Tomorrow is the last day I will ever go to my grandmother’s house. C and I are heading over there after work to pick up the last few things still there and take one more final load of garbage to the curb. I’m feeling better about it than I did last week, but sometimes still, when I’m not thinking about it, the memories start creeping in and I start thinking about all the wonderful times we had there through my life and throughout my grandparents’ lives. I have boxes of photos from the 1940s to present day of huge parties in a house built for just that.
My dad grew up in that house – having moved there when he was a little boy. My grandfather was a contractor and bought the house from a prominent businessman and spent a significant amount of time renovating it. My grandmother can still tell you exactly how it looked and how small the rooms were before the renovation. The house itself is absolutely amazing. A grand foyer with a circular staircase, a living room so large it easily fit a 10 ft Christmas tree and comfortably could hold 75 for cocktails. A master suite I would do anything for with a dressing room with windows overlooking the lake at the bottom of the hill and a sunken tub in it’s private bathroom, even a maid’s room with private bath. It’s a house many have dreamed to live in, including me.
My mom got dressed for and had photos taken before her wedding at Nana’s back in the late 1960s. And was married at the church down the street (the same church where both my brother and I were baptized). My cousin Nancy who was just a little girl and a flower girl at my mom’s wedding was so taken with the experience that in 1991 she had her wedding at Nana’s. Both my brother and I had Christenings at the house that, in photos, would remind you of the wedding scene in “The Godfather.” We also had a beautiful cocktail party for Nana's 95th four years ago at the house. It was absolutely lovely with nearly 100 in attendance.
As a child and through my college years, we had family Christmas’ with easily 25 to 30 people at a time with my grandmother cooking the entire five course meal for all. It was all so good but took a number of years before I could sit through the entire meal. You see dinner always began with homemade ravioli as the first course and since ravioli was (and still is) my favorite, I’d eat too much of that and leave the table only to come back hours later for Nana’s homemade cheesecake – which this year I finally mastered myself. Thanksgivings and Easters were the same. While the menu would change slightly for every holiday, it always began with ravioli. And then there was what we laughingly referred to as “the annex” – the overflow table in the foyer just next to the dining room. The same folks ate there each holiday, but we always found ourselves by that table taking in the fun of a small group – oh the memories! I can still picture Marguerite, Auntie Maria and Auntie Helen having a grand old time. (Incidentally, Auntie Helen and her husband Uncle Jimmy survived the Coconut Grove Fire in Boston back in November, 1942) 492 people perished in that fire. Helen and Jimmy were the only couple at their table that night who survived. In fact, as Nana told the story, Helen was thought to be dead and was among the dead when she was found alive. It was a miracle.
Back to the holidays. All holidays – heck, all get togethers at Nana’s, always began with one key element. Champagne. And to this day that tradition continues. We’re the only family I know that can kill a case of champagne in less than two hours flat and everyone can still walk. I remember how special it was to me when I was finally allowed my first sip. C and I have what’s left of the last case of champagne that was at the house. I’m waiting for my next family get together to open a bottle. Or maybe I’ll open one tomorrow night in honor of the house changing hands.
As a child I would visit my grandmother often and spend a lot of the time also visiting with my Auntie Eva. Eva was my favorite of all the aunts, of everyone. She gave me my first perm (even though it blew out in the wind on the ride home), taught me to make a mean homemade apple pie and how to appreciate old movies. Eva lived right next door to Nana which made a trip to visit Nana even more fun.
While Eva taught me to bake, Nana made sure I knew how to make her sauce. She was always on me to learn how to cook – because “no man would marry an Italian girl who couldn’t cook,” she’d say. It took a lot of lessons, but eventually I caught on. Unfortunately I’m still only good at cooking anything Italian, nothing else. And while Nana wasn’t the baker in the family, she did pass down to me her Pizzelle and Biscotti recipes – even giving me my own Pizzelle maker – this fall I hope to start making those – hopefully as good as hers were.
Nana’s house had a sad side to it, too. My Uncle Michael died a few years ago. He had Down’s Syndrome and unfortunately his body gave out just before his 60th birthday. But the one thing he always asked for every day at the hospital was to go home. After his death he got just that. He was waked in front of the fireplace in Nana’s grand living room thanks to some help from the local funeral home. It was a wonderful way to honor his wishes and to bring him home one last time. We kept our word.
With summer here I can’t help but remember how much Nana LOVED to sit out in the sun in the yard. When I was a kid she’d be out there all day with Eva – toasting themselves and soaking their feet in a kiddie pool purchased just for that purpose. In her later years, I’d join her out there to sit and talk and drink her favorite summer aperitif – gin and tonic.
And there’s so much more but the more I type, the more I remember, the more I drift off into those memories and feel a sadness in my chest and the more you’ll all be forced to read.
