My brothers and I would get new suits my mother Gloria would purchase "on time" at the Mays' Department Store on Fulton Street. Abraham & Strauss was far beyond her reach. On the corner of Third Avenue and Carroll Street, hundreds of lilies and and beribboned potted plants would magically appear for sale, for our moms and equally important, our grandparents in Holy Cross cemetery. We'd visit them after church in my dad's 1956 green on green Coupe de Ville, as if they were still part of the family.
The same bookies and loan sharks--Jerry Lang, the Goose, Michael Romanelli--who would bleed the neighborhood during the week, now sold us bright flowers on Easter.
My father, the bull-necked longshoreman, would hand each of his four sons chocolate bunnies and Easter eggs, then retreat to our tiny kitchen with my mom to prepare the afternoon feast. They'd create magnificent seven-course meals with one decent knife and a few pots and pan. Strangely enough, my father was the more delicate cook, lavishing endless time stuffing a mushroom, an artichoke, on sprinkling just the right amount of oregano on a baked clam. His antipasto was a work of art, so good, most people forgot there were six more courses ahead..
My brother Thomas, the animal lover, would invariably show up with a duckling or rabbit. He set up food and water and straw bedding for his pets. In a day or two, the "water rats" that surged from the canal would slaughter the hapless creatures, often without a trace.
Relatives would show up all morning carrying string-tied boxes of pastries from Cioffi's on Union near Columbia Street. The lines would be out the door. Smart folks would go while mass was in session to beat most of the crowds. A canolli cost 20 cents. Cioffi's was rumored to be the place that Sinatra ordered his pastry when he was in NYC...I thought that was pretty cool. Now I suspect Arthur Avenue, Little Italy and Bensonhurst all boasted Sinatra's favorite pastry store.
After dinner, I'd watch traffic on Third Avenue, making for Atlantic Avenue and the Brooklyn Bridge. Manhattan might have been another world....
Sunday, April 4, 2010
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i love reading your writings. your words not only re-create the experiences, but even the smells of the cooking seem to surround me. thank you.
ReplyDeleteann marie
Funny you mention the cemetary. my mom and i still do the rounds. we do holy cross and greenwood on one day; now we added resurrection in staten island, on a separate day, to see my dad, et al. it was a beautifu day this year on saturday, 3 weeks ago, when mom and i did holy cross and greenwood. in holy cross, we see aunt anna & uncle charlie and then go to the falcone plot. it always makes me sad. i watch my mom, with her failing eyes, look @ the headstones, saying her prayers and tears come to my eyes. i wonder what she is thinking and feeling. she doesn't show anything. maybe that is what happens when you are forced to face a pain like losing your mom at 15 yrs old. you learn how to deal with life's downside from early on.
ReplyDeletewe took caton avenue to greenwood. entered through the ft hamilton entrance. went to see thomas, your mom and dad, first. it amazes me that my 83 yr old mom, with her compromised vision, can guide me up and down the hills to each plot. her memory is amazing. we arrived at your families' plot (even had my std poodle, jessie, with us). i carefully hold onto my mom as she made her way down that little ditch, through the old headstones, over to see her brother, sil, nephew. she kept her hand on my shoulder for support as i knelt down and cleaned it up a bit, as we always do. we talked a bit about unreal it still seems, we say our prayers, we place our stones to show others that this grave had visitors, we look to see the stone directly behind which is for a young mom lost on 9/11. the family takes good care of the mom's resting place, decorating it for the season. i thought to myself, how sad for uncle joey, aunt gloria, & thomas that they don't have more visitors. my mom touches the headstone placing a kiss on it, and we leave. we head over to see aunt lucy, lu lu bell, thomas, margaret. we repeat the same ritual....watching my mom place her stone, knowing how much she misses her family, knowing we are the only ones who go. looking at her, i think to myself, maybe one holiday, vinny and his children and maybe, miraculously, joseph can come up and we can all go together......
But vincent what did you do go out for dinner, I cook , 1st anti pasto next rigotoni pomodoro,mushrooms sweet potatoes and a cooked Ham Butchie aka Mr. Large
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