Left of Center

I don't know what it is that reminds me of Mamma the most.

When I think of her I think of boxy red leather suitcases, pink and green house dresses, sensible shoes and plastic bag purses containing her most necessary items - camera (snapping wildly at our soccer games, swim meets and front yard dance parties), wallet, green cat-eye prescription sunglasses.

She had strong fingernails, lucid eyes and an unforgotten spirit. She lived - thinking nothing of boarding a bus to destinations unknown with her friend Kitty. She was fearless - bartering in Italian with street vendors in Tijuana (She told me that if they knew Spanish, they should be able to understand her). She loved the Poconos enough to buy retirement property there. We all knew in our secret hearts she'd never leave New York.

She'd visit bi-yearly, sometimes more, arriving with hard mozzarella (pronounced mootsa-rella for you non-italians), salty prosciutto and Arthur Avenue breadsticks - leaving baked ziti, eggplant parmigiano, and frozen press-n-seal bags of fresh sauce with meatball in her wake.

Mamma pinched our dimpled cheeks everytime she disembarked her plane from La Guardia. She called me "Bella." She spelled my middle name Renea, instead of Renee, because I liked the thought of having an "A" in my middle name. Her given name was Angelina though everyone called her Eda or Mamma.

On warm Arizona evenings, she would walk to the TCBY - over a mile away - to get frozen yogurt. Many times, Robbie and I tailed her and got a treat as well. She taught me Italian phrases while I rinsed and loaded nightly dinner dishes. My favorite was "Non al cervello" (no brains) which I used on my brother quite often when I didn't know how else to piss him off. We spent most of her summer visits in the pool.

Then there were visits to the Bronx - surrounded by her treasures, lost in her basement, exploring the childhood rooms of my father and aunt. We'd sit in the kitchen, making fresh Italian sandwiches at her square shaped table, looking out the back door at the grounds and buildings of Fordham University.

We never spent a lot of time at her house - preferring to tour downtown Manhattan with Mamma and my Dad charging the way. The frigid morning of the Macy's Day Parade, she bought Rob and I steaming chestnuts for our frozen pockets and treated us to hot chocolate at a packed deli off the parade route. She was pure New York attitude and resilience.

The day of her funeral, Robbie and I arrived at her house before our parents and aunt. We stood in her driveway waiting - as if she would emerge from her back door. Finally, we gave up and walked to the White Castle. On our way back, I know we talked about her as if she were still there - like she was walking through her neighborhood and talking to everyone who passed.

After the funeral, we went back to Mamma's and gathered some family photos from her sun porch. We talked to Sal across the street. I took an acorn from under the tree on the side of her house and buried it deep in my pocket. I thought of the hot chestnuts from the parade and how I would miss my grandmother.

I think of her often - especially on the 17th of August, her birthday. I know her spirit lives on - the scent of her lotion followed me through my wedding day.

I miss her more now that I am older.

I have more things to tell her and more questions to ask.