Saved by Siena "2"

He had come to America in the late 1880’s with his school teacher wife Aminta, and their first two boys, in search of the good life, as so many did during the end of the eighteen- eighties. After many years living on Bleecker Street in Manhattan, working as a tailor, he took ill, and made a heartfelt decision to go back to Piacenza to die. Standing in front of his gravestone, I felt a deep sense of personal completion and at the same time felt sorry that I could not know him, or my grandfather or great-uncles for that matter, and would never be able to hear about all the exciting and cinematic experiences they had lived through in their lifetimes from their lips. My Uncle Jack who was an engineer who worked a lot in France and England, and he regularly traveled on the Queen Mary ship. He was married at one time to a screen actress , and always dressed like a real dapper Don. He supposedly had a ticket for the Titanic, and due to his late arrival that day, missed the ships departure. He was somewhat luckier than his brother Mario who after working as an artist in New York, and even painting parts of the celestial frescoes on the ceiling of Grand Central Terminal, went to Italy to fight in World War One and tragically died in an avalanche. My grandfather John, was a supervisor in the GE Prentiss factory in Connecticut, which made lots of mechanical parts used in the war, including parachute harness closures and such. He unfortunately died young of an aortic aneurism in the early sixties. He felt the attack come on, and drove himself to the hospital , but by the time he got there the damage was too great and he died that day. Times were hard for most back then, and my Nana had more than her share of tragedy as a young woman. Her mother died tragically of a missed diagnosis burst appendix when she was only thirty four. Her last words to my Nana were “take care of your brothers, and don’t let the baby cry”. My Nana Jean, was the oldest child, only twelve at the time, and had to learn hard knocks style how to cook, clean, and care for all her three younger brothers. The boys were at first taken to an orphanage, by her father who didn’t know how to care for the boys, as would’ve been a popular decision in the nineteen twenties. But upon an early visit to the orphanage, Nana’s father found one of the boys with two left shoes on his feet, and decided he couldn’t bear to leave them all there. The two year old baby Marie would be taken in and cared for by my Nana’s Aunt, but the boys and her father became her responsibility. Nana learned to sew and make money as a seamstress when she was just thirteen years old. A french seamstress taught her how to hand sew fine undergarments of silk and lace, for wealthy clients who would commission such items. Nana went on to have a long career in the garment district in New York as a pattern maker and dress maker for Patty O’Neill, amongst other companies. She worked hard, paying high rents in order to raise my father in a wealthy neighborhood in the Bronx, and didn’t retire from the business until she was seventy-two. She was still hemming our pants until a few years ago, when at 95, her arthritis stopped her from being able to work her magic with a needle and thread. Maybe because there was so much sadness in my family history, so many lives half- lived, I would eventually feel such a calling to go to Italy, to learn how to live well, and to fulfill the lost dreams of my ancestors by way of my own adventures. From Nana, I learned how to bread chicken cutlets, make manicotti crepes by hand, and learned to love good food and the art of hosting an Italian feast. I also learned the importance of good work ethic, and to appreciate opera. As kids, we spent plenty of weekends at Nana’s apartments in the Italian American Jersey towns of Lodi, and Hasbrouck Heights. We’d walk to the local Italian deli to get veal cutlets, hard salami, and provolone. At the time, veal cutlets and mashed potatoes were the staples of my sister Jocelyn’s diet, but by age twelve, she became a vegetarian and animal rights activist and it was bye-bye veal. Nana’s house was comforting in all the best ways. Our parents were going through a divorce and much of our life at the time was filled with the confusion, chaos and sadness that often accompany a split up. Nana always smelled like good perfume.