IF SHE LIVED SHE'D BE ALIVE TODAY!

Grandma &  JoeJoe

The Street Where She Lived

Grandma Frances had a birthday every January until she died in 1991 at the age of 97! If she had taken better care of herself, she would have lived longer! But no, she insisted on eating red meats, spicy cheeses, and hard salami, wine and often got emotional. At least she didn't smoke.


Until the day she died, she was a nutritionist's nightmare, a living testimony to bad habits.


As a young teenager, I went with Dad into Brooklyn one Saturday to have his taxes made out by a friend of the family. It was tax time, and he decided to visit "Grandma", as we called her after having his income scrutinized by this friend of the family. Arriving at Grandma's house on Fulton Street, we parked the car along the curb and almost under the shadow of the el, stepping over the grating for the IND line that ran under the street, the noise saying: ‘Grandma'. By then there was deterioration of the old neighborhood occurring, so in some ways, it was a sad visit.


Grandma was all excited to see us, in her floral apron and black dress (rehearsing for when she would become a widow) and immediately grabbed my two cheeks (surrounding my nose) and with her index and middle finger, squeezed until I dropped to my knees, where she then made us stay for dinner, even though she had eaten!


Racing down her long hallway that ran adjacent to the railroad flat rooms of the bottom floor, she threw a couple of steaks in a wire holder, dropping then over an open flame on a gas stove in her basement, or cellar as we called it. As cellars went, this one was well-stocked with supplies for a nuclear attack, wine, canned tomato sauce, a refrigerator, sink, pickled eggplant and peppers and of course, various holy pictures that adorned the crude concrete texture of the footprint of the building. The smell of the meat cooking was overpowering my ability to reason, let alone my ability to speak, as my saliva activated at an uncontrollable flow, spraying instead of saying! When she returned, she took out a crusty loaf of Italian bread, some hard salami, and a hard cheese with a gallon of wine, to try to control my salivation problems.


The time it takes to say salad, she had the homemade wine, bread, cheese, and salami along with the best salad ever made, from Grandpa's homemade wine vinegar. A tasty vinegar that always made a simple salad a treat!


Grandma knew how to live, and was very generous.


Often when Dad announced the coming of grandma for a visit, once we calmed Mom down, we anticipated her stately arrival. Something like Queen Victoria arriving at the royal palace, she came usually with an entourage of aunts who, like Grandma expected to eat. To further this expectation which was greater than Hemingway's, she brought along with her cheeses, salami, and a gallon each of wine and wine vinegar, Italian bread (The countryside didn't make Italian bread like Brooklyn) roasted peppers and sometimes canned string beans. With all she did bring, she would preside center table and dispense in Italian, words of wisdom as I sat in awe of her.


As she ate she would look at me and say:


"Joe-joe, you too skinny, mangia! Why you no eater a more?"


Meanwhile, Dad was trying to remember all the hiding places the food was because all I did was eat! I tried to convey this to grandma in a diplomatic way, but Dad was within arm and earshot. And so, when her visit was over, we all respectfully escorted her to the door, with endless kissing of aunts and ladies in waiting, cheeks getting another workout and grandma's: "Joe-joe, you too skinny, mangia! Why you no eater a more?"


I miss those days, the times spent with that generation were magical, someday I will tell you about Grandpa, a man for all seasons and jobs that Grandma assigned him.