. There, they are dictated to not by the rush to get to work but by the needs of a calving mother. The weather determines much of their routine. This is not to say that they don’t also have to go to school and play little league and grocery shop, but it’s just different.

I couldn’t live out there full-time. I would miss the access to the things I take for granted here, but I do love to visit. I love to breathe deep, stare at the enormous sky, and appreciate the wild nature of the landscape. I love to re-connect with my extended family and share my childhood haunts with my son, but I also love to come home. That’s a pretty good way to start and end a long weekend.

-Dayna Del Val

Quiches Part II

As a follow up to Tuesday's post, here are photos of Quinn making an extremely successful pair of quiches. He was a very good student during piecrust-making 101, and for my part, I stayed pretty patient, which is not always my strong suit.

I thought we had some good cheese to use, but I realized too late that we didn’t have anything that would lead to excellent quiches. Instead, we used a container of ricotta and some shredded cheddar and blue cheese. I will say, I wouldn’t do that again. The ricotta was too grainy and didn’t have as much flavor as I had hoped. The roasted vegetables—tomatoes, peppers, and onions—however, were excellent.

We scattered dried basil, pepper, and Mrs. Dash’s Tomato Basil on top and baked them up. They were delicious. Quinn made a fantastic first stab at a pretty difficult item. Think how impressed some date is going to be—hopefully in the very far future!

-Dayna Del Val

Turning the Kitchen Over

As part of my on-going quest to make sure that my son doesn’t feel compelled to go from being his mother’s child to his wife’s husband, I am instating “Quinn Cooks Tuesdays” at our house this summer. He has had two cooking classes in school, and we have gone through periods where he has been in charge of cooking at home before, but I am raising the stakes this time. Tonight, he is going to make quiche because we’ve got roasted vegetables to use up.

Later this afternoon, I will teach him how to make homemade piecrust, because there’s almost no excuse for purchasing piecrust in my opinion. It’s not hard to make, it tastes about a million times better, and we are too reliant on pre-packaged foods.

For Christmas last year, we got Quinn two kid cookbooks that would appeal to his age group. One was Emeril’s There’s a Chef in My World and the other was Healthy Cooking for Kids 50 Fun Recipe Cards. Both of these have exceptional recipes, many of which we have already tried out. Quinn made Baklava for a world language class. He has also mastered Salmon Parcels—salmon with fresh ginger, carrots, and peppers baked in parchment paper—super yummy!

Learning to cook is an important rite of passage, and I think it’s important for boys to know how to prepare a good meal. I really do believe that if I can make Quinn self-sufficient in the kitchen, then he won’t A) only eat Ramen noodles once he’s out on his own, or B) pick a woman simply because she can cook. Plus, remember how impressed you were when a date said he would cook for you? That scores big points!

Additionally, learning to cook teaches other lessons like planning, grocery shopping, time management, and presentation—all valuable skills to take into life.

I’ll take photos of this quiche and do a follow-up later this week on Quinn’s success. Who knows, I could be fostering the next Emeril at my house. At the very least, I am helping to create a man who will know how to make something besides Mac and Cheese!

-Dayna Del Val