Years ago when Grandma Frances was alive and feeding her army on holidays, there lied a deep dark secret… some of my aunts smoked! Yes, this shameful habit had taken among the womenfolk! Mamma Mia!
Granted the men could smoke, they didn’t have to cross their legs or keep their knees together when they sat, or refrain from coarse language, but if you were a ‘lady’ you had to. Grandma Frances never smoked and the only thing she did smoke was her temper from the size of the flames emanating from her redhead.
When a holiday came along like Easter Sunday, the tribe gathered on Fulton Street in Grandma’s large and spacious kitchen, filling every nook and cranny with laughter, fine drink, and delicious food, all made from the heart and soul.
As the festive atmosphere prevailed one of my aunts would disappear for ten minutes at a time, and everyone knew what was going on. No, there were no secret lovers of men, just a few Camels or Chesterfields and maybe a Lucky Strike or two. Thank God there were no DiNapoli cigars in that mix, they liked to kiss me! These dedicated women of the clan were sneaking off in ones and two’s to have a smoke, which needed to be a secret kept from Grandma.
Grandma was old-fashioned, she expected her daughters to behave a certain way, like ladies, and this was interpreted by all the aunts as meaning, no vulgarity, no fighting, and no smoking, or so they thought. For years this perpetrated among themselves and after a while, it all fell
“A where’sa Mary?”
“Oh, she must be in the bathroom.” Was the usual response.
Getting suspicious, she goes to investigate and finds Aunt Mary in one of the back bedrooms, smoking like a Naval destroyer laying down a smoke screen!
“Eh! A why a you smoker in here?” it was reported Grandma said. “You thinker I care you, smoker? You wanna killer yourself, a go ahead, but no killer yourselfer inna my bed a room.”
And so, you might say all my aunts kind of came out of the smoking closet and joined the men. The DiNapoli cigars though were out of bounds!
apart… Grandma found out!
Granted the men could smoke, they didn’t have to cross their legs or keep their knees together when they sat, or refrain from coarse language, but if you were a ‘lady’ you had to. Grandma Frances never smoked and the only thing she did smoke was her temper from the size of the flames emanating from her redhead.
When a holiday came along like Easter Sunday, the tribe gathered on Fulton Street in Grandma’s large and spacious kitchen, filling every nook and cranny with laughter, fine drink, and delicious food, all made from the heart and soul.
As the festive atmosphere prevailed one of my aunts would disappear for ten minutes at a time, and everyone knew what was going on. No, there were no secret lovers of men, just a few Camels or Chesterfields and maybe a Lucky Strike or two. Thank God there were no DiNapoli cigars in that mix, they liked to kiss me! These dedicated women of the clan were sneaking off in ones and two’s to have a smoke, which needed to be a secret kept from Grandma.
Grandma was old-fashioned, she expected her daughters to behave a certain way, like ladies, and this was interpreted by all the aunts as meaning, no vulgarity, no fighting, and no smoking, or so they thought. For years this perpetrated among themselves and after a while, it all fell
“A where’sa Mary?”
“Oh, she must be in the bathroom.” Was the usual response.
Getting suspicious, she goes to investigate and finds Aunt Mary in one of the back bedrooms, smoking like a Naval destroyer laying down a smoke screen!
“Eh! A why a you smoker in here?” it was reported Grandma said. “You thinker I care you, smoker? You wanna killer yourself, a go ahead, but no killer yourselfer inna my bed a room.”
And so, you might say all my aunts kind of came out of the smoking closet and joined the men. The DiNapoli cigars though were out of bounds!
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