Notwithstanding her propensity to direct others goals, one resounding New Year’s tradition is her wishing other people a “happy new you.”  While this is a cute play on her inability to pronounce english words correctly, I think, in a way, this sums up what my Nonna is about.  Undoubtedly, my grandmother has given us great laughter and many life lessons, but she has also taught all of us,  her grandchildren, children, and friends a like, about how to rediscover oneself, find strength and invent a new you when everything else is lost. 

You see, for as much joy as she has brought her friends and family, she has struggled – losing a mother and a husband very young, losing friends and family too soon along the way and seeing her children and grandchildren struggle through many life hardships.  Yet, through each tragedy she has found a way to reinvent herself and adjust her life to accommodate for the change.  When her mother died when she was 12, Nonna became the mother to her family.  When her husband died when Nonna was in her thirties, she became the sole breadwinner.  And when tragedy struck each time thereafter, Nonna reinvented family traditions, became an additional parent, friend, housekeeper and…as my aunt lovingly calls her, a wife to wives.  Each hopeless situation was a call to duty, a way to step to the plate and become a “New You.” While she attributes her strength in recreating herself and in moving forward to God, I think much of it (no disrespect to Jesus) has to do with her will to survive and thrive.  Where so many of us would be broken by tragedy, she moves forward, marking each event as another wrinkle in her life. My grandmother’s life is much like her hands: it is both smooth and deeply scarred, marked by hardwork, tenderness and covered in the purest love.  It is both beautiful and bitter…sassy and sweet. 

Friends, the time has come to move forward from this blog.  Life and distance makes sharing these stories more difficult in this medium.   I can only hope that you will continue to revisit this site when you need laughter, and hope that when you return you will see the lessons underlying her craziness, the joy that my grandmother gets from living and the love that underlies it all. 

Thank you, thank you, thank you for being faithful readers and friends.  I hope you all become “New You”s when life becomes challenging…and I hope you all simply remember Nonna’s number one life rule…laugh through it all.

Oh and…don’t take your pants down for no one.

As of late, she has grown increasingly interested in the antics of the 99%. So much so, that she updates me regularly about what is going on – as she thinks I work too much to watch the news…(little does she know – the AP has a twitter account…). She additionally has grown increasingly concerned that my sister Amanda Knox…I mean Brittany is joining that “unruly” percentile.

To perhaps better communicate this concern…I leave it to my sister:

In recent weeks, Nonna has come to understand (or so I thought) that I work kind of close to the Occupy Wall Street protests. Mind you, I do not work on Wall Street, I work a few subway stops away, but to her, she thinks I am standing in front of thousands of people leading them in a protest that makes absolutely no sense to me.

Anyways, after work I used my time walking to the subway to call my (ex) roomie just to see how she was doing. Walking in any city is loud, but I usually forget/ignore this and carry on my phone conversations in a yelling tone to ensure I am being heard on the other end.

Me: Hi Non
Nonna: Hi honeydew. Where are you?
Me: Walking home, why?
Nonna: YOU PROTESTA????
Me: What are you talking about?
Nonna: ITS SO LOUD, YOU PROTESTA??
Me: Yup. Just leaving for the day.
Nonna: Butana, DONT I RAISA YOU RIGHT???
Me: Apparently not.
Nonna: You quittin your job?
Me: Yup.
Nonna: I spit on your face when I see you.
Me: Shutup, I am obviously not protesting. What is wrong with you, first you think I’m Amanda Knox, now you think I’m some kind of activist. Make up your mind.
Nonna: NO I NEVER SAYA YOU AMANDA. I sayyyyy it could happen to you. Honey, let me aska you one ting. What is these stunads doing? What they want?
Me: I honestly have no idea.
Nonna: I no understand.
Me: I don’t either, but it is just making people my age look like they are uneducated, and don’t shower.
Nonna: Breenny, I never been so proud of you in all my life.
Me: Um. Thanks?

Apparently my only qualities are two fold. 1.I did not get convicted of murder, and 2. I am not involved in the Occupy Wall Street protests.

Accordingly, we consider Brittany’s life a success.

It should be noted that after Brittany hung up with Non…she called me. Only to inform me that my sister is a new woman and that she thought Brittany would be disgusting in the park, but now she is high class number one.

As nonna always told us…povera si…ma lorde, perche?

Translation: Poor Yes Dirty (Gross) Why?

Perhaps the 1% should start chanting this…

Me: Non? Is everything ok?

Nonna: GIUSTIZIA! GIUSTIZIA PER MIA NIPOTE.

(translation: Justice! Justice for my grandaughter!)

Me: What are you talking about? Is everything ok?

Nonna: My grandaughter Amanda is a free. They say she is innocente.

Me: Are you talking about Amanda Knox?

Nonna: Yes! I cryin and cryin all afternoon. My sister was here and we cry. Everybody cry. Amanda cry. Its a beautiful day.

Me: I mean…that’s great for her.

Nonna: Tell me one thing. Why they think she killin this girl.  It come on my mind that this girl no do anything wrong. I thinkin everyone want to say she is a nasty number one but I don think she is nasty. I no think she killin that girl.

Me: Well that is probably why they released her.

Nonna: For four years this girl WAAAAIT and WAIIT and WAAIT for someone to say Yes it is! You go home to America.

Me: Ok..well I’m at work.

Nonna: Hey. Avvocato (translation: lawyer). I talk to you about the law. Don you know something.

Me: What is the question?

Nonna: I asking you about why she no come home to America?

Me: When did you ask that? and What are you talking about?

Nonna: I sayin…Why she no come home to America now?

Me: I mean, they are probably trying to get her home now.

Nonna: Ok. But she no have no passporto…they sayin her passport no good.

Me: I am sure they will get her another passport.

Nonna: I think she go on Roma for that.

Me: Ok…well, we can talk about this later.

Nonna: I just gonna tell you one thing.  I doin a Novena for this girl, I pray and pray she come home.

Me: Why?

Nonna: Because this girl is like my granddaughter. It come on my mind that something like this would happen to your sister and she be stuck in jail in some country because they sayin she killin someone but I know she know kill anyone.

Me: Nonna…Brittany lives in America now.

Nonna: I know. But I thinkin about this and I pray and pray this don happen to her.

Me: Got it.

Nonna: Tell me. If people thinkin you sister killin someone then you can help her get out of jail?

Me: No. I’m not a criminal attorney.

Nonna: So what you degree good for?

Me: Nothing apparently.

Nonna: So why you waste all this money.

Me: I don’t know.

Nonna: Ok go do you work avvocato.

Me: Thanks.

Nonna: Giutizia! Giustizia!

And then I hung up the phone…

“Hello this is you Nonna….Hello? I just call to hear your voice.  But I think I have the wrong number because I don know who this person is (note: my answering machine has my married name on it.) But if you want to see if I’m alive call me back.”

Needless to say, technology confuses the poor woman.

Despite the confusion, Nonna’s understanding of technology has expanded over the year.  Indeed, over the past few years of my sister’s world travels, Nonna has embraced technology in some regards. She’s learned to skype (sorta), she’s learned to use calling cards, and she’s learned to embrace that the “y-generation” is constantly connected to their phones.  Though she’s made great strides, Nonna still thinks that the internet is made by some devil spinning its web.

And until recently, our little Nonna did not realize her place in the cyber world…

My sister Brittany, who recently moved onto a spacious pad in the big city, had the occasion to speak with Nonna after viewing my wedding pictures.  What transpired can only be told by my sister herself…

Nonna: I looka at your sister’s wedding pictures. I look beautiful.

Me: Yeah I saw them too, and yes, you look great.

Nonna: I knowa which one I want for my tombstone, I tella your sister already.

Me: Oh, well, okay.

Nonna: Wait, how you look these pictures? You come home and no tell me? Butana.

Me: What? No I saw them online, like on the computer.

Nonna: How they get in there?

Me: I don’t know? She sent the website to everyone to look at.

Nonna: So anyone can look at these pictures because of the devil machine?

Me: Well, yeah. But it isn’t really a devils machine?

Nonna: Yes it is. I don’t want to be on the computer for everyone to see. Even though I look good I don’t want no one to see my picture. Except the tombstone one.

Me: You know we write about you on the internet? So everyone knows all the crazy things you do anyways.

Nonna: You don’t stopa with this shitty thing? Aunt Mary tellin me the other day that I talkin all about sex on the computer, but I thinkin she crazy. But she no crazy. You maka me look crazy.

Me: You are crazy.

Nonna: Taka me off. Now everyone see my face and see my smarts. No one ever gonna need to be around me because of the shitty computa. Actually okay keep me so it keeps all those butanas I don’t like away from me.

Me: Like your friends?

Nonna: I don’t need these people. I don’t need you or your sister either, get outa my face.

The conversation continued as I told her about my weekend, and she cut me off, going back to her life being exposed on the internet.

Nonna: I tella you one thing. I no talk about sex like my sister in law she say. I just sayin its good that your sister can have the sex without havin to live in sin no more. That’s all I say, I no tellin her how to do it, but if she askin me, I tell her. But youre a butana and you don’t listen to me no matta what I tellin you so I don’t care if you havin sex with everyone or no one. Or if you a lesby. I no care.

After Brittany got off the phone with her, she called me.

Nonna: Hey. How come you tellin you Aunt Mary I talk about sex with you?

Me: What are you talking about?

Nonna: Everyone say I talkin about sex and tellin you what I doin. I no have sex for thirty-five years.

Me: Tough life.

Nonna: I tellin you.  I tell you one thing. You married so sex is legal.

Me: I didn’t realize it was illegal.

Nonna: (large gasp) DON YOU KNOW ITS ILLEGAL TIL YOU GET ON MARRIED.  EVERYBODY A VIRGIN. (Spits).

Me: I’m kidding.

Nonna: Good. Because next time I see you I gonna breakin you face.

Me: (hysterical laughter).

Nonna: The message is just one: Don have sex until it is legal and you married. And don have no babies for at least 3 year. Then move on my house and I watch the baby.  Just one. No more baby after one cause I can’t watch it no more. And babies are expense.

Me: Ok. You got it.

Nonna: Now I need to go pray God don punish you for being no virgin anymore.

Me: I thought it was legal.

Nonna: Maybe. I gonna talk to God about this.

I will update you all on the legality of sex in the near future.  Hopefully my next blog post will be about something normal…like phallic egg plants.

As expected…things have changed.  So has Nonna’s level of craziness. Especially because now…”sex is legal.” Sorry Dad.  But Nonna now gives “extra special” marital advice.

Now, as I refuse to sink to her level and discuss her boudoir advice (though, men everywhere should rejoice as Nonna firmly believes women have a duty to put out…As she says “sometimes, you just need to lay there while the man do it”), I will share the recent dating advice she gave me.  Yes, the newleywed apparently needs dating advice (in case things don’t work out?)

Nonna: You know, I watchin all these shows and all these women lookin for men.

Me: Yea, you mean dating shows?

Nonna: Yes. The people looking everywhere for boyfriend.

Me: Yea, a lot of people are looking.

Nonna: I think these people should come over on my house and I tell them how to get a boyfrien.

Me: Oh yea?

Nonna: Yea, I gonna give you advice because you need it.

Me: Uh, why do I need it?

Nonna: Because, one day you might need a boyfrien.

Me: Well, I mean…I hope not.

Nonna: Even you married, you need to make sure the man like you so you husband don go no where.

Me: So I need to learn how to date?

Nonna: Yes it is. You gonna date my way.

Me: Ok. Tell me how.

Nonna: And you gonna tell your sisters and you friends.  You sisters no listen to anything that come out my mouth.

Me: Got it.

Nonna: The girls they need three things to gettin boyfriend.

Me: Oh God.

Nonna: They need beautiful shoes, the beautiful shirt and nice hair.  You don have nice hair you gonna fix.

Me: Ok.

Nonna: I think you look nice if you cut your hair short like mine.

Me: No thanks.

Nonna: One day you gonna do and you gonna say…I look beautiful like my Nonna.

Me: Sure. So, that’s all they need?

Nonna: The boobies they help too. (she lovingly strokes her boobs)

Me:  Uh, Ok.

Nonna: And another thing you gonna remember…man they don wan to marry no girlfriend. They want to marry a wife.  The girls today no remember this. They say I wanna purse, I wanna shoes, I wanna crazy crazy…but they forget the man they don want wife who is a pain in the ass.  They wan marry a girl who can cook and clean and shutup.

Me: So this whole women’s movement has it all wrong?

Nonna: Do they havin boyfriends?

Me: I’ll have to do some research (does anyone know if Elizabeth Cady Stanton dated frequently???)

Nonna: You see…you look around. The girls who know how to do everything nice they gonna find a boyfriend.

Me: Maybe you should write a book.

Nonna: Yes it is. I gonna go on this show and say to these girls “WAKE UP” you need to do the number one right thing like me.

Me: I’ll spread the word.

Nonna: And you remember too. You husband no gonna like you actin like a piece of shit.  Go fix your hair…you disgust.

Well, I guess I know my next project: “Marito” Nonna’s guide to getting (and keeping) a husband.

Whereas most New Jersey/New York Italians happily fist pump, gym, tan, laundry and eat their mom’s “gravy”…Nonna quietly (sort of) sits in judgment of them. To Nonna, there are “levels” of Italian… 1) Originale Italian 2) Italian Italian and 3) Italian  4) Italian person 5) Snooki (just kidding).

I know you all are wondering where you fit in…so we (yes, this blog has a new coauthor) created a quiz to figure out just how italian you are…

1) Do you have a beard?

This past week, Brittany and Nonna were driving home from the train station (Note – Nonna resigned as Britt’s chauffeur this week…). On their way home they passed by one of Nonna’s friends who was enjoying the gorgeous evening by going on a walk.

Nonna- That lady has a beard…
Brittany- well that’s not very nice
Nonna- I know but its true. If I hada one I shave. I shave my whole face if I have to. She italian italian though
Brittany- Italian italian? What are you?
Nonna- Originale italiano
Brittany- Is there a difference?
Nonna looked at her with a face of disgust.

Nonna: WHAT YOU MEAN??? Of course there a difference, whata you stunad?

Clearly, what seperates the original italians from the italian italians is facial hair…

2) Were you born in Italy?

(Note: if you were born in italy but are a woman with facial hair…you are still italian, italian…)

Naturally, the “originale” italians are born there…however, this is really confusing because my dad was born there…but apparently he’s not originale italian….as she explained to Brittany:

Nonna- Honey, you haveta understand these thing because its who you are.
Brittany- okay so explain.
Nonna- see your food, no one but origionale italiano can make for you.
Note- she was eating salmon, grilled veggies and sweet potatoes. No pasta. No eggplant. No cheese or sauce on anything. Aka terrible example…
Nonna- my friend with the beard she italian italian because she born there.
Brittany- so dads italian italian?
Nonna- no its not because he live there for one year.
Brittany- but he was born there.
Nonna-okay fine so he is italian italian

So now, if you are a man who was born in Italy but only lived there for a year or a woman with facial hair who lived in Italy her whole life you are only italian italian.

3) Were you born in America to a originale italian and are you fluent in Italian?

If so…you are “Italian.” Read: my uncle frank.

Brittany- So….what’s uncle frank?
Nonna- italian
Brittany- Why? he’s fluent in the language.
Nonna- Because he born in america…

4) Were you born to an italian italian and an Irish woman and lived in Italy for four months?

If so…you are Italian person, like Brittany.

Brittany- So…what am I?
Nonna- a pain in my hasso
Brittany- am I italian italian because I lived there?
Nonna- no
Brittany- so I’m just italian?
Nonna- no its not. You italian person because you still irish or something like that but your last name is your blood.
Brittany- ok this doesn’t make sense
Nonna- yes it is.

5) Are you not Italian, but married to an Italian?

What does this make you…? We don’t know…

Brittany- what’s aunt jackie?
Nonna- that’s a good question. Non lo so.

Since Nonna can’t figure it out…using the quiz above…it appears Aunt Jackie is closest to an Italian person as she does not have a beard, nor can she speak the language…

6) Are you snooki?

Me- what’s snookie?
Nonna- che?
Me- who’s snookie, ya know from the show on tv.
Nonna- oh she number one stunad.

True, but she makes for a great halloween costume.

These issues aside, Nonna also has serious mental issues while driving.  Not only does she use any time in the car to lecture her passenger (side note: she does so with Catholic chanting in the background), she also has uncontrollable road rage…

Take this story…as told by Brimmo…

My days of job searching (and serving as Nonna’s personal assistant) have thankfully came to an end in recent weeks. Last week, I started working in NYC. Like any suburban Jersey resident, I embark on a less than desirable commute into the city each morning.   However, this commute is only made more arduous by my recent discovery that with a roommate/chauffeur at the prime age of 75,  an extra 35minutes of travel time is needed to ensure I make my train. As you know, living the good life with Nonna definitely has its perks – Laundry on the daily, breakfast waiting on the kitchen table when I’m finished getting ready, lunch packed up for me ready to go and a delish meal served once I return home. None of this should come as a surprise to those of you following the blog since its inception as Nonna lent the same services to my sister during her time on the ranch.

However, what the former roomie never experienced was depending on Nonna to drive her to and from a train station at 7am. ( Please note this woman has got it all together, which is why I feel no remorse encouraging her driving skills twice a day).  Now before you all start calling me ungrateful, this drive is approximately 7 mins long, taking into account traffic lights, and other morning commuters. With Nonna, this drive has upped to 16 minutes. Seriously. I keep track. Why does it take so long you might wonder? Well….

1) Inability to drive faster than 8mph

Nonna’s increasingly decreasing speed has become troublesome each time we make the trek to the NJ Transit station. Each day it seems as if we are going slower and slower, as if this was humanly possible. I am concerned that eventually, we will be rolling in reverse.

2) The inexplicable short cut…

As local residents will agree,  driving to the area train station, one should realize that it doesn’t make any sense to cut through our town shopping center to get to Route 1. For any other competent human being, it doesn’t make sense to cut through a shopping center, period.  Ever. But to Nonna, this is the ultimate shortcut.   Though I point out that it adds on several minutes to the morning, she cares very little as  it gives her extra time to listen to the rosary via her cassette player (didn’t know new cars even came with cassette players).

3) Road Rage

The  third and final reason my commute takes longer than Weiner’s decision to resign is because of Nonna’s absolutely hilarious road rage. Each morning as the drive to the train station takes a little longer, I’ve noticed it’s because Nonna hates when people tailgate her. (Maybe if she wasn’t driving at a walking pace we wouldn’t have this issue.) Instead of allowing them to pass her, she slows down. These poor people are going to be late to places because at 7:10am she is trying to teach them a lesson. For example, this morning, Nonna was driving approximately 12 mph in a 40 zone.  As a result, a build up of cars was accruing behind her.  One particular woman got too close for Nonna’s comfort.

Nonna: What a butana, why she so close to me? Its a like she wanna be in my hasso.

Me: Well probably because you’re basically driving backwards.

Nonna: SHUTUP, you lucky I no makin you walk.

(Rosary plays as background noise)

Nonna: WHY SHE SO CLOSE!

Me: Nonna you’re literally driving so slow right now I would be doing the same thing.

Nonna: NO IS NOT. I beautiful number one driver, everyone should wanna drive like me.

Me: Not unless they want to get anywhere.

Nonna: I hopa you miss your train. I HOPA THIS BUTANA MISSES HER TRAIN TOO. SHE TOO CLOSE TO ME. I beta she curse at me in her car. Calling me a hold lady. Butana.

Luckily, I was dropped off as the train was pulling up. The “butana” definitely missed it though, and I guarantee Nonna was more than happy about her well taught lesson.

Moral of the story? I need to suck it up and buy a parking pass…or get a xanax prescription…

Naturally, the approaching has been quite exciting for fiancee Chris and I…but the closer the “big day” comes, the stranger Nonna gets.  Let me recap some of the crazy antics I have experienced in recent months.

The RSVPs

No surprise, as the RSVPs started coming back, Nonna watched the mailbox like a trained secret service agent. Each day, as the mailwoman approached, she would fly out of her house to ensure all RSVPs went straight to her hand.  On the days we received more than 5, she would call me at work and report. Then she would hold the RSVPs up to the light to ascertain whether it was a yes or no and then separate them into their respective boxes…unopened…

Each time someone said no (unless they were from Chris’ family), she would act truly insulted.  For days following a completely understandable family/friend “no” she would ask questions like “why they say no” “why no they call” “whats a matter with these people” “you insult them? why they no come” “I no gonna do anything for them no more”  I found the trick to dealing with this was to agree with her.  After agreeing with her, her tune changed…”These people have things to do. The world no stop because you getting married.”

The Seating Chart:

By the grace of my roommate, Chris and I were able to get OUR seating chart done in 20 minutes.  Only to find out that Nonna had her own seating chart – which she made herself without regard of who RSVP’d yes. Apparently, we were supposed to consult with her before making this chart.  She reviewed our seating chart and nodded, with pursed lips, as I explained to her that…quite frankly…her seating chart was inaccurate.  Five minutes later, she started questioning whether I loved her.

McDonalds

You may be wondering what this sub-topic is doing here.  When we were little, Nonna used to take the VICs (Very Important Cousins) to McDonalds after school ended.  Nonna recalls these times with much fondness.  So much so, that her “one-a request before marry” is to go to McDonalds with me.  Now, there are probably 400 things I would rather eat than McDonalds (except their french fries), but…I guess if it makes her happy?  When I got coupons in the mail for McDonalds…Nonna though of it as a sign.  Obviously we will be consuming some golden arches this week.  Hopefully my wedding dress is forgiving…

The Baptism

Yesterday, Nonna asked Chris and I to sit on her basement floor. Concerned at what was to come, Chris and I nervously obeyed.  Nonna emerged from her bedroom with holy water from Jerusalem.  And then…she poured it on us.  Straight poured it on us.  While saying, I bless on you on the name of the Father and the Son and Jesu Cristo (yes, the Son and Jesus Christ are the same).  She then turned and poured it on Brittany and her best friend, LJ (an athesit). She turned back to Chris and I, and shook the bottle in front of our face saying, “I save of the rest of this for your baby.”

This is really going to prove to be an interesting occasion.

Two weeks ago today we lost my great uncle to cancer.  Nonna’s brother and the closest man I ever had to a grandfather.

He was, in short, the source of eternal laughter in my family.

Though I typically use this forum to communicate the crazy antics of my grandmother, my uncle, the supporting actor to her starring role, deserves to take center stage.

My uncle was a barber since his teenage years. For so many, the lasting image embedded in their mind of my uncle is him behind his barber chair.  For me, however, it is him sitting just left of the head of the Christmas dinner table, next to his wife and across from my dad and my godfather.

It is no surprise that I was a nerd when I was younger.  A typical head in a book, glasses far too large for the face, crooked bangs nerd.  At family gatherings, particularly in my awkward pre-teen years, I was quiet and reserved…but observant.  So observant that my uncle would often notice me listening to inappropriate conversations, trying to piece together the rapid Italian with the broken English.  He never ushered me away or silenced everyone, he simply winked his infamous wink and smiled a knowing smile.  And nearly every year…he told me I should write a book about what I observed that year.

He had a knack for making people feel special and welcome.  And he did so by finding humor in nearly everything.  Though my uncle himself was hysterically funny…what made him such a joy to be around was his laughter.  His laugh rang out during every gathering – small or large – and was the type of laughter that made your troubles feel so far away.  He poked fun without hurting feelings, and made sure that, if you were down, you’d be laughing with him in short order.  He was an infectious personality.  He created happiness wherever he was.

And the people that made him the happiest were the women in his life.  My aunt, my cousins and (most of the time) his sisters.  He was the type of husband, father and brother that nary a man could even aspire to be.  He was affectionate and loving without being overbearing, considerate but masculine.  He was one of those few men that struck the balance between hopeless romantic and a guy’s guy.  Certainly, he was difficult to take care of, as he truly enjoyed being the caretaker, but he was loving and tender all the same.  To the men in my family he was a role model, and to the women, he was what each one of us hoped to marry.  And to my grandmother, he was the world.

My grandmother and uncle (and their younger sister) had a special relationship.  Undoubtedly, they saw much tragedy in their lives – the type of tragedy that makes you lose your faith in humanity and God.  But together, they forged an alliance that was unbreakable – even as we’ve learned, by death.  My uncle was the only person who could heal my grandmother’s heart from pain and also, speak straight to her when she was out of line.  He is, I truly believe, the only person who could put her in her place.  This blend of friendship and family often inspires me to be there for my own sisters beyond the bloodline.  Of course they shared stories and memories and so much laughter, but it was their ability to share these stories without speaking a word which made their relationship so special.  The type of sibling relationship which is inspiring but also leaves you awestruck.

When cancer decided it was my uncles time to become God’s barber, he was surrounded by all the women of his life – physically and spiritually.  I like to believe that in leaving that way he was able to leave a piece of his heart with all the people that he loved.  He made his quiet exit from this world to the next peacefully, without too much pain, and surrounded by love.

And he sure as hell got the last laugh…his last words to my grandmother were “Maria, leave me alone.”

For the rest of my life, I will carry his special Christmas Day wink to me in my heart.  The wink that made me feel important and the wink that told me it was okay to be who I was.

Uncle…I promise…my first book will be dedicated to you.

While Nonna is one of the most generous people I’ve ever met…her generosity comes with a price.  Any thing she needs done must be done when she says it, how she says it, where she says it.  For example. if she needs you to get eggs you cannot simply go to the Acme which is 1/4 mile from the house after you go for your run (note: she asked you to get eggs while your headphones were on).  No.  You must go to her dairy farm which is 4 miles from the house because you can get the eggs for 30 cents cheaper.  Forget the rising costs of gas. Forget convenience.  Eggs must be purchased at the cheapest price.  Or if she needs her bills paid, the check must be written at the exact minute she decides, regardless if you are eating spaghetti and meatballs and can’t understand why you are writing her third quarter tax check three months before its due.  In her point of view…you owe her for all the beautiful things she does for you from the bottom on her heart.

The only way to get out of her beckoning is to inform her that you are working.  Now, don’t get me wrong, my job requires me to work a little bit at night on occasion…but, in Nonna’s eyes…I work non-stop.  I only stop working to work out, feed and spend quality time with her.  Then…like clockwork at 9:00, I must return to work.  She admires my hardworking tenacity…and declines to give me her beckoning due to my ambition.  She doesn’t want to stop me from “being somebody.”

Now before you all start telling me I am ungrateful and I should be so lucky to pay her back for all the things she does for us…let me share a little tid bit from my currently unemployed sister.  Perhaps this will enlighten you as to why I often chose pretending I was conducting research when I was actually watching Modern Family…

(Brimmo’s Life)

It goes without saying that Nonna loves to be in control. Whether its controlling what she is making for dinner, or the remote (or depending on the time of day, remoteS),  my social life, and more recently… my conversations.

This morning I woke up at 10am (sorry for those of you who are employed).  After enjoying my iced coffee (freshly brewed by the little Nonna), my entire day was taken from me within minutes.  Between the hours of 6am and 10am, Nonna determined my schedule of events for the day.  First up: I drove her to a neighboring town so she could pick up a check, from Italy.  Then,  I came home mowed her lawn (in the rain), paid her bills, and attempted to balance her checkbook. After that, I believed I was entitled to a break.  So, I told her I was going to the gym.  She handed me envelops. Was I actually getting paid for my services in something other than coffee and dinner? No, instead I was asked to drop off more bills at the mall.
Prior to leaving I offered to stop at the dry cleaners, where Nonna keeps herself entertained by sewing alternations.  Naturally, she thought it was a brilliant idea. Particularly because the man she works for is Indian, and listened to Nonna talk about all of my adventures over the year. Nonna was excited by the chance for us to converse (and for her to brag a little extra about how wonderfully conversational I am…as Nonna says I have the gift of (points to tongue)).

Nonna: Honey, what are you gonna say to my frien?
Me: I don’t know, probably just ask him if he has anything for you.
Nonna: NO IS NOT. He is my FRIEN and he indian, don you hava no respec?
Me: Well no? But I don’t really see why I need to think about it now.
Nonna: I thinka you should practice.
Me: What?
Nonna: You gonna tella me what you gonna say.
Me: No I’m not.
Nonna: YES it is!

Unlike my sister, who would have allowed Nonna to dictate what she would say..I just left. Its one thing to schedule the amount of things she needs me to do in a day… but just because I was in Asia for a year doesn’t mean I don’t know English… Last I checked I could talk to a brick wall, without her help.

When I got home, she wanted to know what I said…I kept my mouth silent.  A little mystery goes a long way with her.

In the future, I will probably just start telling her I am babysitting for the day.  At the very least, it might get me out of mowing the lawn during rain storms.