I'm in France at the moment where I just bought a vintage 1930's Singer Treadle sewing machine. It reminds me so much of Gramma's that I wondered if the Aunts ,or anyone else, (Vicki?) knew what year Gramma's machine was??
Also I remember a story about Gramma sewing over her finger- was this just a warning to scare me away from her machine??
Also who has experience with this treadle thingy- I need tips to make it run more smoothly.
Thanks for the help.
See you soon.
D xx
(If you have any info for DeDe just click on "comments" below this post and type your response in the empty box, thanks!).
7.04.2012
Favourite Sayings, By Anita Herz
Dear Family,
We've heard, repeated and lived by Mom's Italian sayings through the years. We also know there are thousands more of them out there in the world! I am interested to know if you have one-just one favourite saying that keeps creeping into your mind and perhaps steers you through life.
I personally love proverbs and would like to read yours and think of you in doing so. I could also incorporate it into my life. I often think of Papa's well known saying, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you".
In case you are interested my favourite is: "That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger"
What's yours???? To let us know--click on "comment" below and write out your favourite saying and why in the box.
Ciao,
Anita
We've heard, repeated and lived by Mom's Italian sayings through the years. We also know there are thousands more of them out there in the world! I am interested to know if you have one-just one favourite saying that keeps creeping into your mind and perhaps steers you through life.
I personally love proverbs and would like to read yours and think of you in doing so. I could also incorporate it into my life. I often think of Papa's well known saying, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you".
In case you are interested my favourite is: "That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger"
What's yours???? To let us know--click on "comment" below and write out your favourite saying and why in the box.
Ciao,
Anita
Story about Mom. By Laura Gosper.
It was Christmastime and Mom and Anita were coming out to California to
visit. Mom was flying from Rochester, changing planes in Chicago,
continuing on to Los Angeles and boarding the final leg to Santa Barbara
where I would meet them. Anita was flying from Boston and was
expecting to meet mom in Chicago. Their plan was to finish the flight
together. Two things changed their plans. A snowstorm hit Boston and
all flights were grounded. A strike was called by United Airlines - the
airline they both were using. Anita returned to her home with plans to
fly out the next day. Mom made it to Chicago where she found no flight
and no daughter. Her explanation of why she must get to California must
have been of academy award caliber as she was put on a first class
Continental flight to LA and met the small plane for the Santa Barbara
flight with time to spare. When she arrived she was so happy - she
loved flying. She had negotiated O'Hare without a hitch, was not upset
that Anita had not been there, and acted as though this was an everyday
occurrence for her. I asked what she had said to the gate agent at
O'Hare - she said that she was very old (she was in her early eighties)
and that her daughter was waiting for her in CA. Who could refuse to do
as she asked? Her luggage did not make it so the next morning we were
going to pick Anita up and also get her luggage. At the airport we had
coffee and then went to meet Anita as the plane came in. Santa Barbara
was a very small airport and when the passengers de-planed they had to
walk across the tarmac. We saw Anita - her first words to us were "I
could see the pilot!". Mom said she thought it was really
"interessante". I was never able to get my pilots' license - bad eyes - but had I been
able, I know Mom would have been my first passenger. She was an amazing
lady!
6.27.2012
Mama Story. By Anita Herz
It was 1979
and Mama was 79 years old. She came to Germany to visit because she wanted
to meet Markus. She had only seen pictures of him and he was about 6 months old
by now. She was to fly in and at that time Munich still had its old airport. The arrival
gate was small and one could see all the arrivals collecting their suitcases.
We were desperately trying to locate her in the crowd of sleepy passengers
claiming their belongings. We wanted to go in and help but were not allowed
into the area. You can imagine how worried I was, that she could not find, and or
carry her suitcase or cases as she planned to stay a while.
I'm
scanning the masses of people. I'm frantic and don't see her anywhere then I
hear from behind me a familiar voice, "Anita, Hans, hello, here I am!".
I turn around and there I see this wide awake, and chipper lovely lady who had
been traveling all night and she's carrying just a purse and walking at that
fast pace we all remember so well. She came out of the area for people with
just "carry-ons"!!!! I asked how she managed to get by customs and
use that exit and she said very matter of factly," I just told them I
could not carry my suitcase, it's too heavy. They let me go through that door
and I didn't have to wait"!! Her suitcase was brought to the door and away
we went! We so enjoyed her visit with us and hope she did as well!
1.31.2012
In the Summer of ‘74 By Diana Vecchi
One summer while visiting Canandaigua I asked Grandma to show me how to make pasta. I had eaten and loved the great meals my family made but DNA notwithstanding I soon realized there was more to it than the cookbook provided. So taking time for something I missed as a teen was important.
In typical Grandma fashion she agreed to help me on this quest. She said, “I teach is good – you do, is better.” So armed with instructions and a list (potatoes, flour, eggs, cheese, butter, oil) I shopped and returned to Grandma’s kitchen prepared to make gnocchi.
She made the best – working all day in a kitchen – and we ate them so quickly. Now, I would begin to learn what I had missed. The way she studied the potatoes (“ones that cry a little are best for pasta”) she whispered.
She gathered the ingredients and pronounced them, “Not bad (humph!)” and gave me an apron.
We measured flour in mounds with our hands.
We pinched salt.
We made a little hole for the egg.
We boiled and riced hot potatoes.
We went to the garden and picked ripe tomatoes.
We laughed and told stories.
We ate “a little something.”
We had “una bicchiere di vino” (juste, juste).
We made a mess in the kitchen.
While I finished skimming the last few batches of gnocchi from the pot and melted butter, oil and cheese, Grandma started cleaning dishes. “Leave those Grandma, I’ll do them after,” I said. “You’ve done enough dishes in your life you must be sick of that chore.”
She turned off the water and came to the table. She wistfully looked out the window at her beautiful garden then back to me as she sat. Now I can’t remember Grandma sitting in her kitchen very often, she was motion machine. So I prepared to listen.
“One year when I was young, like you Diana, I was busy – and my back ache. I was cooking dinner and my back ache. I just had the 2 bambinos Renato and Rita and they needed me. Rita was crying and my back ache. I put the dishes in the sink and I said a prayer to God – Please God, I got so much to do – husband, babies, dishes – if you take away this back ache, I’ll never complain about washing dishes again as long as I live.”
“I tell you the truth -- I finish the dishes, my back no hurt. I feed the baby, my back no hurt. The next morning I get up, my back no hurt! I say ‘Thank you God!’ and I never complain about the dishes.” She smiled, we laughed. She took off her glasses, wiped a tear and put her glasses back on.
We enjoyed a wonderful meal.
I cleared the table and as I put the dishes in the sink I said, “I’ll take your promise as a prayer and a promise to God and Grandma. If I never have a backache I’ll never complain about doing dishes.”
Weeks later I was in a hospital bed, broken neck in traction, but “miracoloso” no back ache resulted. Thank-you God and thank you Grandma and I never complain of having to do the dishes.
In typical Grandma fashion she agreed to help me on this quest. She said, “I teach is good – you do, is better.” So armed with instructions and a list (potatoes, flour, eggs, cheese, butter, oil) I shopped and returned to Grandma’s kitchen prepared to make gnocchi.
She made the best – working all day in a kitchen – and we ate them so quickly. Now, I would begin to learn what I had missed. The way she studied the potatoes (“ones that cry a little are best for pasta”) she whispered.
She gathered the ingredients and pronounced them, “Not bad (humph!)” and gave me an apron.
We measured flour in mounds with our hands.
We pinched salt.
We made a little hole for the egg.
We boiled and riced hot potatoes.
We went to the garden and picked ripe tomatoes.
We laughed and told stories.
We ate “a little something.”
We had “una bicchiere di vino” (juste, juste).
We made a mess in the kitchen.
While I finished skimming the last few batches of gnocchi from the pot and melted butter, oil and cheese, Grandma started cleaning dishes. “Leave those Grandma, I’ll do them after,” I said. “You’ve done enough dishes in your life you must be sick of that chore.”
She turned off the water and came to the table. She wistfully looked out the window at her beautiful garden then back to me as she sat. Now I can’t remember Grandma sitting in her kitchen very often, she was motion machine. So I prepared to listen.
“One year when I was young, like you Diana, I was busy – and my back ache. I was cooking dinner and my back ache. I just had the 2 bambinos Renato and Rita and they needed me. Rita was crying and my back ache. I put the dishes in the sink and I said a prayer to God – Please God, I got so much to do – husband, babies, dishes – if you take away this back ache, I’ll never complain about washing dishes again as long as I live.”
“I tell you the truth -- I finish the dishes, my back no hurt. I feed the baby, my back no hurt. The next morning I get up, my back no hurt! I say ‘Thank you God!’ and I never complain about the dishes.” She smiled, we laughed. She took off her glasses, wiped a tear and put her glasses back on.
We enjoyed a wonderful meal.
I cleared the table and as I put the dishes in the sink I said, “I’ll take your promise as a prayer and a promise to God and Grandma. If I never have a backache I’ll never complain about doing dishes.”
Weeks later I was in a hospital bed, broken neck in traction, but “miracoloso” no back ache resulted. Thank-you God and thank you Grandma and I never complain of having to do the dishes.
Reflections about my dear mother: Mama Venanzia Vecchi By Renna (Renato Vecchi)
Written: 28 July 2000
When I was around ten and coming home from serving Sunday Mass as an altar boy and entered the back door into the dining room, there would be large round sheets of home-made pasta drying on three to four backs of dining room chairs. That would be our Sunday meal, home-made pasta with meat balls and braciale. Mama’s cooking was the best.
Then before Sunday dinner, Ma would give me 50 cents to $1 and ask me to go down to Johnson Ice Cream on South Main St. for a quart of vanilla ice-cream. What a treat!
We all enjoyed the many good pasta treats, such as raviolis (filled with spinach and ground meat; made 101), gnocchi, never had any as good! The day after having risotto, Mom made rice balls and fried them, I could have eaten many. Mama fish specialty was baked angulle (eel). I miss all the above and many more great dishes.
Growing up in the late 20’s and 30’s we had chicken quite often and always it would be live chickens that Mom wrung their necks and then cleaned. One day I was sent down to Mill St. to buy two chickens. When I got home I told Mom that I would help and wring their necks, so I did the first chicken and after wringing its neck I dropped it on the ground and the chicken got up and ran around the lawn and I had to call Ma to come and help catch that darn chicken. That was the end of my killing chickens!
When Mother moved to Wilcox Lane Sr. Apts. I was a County Supervisor and Mom was my campaign person for the 114 residents of Wilcox Lane. (Never lost 12 elections.) They all loved Mom and she was known to all as Mrs. V. Even at Mom’s later age, while at Wilcox Ln. – Mother would walk down Main St. and pass everyone on the street! In her 90’s she still walked to the Post office, St. Mary’s church (also getting hit by a car, more than once) and down-town to Valvano’s News store and I would be called to go pick up Mother and take her back to Wilcox. What a great loving mother!
When I was around ten and coming home from serving Sunday Mass as an altar boy and entered the back door into the dining room, there would be large round sheets of home-made pasta drying on three to four backs of dining room chairs. That would be our Sunday meal, home-made pasta with meat balls and braciale. Mama’s cooking was the best.
Then before Sunday dinner, Ma would give me 50 cents to $1 and ask me to go down to Johnson Ice Cream on South Main St. for a quart of vanilla ice-cream. What a treat!
We all enjoyed the many good pasta treats, such as raviolis (filled with spinach and ground meat; made 101), gnocchi, never had any as good! The day after having risotto, Mom made rice balls and fried them, I could have eaten many. Mama fish specialty was baked angulle (eel). I miss all the above and many more great dishes.
Growing up in the late 20’s and 30’s we had chicken quite often and always it would be live chickens that Mom wrung their necks and then cleaned. One day I was sent down to Mill St. to buy two chickens. When I got home I told Mom that I would help and wring their necks, so I did the first chicken and after wringing its neck I dropped it on the ground and the chicken got up and ran around the lawn and I had to call Ma to come and help catch that darn chicken. That was the end of my killing chickens!
When Mother moved to Wilcox Lane Sr. Apts. I was a County Supervisor and Mom was my campaign person for the 114 residents of Wilcox Lane. (Never lost 12 elections.) They all loved Mom and she was known to all as Mrs. V. Even at Mom’s later age, while at Wilcox Ln. – Mother would walk down Main St. and pass everyone on the street! In her 90’s she still walked to the Post office, St. Mary’s church (also getting hit by a car, more than once) and down-town to Valvano’s News store and I would be called to go pick up Mother and take her back to Wilcox. What a great loving mother!
By Eva Vecchi Aldrich
Submitted August 2010
My Mom was a beautiful woman, inside and out. She was a clear eyed observer with a quick wit and a ready response. Not only was she a good hard worker she was fast; impressively fast. I was always proud of her disciplined vanity. She always looked good and dressed in style. Daily around the house she wore her no longer Sunday best clothes, good shoes and stocking. No house dresses and slipper for her, and the apron came off when she answered the door.
The aunts would visit often usually while Mom was preparing dinner. They were too proud to ask for recipes or instructions, so they’d come and watch and learn.
Mom told wonderful stories. We’d ask again and again for “The Wooden Lady” and “Vecchamatta” which she always told us in Italian. I loved the real life stories she told later about all the health and baby care information she’d learned in classes in Rome before and after Renato was born. It put our public health offerings to shame.
The story about how she pestered her father to buy her a hat before she started school. Her mother explained that only the rich girls wore hats; everyone else wore head scarves. But Mama won and proudly wore her hat every day.
The story about being 6 years old and playing mud pies with a girl friend in front of the house. Townspeople kept rushing by excitedly talking about that crazy Vecchi boy. The girls followed everyone to the edge of town. He was going to ride his horse over the foot bridge between the mountains. The people were making bets and then she looked up and there was this handsome boy of 16 on a big black horse wearing a jaunty wide brimmed hat with one side buttoned to the band. He looked like a movie star. He gave the horse his heels and went flying across the bridge. “That was the first time I saw your father, “ she said.
The story about not dating all those too young boys who came after her in spite of her insulting put-down, “Your breath still smells of mothers’ milk.” She found her “older man” in Secondo. He was 35 when he went back to Italy to bring her and their 2 year old son Renato to Canandaigua, NY. They sailed on the S.S. America in September of 1921. My proud 22 year old mother had a second class ticket – not steerage and did not go to Ellis Island.
The house in Canandaigua was however a disappointment full of unmarried brothers and relatives, dirt and bed bugs. Mom always acted as if bugs were bombs to be defused. She was young and energetic and the house shined up – fast.
Mom was loving but tough. By her rules cats and dogs slept outside or down cellar. They and their fleas were never allowed upstairs in the bedrooms.
Too much bellyaching earned us a story about someone who embarrassed herself by behaving “like a baby.” It was clear we were way beyond babyhood. She never gave orders or yelled she appealed to our better selves. But she was also good at guilting us with stories of like situations being handled right by someone else. The she loved animals she’d feed wild mushrooms she’d gathered to the cats before feeding them to us. She would faithfully feed, water and talk to the chickens she raised yet wring their necks without a qualm at slaughter time.
I have so very many memories of Mom.
I hated my eyeglasses from kindergarten on. Every night after supper I’d hide them. Mom would hand them to me daily at the door as I left for school. We did this for a couple years before I gave up.
She gave me a valuable business lesson. I was unhappily working in the Phoenix Street store taking care of a customer. Mom passed by, then came back, came in and waited for my customer to leave. “Eva,” she said, “it’s a wonder she bought anything. You looked like you wanted to kill her. Smile, be sweet, they’ll buy more, you’ll have more.”
Mom often ironed late into the evening. The dining room table would be covered with neat piles which we and Mom would take upstairs at bedtime. One Saturday morning I went downstairs and found the dining room table completely covered with my washed, starched and ironed doll clothes, dresses, petticoats, bonnets everything. It was such a thrill – better than Christmas morning to me. I loved playing with dolls and so appreciated the unexpected and she did it more than once.
Mom’s way to instruct, discipline or chastise was to tell a story or to quote a proverb or epigram. She seemed to have 100’s and used them often and fittingly. They were always rendered in Italian – this gave them greater weight and they rhymed. I’ll translate:
If you complained about high heels or girdles being uncomfortable:
“If you want to look beautiful you have to endure the pain.”
If you told a lie:
“Lies have short legs.
If you couldn’t go to the movies because you didn’t bag the bread at the bakery:
“Laziness is the father of all vices.”
If you fought with your sister:
“Between brothers knives.” Same for sisters.
If you refused a sister’s help:
“In union there is strength.”
If you left for school a little late:
“Lengthen your stride.”
If you dawdled doing dishes:
“Do it. Don’t make love to them.”
And her most frequent:
“Sprigite” or “hurry up.”
If you wanted to get to church or movies early, she’d say, “I don’t want (or have) to dress the priest.”
My all time favorite quote follows. If Mom was on her knees cleaning the broiler complaining about engineers who half invent things, she’d say:
“The necessary man is not yet born.”
Mom loved radio and listened faithfully to the Arthur Godfrey show. He was the Oprah of her day always offering information Mom was eager to have.
She often said if I was born in this country I’d be a reporter or a news woman on radio. She followed politics from the whistle stops and rallies Papa took her to. To the kiss she got from Rockefeller to the campaigning she did for her Renato.
And when she was a widow and old she was still good at put-downs stating: “You don’t need a wife. You have a nice house and enough money; hire a housekeeper.”
I’d like to close with the lyrics of the song Mom sang lustily as a young woman and wistfully, as an old one:
Baccia me, baccia me con amore
Stringia me, striniame con ardore
Non lascia me, la mia vida e com’ un fiore.
Piorise presto e presto muore.
My Mom was a beautiful woman, inside and out. She was a clear eyed observer with a quick wit and a ready response. Not only was she a good hard worker she was fast; impressively fast. I was always proud of her disciplined vanity. She always looked good and dressed in style. Daily around the house she wore her no longer Sunday best clothes, good shoes and stocking. No house dresses and slipper for her, and the apron came off when she answered the door.
The aunts would visit often usually while Mom was preparing dinner. They were too proud to ask for recipes or instructions, so they’d come and watch and learn.
Mom told wonderful stories. We’d ask again and again for “The Wooden Lady” and “Vecchamatta” which she always told us in Italian. I loved the real life stories she told later about all the health and baby care information she’d learned in classes in Rome before and after Renato was born. It put our public health offerings to shame.
The story about how she pestered her father to buy her a hat before she started school. Her mother explained that only the rich girls wore hats; everyone else wore head scarves. But Mama won and proudly wore her hat every day.
The story about being 6 years old and playing mud pies with a girl friend in front of the house. Townspeople kept rushing by excitedly talking about that crazy Vecchi boy. The girls followed everyone to the edge of town. He was going to ride his horse over the foot bridge between the mountains. The people were making bets and then she looked up and there was this handsome boy of 16 on a big black horse wearing a jaunty wide brimmed hat with one side buttoned to the band. He looked like a movie star. He gave the horse his heels and went flying across the bridge. “That was the first time I saw your father, “ she said.
The story about not dating all those too young boys who came after her in spite of her insulting put-down, “Your breath still smells of mothers’ milk.” She found her “older man” in Secondo. He was 35 when he went back to Italy to bring her and their 2 year old son Renato to Canandaigua, NY. They sailed on the S.S. America in September of 1921. My proud 22 year old mother had a second class ticket – not steerage and did not go to Ellis Island.
The house in Canandaigua was however a disappointment full of unmarried brothers and relatives, dirt and bed bugs. Mom always acted as if bugs were bombs to be defused. She was young and energetic and the house shined up – fast.
Mom was loving but tough. By her rules cats and dogs slept outside or down cellar. They and their fleas were never allowed upstairs in the bedrooms.
Too much bellyaching earned us a story about someone who embarrassed herself by behaving “like a baby.” It was clear we were way beyond babyhood. She never gave orders or yelled she appealed to our better selves. But she was also good at guilting us with stories of like situations being handled right by someone else. The she loved animals she’d feed wild mushrooms she’d gathered to the cats before feeding them to us. She would faithfully feed, water and talk to the chickens she raised yet wring their necks without a qualm at slaughter time.
I have so very many memories of Mom.
I hated my eyeglasses from kindergarten on. Every night after supper I’d hide them. Mom would hand them to me daily at the door as I left for school. We did this for a couple years before I gave up.
She gave me a valuable business lesson. I was unhappily working in the Phoenix Street store taking care of a customer. Mom passed by, then came back, came in and waited for my customer to leave. “Eva,” she said, “it’s a wonder she bought anything. You looked like you wanted to kill her. Smile, be sweet, they’ll buy more, you’ll have more.”
Mom often ironed late into the evening. The dining room table would be covered with neat piles which we and Mom would take upstairs at bedtime. One Saturday morning I went downstairs and found the dining room table completely covered with my washed, starched and ironed doll clothes, dresses, petticoats, bonnets everything. It was such a thrill – better than Christmas morning to me. I loved playing with dolls and so appreciated the unexpected and she did it more than once.
Mom’s way to instruct, discipline or chastise was to tell a story or to quote a proverb or epigram. She seemed to have 100’s and used them often and fittingly. They were always rendered in Italian – this gave them greater weight and they rhymed. I’ll translate:
If you complained about high heels or girdles being uncomfortable:
“If you want to look beautiful you have to endure the pain.”
If you told a lie:
“Lies have short legs.
If you couldn’t go to the movies because you didn’t bag the bread at the bakery:
“Laziness is the father of all vices.”
If you fought with your sister:
“Between brothers knives.” Same for sisters.
If you refused a sister’s help:
“In union there is strength.”
If you left for school a little late:
“Lengthen your stride.”
If you dawdled doing dishes:
“Do it. Don’t make love to them.”
And her most frequent:
“Sprigite” or “hurry up.”
If you wanted to get to church or movies early, she’d say, “I don’t want (or have) to dress the priest.”
My all time favorite quote follows. If Mom was on her knees cleaning the broiler complaining about engineers who half invent things, she’d say:
“The necessary man is not yet born.”
Mom loved radio and listened faithfully to the Arthur Godfrey show. He was the Oprah of her day always offering information Mom was eager to have.
She often said if I was born in this country I’d be a reporter or a news woman on radio. She followed politics from the whistle stops and rallies Papa took her to. To the kiss she got from Rockefeller to the campaigning she did for her Renato.
And when she was a widow and old she was still good at put-downs stating: “You don’t need a wife. You have a nice house and enough money; hire a housekeeper.”
I’d like to close with the lyrics of the song Mom sang lustily as a young woman and wistfully, as an old one:
Baccia me, baccia me con amore
Stringia me, striniame con ardore
Non lascia me, la mia vida e com’ un fiore.
Piorise presto e presto muore.
Grandma’s Gifts By Pamela Vecchi Hoose
July 2010
That applesauce cookies made life good,
Was something Grandma understood.
The comfort of her homemade treat
Was happiness to sit and eat.
Her hugs and smiles were ready proof
That love lived there, beneath her roof.
The many words I chose to share
Were listened to with patient care.
Gram’s wisdom is, still, often used,
Although, we thought it, once, confused.
Yet, as we age, her little verse,
“It was better when it was worse,”
Makes perfect sense, as she well knew.
Yes, now, we understand it too!
Approval was her stock and trade.
She never let me feel I made
Mistakes, although, I’m sure I did.
Who doesn’t when one’s just a “kid”?
But, I was never “just” to Gram –
“Pamelayta,” seldom “Pam.”
I always knew, right from the start,
I owned a piece of my Gram’s heart.
Yet, this I know, with certainty,
Her heart was shared with more than me.
Yes, Grandma’s heart is here today.
That part of her will always stay
Wherever “Vecchi’s” meet, convene,
Dear Grandma is part of our scene.
So, look around, for Gram is here.
She’s never far. She’s always near
To those she loved, housed in her heart,
Where all of us each had our start.
So, no, there were no shiny bows.
Her gifts did not require those.
Each gift she gave, she gave for life.
In times of joy, or, times of strife,
That which she gave is part of me.
No better gifts can ever be.
That applesauce cookies made life good,
Was something Grandma understood.
The comfort of her homemade treat
Was happiness to sit and eat.
Her hugs and smiles were ready proof
That love lived there, beneath her roof.
The many words I chose to share
Were listened to with patient care.
Gram’s wisdom is, still, often used,
Although, we thought it, once, confused.
Yet, as we age, her little verse,
“It was better when it was worse,”
Makes perfect sense, as she well knew.
Yes, now, we understand it too!
Approval was her stock and trade.
She never let me feel I made
Mistakes, although, I’m sure I did.
Who doesn’t when one’s just a “kid”?
But, I was never “just” to Gram –
“Pamelayta,” seldom “Pam.”
I always knew, right from the start,
I owned a piece of my Gram’s heart.
Yet, this I know, with certainty,
Her heart was shared with more than me.
Yes, Grandma’s heart is here today.
That part of her will always stay
Wherever “Vecchi’s” meet, convene,
Dear Grandma is part of our scene.
So, look around, for Gram is here.
She’s never far. She’s always near
To those she loved, housed in her heart,
Where all of us each had our start.
So, no, there were no shiny bows.
Her gifts did not require those.
Each gift she gave, she gave for life.
In times of joy, or, times of strife,
That which she gave is part of me.
No better gifts can ever be.
I Remember Mama, by Rita Vecchi Palumbo
Submitted August 2010
I remember Mama as a young, beautiful, loving, ever busy lady. The first thing on entering the kitchen she would always put on a clean, pressed apron For our breakfast she would squeeze oranges and strain the juice, so it would be pulp free, cook oatmeal and put it through a sieve so it would be smooth and prepare cocoa on cold mornings. She spend many hours preparing meals – everything was from scratch. The chickens had to be killed and cleaned, home made pasta every Sunday, wonderful soups, cakes and pies. Mom was an excellent cook and a neat housekeeper.
Often you’d hear her singing especially when she was doing laundry in the basement – she loved opera, of course Italian opera was her favorite, she knew several arias and sang with a lovely voice.
The sewing machine was in constant use – making aprons for the bakers and store clerks, dresses for the girls as well as herself.
Mom always had the radio on in the kitchen, she enjoyed the “soaps” one especially “Our Gal Sunday.” Of course the news both local and national were important to her. She was very interested in the political campaigns.
Gardening was also one of her specialties, she had a “green thumb.” We had many fresh vegetables and lovely flowers during the summer, plus plants in the house, African violets her favorite.
Many hot summer days we would head for the lake. Elda and Eva in the stroller we walk to the lake. In order to better keep track of the little ones in the water she brought a bathing suit. At first she felt a little silly about wearing it but later rather liked it.
One thing Mom hated were bugs, anything that crawled or flew. If a fly dared come in the house she would chase it around until she killed it and heaven forbid an ant should get in – it didn’t survive very long.
I remember how Papa enjoyed pulling pranks. April Fools day he would always fool Mom and she couldn’t fool him. One year he had plastered the cellar stairway a few days before April 1st. Papa came home for the noon meal and as we all sat down Mom remembered she needed something in the basement. As she opened the basement door she let out a cry and said, “Louie the plaster has all come down.” He jumped up and went to the door and as he looked, Mom calmly said, “April Fool.” Well Papa wasn’t too happy, Mom enjoyed it for years.
Mom didn’t have a very large wardrobe however she was always stylish and looked great. She was well groomed, her hair never out of place regardless of what she was doing.
I was fortunate to have her for so many years. Even in her nineties she still had a lovely smooth complexion, beautiful hair and a great smile, walking very straight with a quick step.
She is always in my thoughts – and missed.
I remember Mama as a young, beautiful, loving, ever busy lady. The first thing on entering the kitchen she would always put on a clean, pressed apron For our breakfast she would squeeze oranges and strain the juice, so it would be pulp free, cook oatmeal and put it through a sieve so it would be smooth and prepare cocoa on cold mornings. She spend many hours preparing meals – everything was from scratch. The chickens had to be killed and cleaned, home made pasta every Sunday, wonderful soups, cakes and pies. Mom was an excellent cook and a neat housekeeper.
Often you’d hear her singing especially when she was doing laundry in the basement – she loved opera, of course Italian opera was her favorite, she knew several arias and sang with a lovely voice.
The sewing machine was in constant use – making aprons for the bakers and store clerks, dresses for the girls as well as herself.
Mom always had the radio on in the kitchen, she enjoyed the “soaps” one especially “Our Gal Sunday.” Of course the news both local and national were important to her. She was very interested in the political campaigns.
Gardening was also one of her specialties, she had a “green thumb.” We had many fresh vegetables and lovely flowers during the summer, plus plants in the house, African violets her favorite.
Many hot summer days we would head for the lake. Elda and Eva in the stroller we walk to the lake. In order to better keep track of the little ones in the water she brought a bathing suit. At first she felt a little silly about wearing it but later rather liked it.
One thing Mom hated were bugs, anything that crawled or flew. If a fly dared come in the house she would chase it around until she killed it and heaven forbid an ant should get in – it didn’t survive very long.
I remember how Papa enjoyed pulling pranks. April Fools day he would always fool Mom and she couldn’t fool him. One year he had plastered the cellar stairway a few days before April 1st. Papa came home for the noon meal and as we all sat down Mom remembered she needed something in the basement. As she opened the basement door she let out a cry and said, “Louie the plaster has all come down.” He jumped up and went to the door and as he looked, Mom calmly said, “April Fool.” Well Papa wasn’t too happy, Mom enjoyed it for years.
Mom didn’t have a very large wardrobe however she was always stylish and looked great. She was well groomed, her hair never out of place regardless of what she was doing.
I was fortunate to have her for so many years. Even in her nineties she still had a lovely smooth complexion, beautiful hair and a great smile, walking very straight with a quick step.
She is always in my thoughts – and missed.
Remembrance of Gramma: The Art of Eating Artichokes, 1962 By Rena (Vecchi) Lane
submitted August 2010
One of the best things about going to St. Mary’s was being able to walk to Gramma’s house for lunch. Lindy and I would walk down Main Street, dressed in our uniforms of pleated blue plaid skirts and waistcoats, and arrive at Gramma’s and Papa’s just in time for whatever special treat she’d planned.
Frequently, there was soup – a tasty chicken soup with shells or alphabets or a lovely “butter” soup with tiny macaroni that was my particular favorite. There was always wonderful bread, toasted in garlic and olive oil, and yummy desserts like applesauce cookies or brownies with powdered sugar.
One special day, there were artichokes. I still vividly recall sitting at the kitchen table and having these unusual things set before us. Gramma had snipped off the pointy tips and cut out the choke, replacing it with a savory mixture of bread crumbs, seasoning and lemon. It looked like a flower and smelled delicious, but I had no idea how to eat it.
Then Gramma demonstrated by pulling off a leaf and scraping the fleshy part against her lower teeth. Her gold tooth gleamed as she proceeded leaf by leaf. I tried it, loved the flavor and the whole procedure and have enjoyed thoroughly the art of artichokes ever since.
And whenever I enjoy this pleasure, I think warmly of Gramma. It is just one of the many warm happy moments with her that has stayed with me and always brings a smile.
One of the best things about going to St. Mary’s was being able to walk to Gramma’s house for lunch. Lindy and I would walk down Main Street, dressed in our uniforms of pleated blue plaid skirts and waistcoats, and arrive at Gramma’s and Papa’s just in time for whatever special treat she’d planned.
Frequently, there was soup – a tasty chicken soup with shells or alphabets or a lovely “butter” soup with tiny macaroni that was my particular favorite. There was always wonderful bread, toasted in garlic and olive oil, and yummy desserts like applesauce cookies or brownies with powdered sugar.
One special day, there were artichokes. I still vividly recall sitting at the kitchen table and having these unusual things set before us. Gramma had snipped off the pointy tips and cut out the choke, replacing it with a savory mixture of bread crumbs, seasoning and lemon. It looked like a flower and smelled delicious, but I had no idea how to eat it.
Then Gramma demonstrated by pulling off a leaf and scraping the fleshy part against her lower teeth. Her gold tooth gleamed as she proceeded leaf by leaf. I tried it, loved the flavor and the whole procedure and have enjoyed thoroughly the art of artichokes ever since.
And whenever I enjoy this pleasure, I think warmly of Gramma. It is just one of the many warm happy moments with her that has stayed with me and always brings a smile.
Grandma, by Gabe Aldrich
At the reunion at one of the cottages, Gramdma noticed a small group of ducks going by the dock. She excitedly brought me down to see. “Look, look – the ducks – so pretty, so beautiful, nice," she said. Then she turned to me with a big smile and said, “So good to eat!”
I was sitting at the table at Brig’s wedding with Grandma. She was older and although she was having a fun time, she wasn’t quite sure who was who. Brig and Mom were on the dance floor for the “mother of the groom” dance. Grandma nudged me hard and stage whispered, “Oh – he marry an old-a woman!” as she shook her head.
During the Carter administration: “Jimmy Carter – stoopidoni!” – and then she would give a big Jimmy Carter smile.
On things you cannot change: First she’d rant on them a bit – then shrug and go, “What can you do?” I use this one myself now.
I was sitting at the table at Brig’s wedding with Grandma. She was older and although she was having a fun time, she wasn’t quite sure who was who. Brig and Mom were on the dance floor for the “mother of the groom” dance. Grandma nudged me hard and stage whispered, “Oh – he marry an old-a woman!” as she shook her head.
During the Carter administration: “Jimmy Carter – stoopidoni!” – and then she would give a big Jimmy Carter smile.
On things you cannot change: First she’d rant on them a bit – then shrug and go, “What can you do?” I use this one myself now.
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