A Fitting Tribute

It is a new week, and with it I am putting all the grieving from my Grandmother’s passing in the rearview mirror. Of course I was sad to see her go, but whenever I think about her, I want to remember the good times and there were plenty of them. I am very lucky. I had my Grandmother in my life for over thirty eight years. Not many people can say that. I was my Grandmothers first grandchild, and for that I am thankful.

When I think about my Grandmother I will remember her cooking more then anything. Her sauce has been replicated my all her siblings. She spoiled me, in a big way because now when I go out to eat at an Italian restaurant I am usually disappointed. Her pasta gravy was that good. I will also miss her kick ass chicken noodle soup. Trust me, if you had even a slight case of the sniffles, that soup was an instant cure.

My Grandmother was also a first rate story teller. When I was a kid, I would spend a lot of nights at my Grandparents house. My Grandmother would tell me a story nearly every night before I went to bed. Her stories were elaborate and first rate and she was usually making them up off of the top of her head. I really believe she missed her calling as she would have been a first rate children’s author.

Also, My Grandmother was a card shark. As kids we would always be playing 500 Rummy or crazy 8’s with her and she always won. You would think she would take it easy on us, as we were kids. There was no chance. Her logic (and one I happen to agree with) is that the only way to get better was to beat her legitimately. When you did beat her (which was rare) you knew you bested her fair and square and she was not just letting you win. One of my fondest memories was a couple of years ago, playing rummy with her. Even though she was in her late 70’s, she had not lost her touch. We played and she schooled the whole table winning the game, making play after play.

One of my favorite activities of her later years was listening to her reminisce about the old days. Knowing time was not on her side, I wanted her to tell me as many stories of her youth, so that I could get a better understanding of who she was. I am so glad I did. One of my favorites was the story of when her brother, my Great Uncle Nick returned home from the war unannounced. He entered the house singing “Missed the Saturday Dance, hear they crowded the floor.” My Grandmother and her sisters shrieked with delight upon his safe return. Another favorite was the story of how when a neighborhood boy took a shine to my Grandmother. He did not take my Grandmothers hints that she wasn’t interested. When my Grandfather found out, he took the guy and held him upside down over an open manhole cover. The guy never bothered her again.

Of course no retrospection of Grandmother would be complete without mentioning her commitment to St. Albert’s Church. As many who know me, can attest I am not a very spiritual man. As a matter of fact, the church and I have some issues. Still, out of respect to my Grandmother every year, I would take the statue of St. Joseph from her house and hall it over to the church for her St. Joseph’s table. She ran that table in the basement of the church every year. It was a Herculean task that she took head on. I don’t know exactly how much pasta she would make, but it was pounds worth. Many times, she would buy the supplies out of her own pocket.

Somehow, I got elected as the statue transporter. A statue of St. Joseph was willed to her. This statue had seen better days, as it was rather old. So, you had to be very careful with it when you transported it from her house to the church. I recruited nearly everyone I know to help me with it over the years. I used to wonder how I got saddled with this responsibility. I selfishly used to wonder why I was always the one who had to find time to fit the statue transportation into my schedule. I would wind up waiting on the day of the table until everyone left so, that I could bring the statue back to my Grandmothers house. What I wouldn’t give this March 19^th to have one more St. Joseph’s table. As much as I complained about it then, I know I will miss it and eating some of her pasta on those Sunday mornings in March.

So, as I said my final farewell’s to my Grandmother last week, sure there was sadness. But, it was also a celebration of her life. A life that produced a family that is closer then any other I have ever been around. We are close because of her and my Grandfather. They led the way and I can only hope we can live up to the examples that they set.