Friday is spelled “P-I-Z-Z-A”

Friday has long been talked about by the children in the Kindy because it is inextricably linked with pizza.

And as everyone knows, pizza is just about the best thing in the world.

Come to think of it, my personal favorite is a thin crust pizza made in Malta; on the island of Gozo to be exact, that is topped with sliced potato, goat’s cheese, onion, and sausage. It’s just about the best pie I’ve ever eaten and constantly resurfaces in my daydreams.

But I digress.

Coming back to the topic at hand, two Fridays ago (apologies for the sluggishness, I had a sick household and a trip south that congested my writing regimen…) was my first Friday in the Kindy and not unlike the children I found myself looking forward to pizza for lunch. I was looking forward to it so much that the morning kind of drifted by in a doughy, yeasty haze.

Mid morning: the sun was streaming through the windows, children were creatively constructing and deconstructing imagined lives in every corner of the room, and with the pizza baking in the oven sending the mixed tendrils of rye bread and melting cheddar and a hint of tomato into the air….  I must admit, it was especially hard to stay focused. But we all kept it together and made the hike down to Meanwood Park- picking blackberries the whole way.

It had been a long, salivating sort of day, and an excruciatingly long hike for some of the smaller ones, but once inside the park we made ourselves at home, laying a few blankets on the damp ground. Some of us kicked off our Wellies and Ziggy handed out a pizza so tasty that it rivaled the best of the world.