A Beautiful Life.

Grandma. Grannie. Nanny. Nana. Mama. Gram. G-Mom. Gi-Gi.

There are many variations of the word “Grandmother”, yet they all carry similar meanings.  We called our grandmother ‘Nonna’, which is the name that most Italian grandchildren use.

When I was little, Nonna used to watch me every Wednesday when Mom went to work.  I have very little recollection of her at this age, but I remember going for many walks.. and eating lots of pasta.  When I was a bit older, Nonna even let me help her make the pasta.  She would put an apron on, usually on top of a couple more layers of clothing. Then she’d pour the flour into a gigantic silver bowl, making sure to scoop out a well for the eggs and salt.  She was always covered in flour from head to toe; the more of it she had on her, the better the pasta was.  Once Nonna folded in the eggs and salt, she’d let me kneed the dough.  Obviously I wasn’t strong enough to do it exactly right, so she would take over when I got tired.  I was always impressed with the rhythm and power in her hands;  they were so strong.

She used her hands for many things. Caring, working, creating, baking, and cooking.  She loved to work, she loved to cook, and she loved to make clothes.  Mom told me stories about how she would make clothing for her children: dresses, shirts, pants, overalls.. she even turned her wedding dress into a confirmation dress for my mother and my aunt.  She barely had to take in the waist for those 7 year old girls, if you can believe it.  Ladies would come in and out of the house with clothing that they needed to have fixed or with material to have clothing made.  Nonna gladly fixed them up and sent them on their way, and I can only imagine that she offered them plenty to drink and eat.

Nonna was a social butterfly.  When we went to church it was about a 2-3 hour process.  She would show up before most others, and would greet the priest as we walked in.  I always felt that I was walking in with a celebrity, because he’d always take her hands and speak to her using her first name, Dora.  He seemed to know everything about her and what was going on in her life. On the way in, she’d chat with people; on the way out, she’d chat with people, sometimes long after most others had left.  She was definitely a valued member of the church, attending mass a few times a week and sometimes even a few times a day.  She knew all of the words, all of the prayers, and the exact order in which they were said.  God and religion were two of the most important parts of Nonna’s life.

I remember she loved soap operas.  I’d have to sit in another room during the afternoons, and I always knew what she was watching. Not exactly, of course, but I understood that it was “for grown-ups”.  I believe her favorite one was General Hospital.

She called flip-flops “Fleep Floops” and we always laughed when she told us to put our “Poopats” away; we thought she was calling our stuffed animals ‘puppets’.  My brother and I got a kick out of Nonna’s love for scratching Bingo tickets, and she knew it. She’d call her tickets “Binga-Bongas” because she knew that we’d crack up if she said it.  If she didn’t think we were eating enough she’d come over with spaghetti on a fork, cup her hand under the fork and place it close to our mouths saying “Mangia, mangia!”  Happy Italian children were chubby Italian children. If we had food on our face, she’d quickly lick a finger and rub the mess away; it worked every time.  She did that to my mom, aunt and uncle when they were kids too: Nonna would always lick her hand to keep mom’s bangs out of her eyes.

One of our funniest memories of Nonna was when she came to visit us at home in Port Howe.  We took her to Heather beach, where we discovered that she knew more people there than we did.  She just came out of the water when she reached inside her bra and pulled out a candy.  Without hesitating, she asked, “Would any of you like a candy?” We found this hysterical, and she didn’t quite understand why.  She ate the candy with a “humph” and we laughed even harder.  Nonna was herself; she did not care what people thought. I love that about her.

She’d always have everything we needed in her purse.  Food, medicine, kleenex, you name it.  And yes, I said food. Normally it was bread or a roll wrapped in a napkin.  She was ready for anything.

She rode one of our mountain bikes down the dirt road we used to live on.  Funny part is, she was wearing a long ankle-length black dress.  She knew how to do it, though.  I guess what they say is true: once you learn how to ride a bike, you never forget.

One evening we were all sitting at uncle Franch’s house (which happens to be the house Nonna and Nonno moved into when they came to Canada).  The adults got an idea: they wanted Nonna to scare us.  Franch messed up her hair and she took her teeth out.  When we were not paying attention, Nonna ran outside and around to the living room window where we were all sitting.  She tapped  on the window to get our attention and as soon as we turned our heads, she pushed her face to the window and blew on it as hard as she could.  We saw her toothless- gums and crazed expression and fell over each other in tears of laughter. I’ll never forget it as long as I live; my most favorite memory of Nonna.

Nonna was and always will be a beautiful person.  She’d gladly give you the clothes off her back if she knew you needed them.  She was a fighter.  She was a lover.  She was many things to many people.

She was my grandmother, and now she’s my angel.

This morning, around 6:20 AM, Nonna kicked that confining wheelchair out of her life and walked into a more beautiful place.

Rest peacefully, Nonna.

I love you always.