MANGIA SPEGHETTI

There is a lot of truth in the idea of comfort foods for individuals that live long enough to appreciate them.

We see a dish and it reminds us of our childhood, growing up with Mom and Dad, sitting at the table enjoying ourselves, but not realizing it until it no longer exists, and we are far removed from it.

For TLW (The Little Woman) it is turnips, for me it is my Moms Italian Sausage stuffing for turkey (which TLW makes just as well), and even now in my twilight years, my wife’s steak pizziola, which she hasn’t made in 500 years because of the fat content.

But you know it goes even further than foods, smells are part of the comfort zone that I have. Every time I smell fresh basil, I think of Sundays at my Grandmother’s house in Brooklyn, her cooking with fresh basil from her garden, the smell before she threw it into her cooking, the screen door opening and closing shut, her picking it and the screen once again opening and slamming shut, her flip flops flapping on the tiled floor, and the happy conversations in English and Italian, the pitch raised from a murmur to elation to sometimes indignation,

There are sounds that bring back the comfort of times past, when I am on the verge of falling off on a lazy Sunday morning in the summer, I hear a sound or word that I immediately go back to my past and remember. For me to remember is to pay tribute to those that gave me a culture, and past and filled my life with happiness.

Today, when the phone rings, and the magic words: “Daddy!” come over the line, I am immediately taken back to little league fields of dreams, playing catch with a football in the fall on a cold grey afternoon on a weekend, or just tossing a nerf ball in the living room while TLW waits for something to break.
Whenever I drive through the town of East Islip, I am carried back to the past, when my in-laws were alive, the sweet days before marrying TLW and the informality of it all.

You should really live each moment to the fullest, laugh when you can, dream often and remember, remember, remember.

I often get teased by my wife and kids that I can remember what I ate on some obscure date in the past, and although that may be true to some degree, they fail to realize that I remember because I enjoyed it. But I remember too the times I had, the people I met and the things I did that make life so grand.

When I am on my death bed, I will draw on the memories and get the comfort I need from them, and maybe I will smile the last few moments, knowing I lived a great life because of those I love, and the things I did.

joedelbroccolo