For those of you who have visited my 3-day donation page, you know that one of the main reasons I am walking is for my Nonna, who passed away back in 1991 from breast cancer. She lived for several years with the diagnosis and opted out of the chemo treatments. Being that she was in her 80s when she was diagnosed I cannot say I blame her, but at the time my 19-year-old self did not understand why she wouldn't go for treatment, and was upset and even a little angry.
But back to the title of my post. One of the most important parts of an Italian family is food. My Nonna was the best at cooking. I can say honestly even after so many years, she made the best Italian food I have ever eaten. Even better than fancy restaurants. Really it was amazing. Some of the most vivid memories that I have are of coming home from kindergarten (my grandmother would walk to my school to pick me up), and smelling the tomato sauce from halfway down the street. The door to her tiny rowhome would be unlocked. And more times than not, her "stories" would be blaring from the 19 inch color television in the living room.
I lived with my grandmother during the week, for my kindergarten year and, even though I joke with my parents that they "abandoned" me when they had my youngest brother that same year and were moving into a new house, secretly I loved having Nonna all to myself. She treated me like a little princess, showering me with attention, affection and food! It was probably one of my childhood's happiest years. When I would go home on weekends, although I loved being with my parents, I had to compete with two younger brothers for attention and frankly, at the age of 5, I didn't really want to do that!
One of my favorite activities to do with my Nonna was helping her to cook. Until I was probably 7 or 8 years old, I thought all grandparents had a second kitchen in the basement! My mom explained to me that no, that's not something everyone has. My Grandma on my mom's side only had one kitchen. And my mom's parents lived in California, so I couldn't see them all the time.
My Nonna was the one grandparent that I had regular contact with throughout my childhood. My Nonno passed away from lung cancer when I was 3 months old. So Nonna was it. After she passed I thought about her a lot, nearly every day in fact, trying to make sense of what exactly happened to her. Her death was the first time I had ever had someone close to me die. It was scary and sad.
My Nonna and Nonno came over to the United States from Italy in 1929. They settled in central New Jersey and had 3 sons. My Nonno took a job in a pottery factory and Nonna took in sewing for extra money. Neither of them ever drove a car, which would be unheard of in this day and age but they lived right down the street from schools, their church and a bakery. Sometimes I imagine what life was like for them and I picture it being simple, and happy. I studied the Great Depression in school but couldn't even see them being slightly affected by it.
Nonna had a very clear and profound sense of right and wrong. She was very religious and prayed every day, several times a day. She would light candles for people she knew who were sick, people who had died, and in addition to that, she would never hesitate to help a family member or a neighbor who was in need, whether it was cooking, running errands, whatever she could do to help. If she saw someone who was being taken advantage of she wouldn't hesitate to speak up on their behalf. She was an amazing, caring lady with a big heart.
I know that she would probably say I'm crazy for walking 60 miles, but in the end I know that she would support me no matter what I do. But, one thing I am positive about, if she were here, and I came to visit her after walking those 60 miles the first thing out of her mouth would be:
"Did you eat yet? You are too skinny!"
And I would hug her tight, and never let her go.
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