Nonnas at Night

My Nonna loved to sit at the window of her house in Brooklyn patrolling “her” street.  She made sure no one touched or scratched her sons Cadillac, supervised the children playing ball and watched the comings and goings of the neighbors. She always hoped that one of her grandchildren would stop by for a visit, at which point she would drop the keys from the second story window so that we could let ourselves into the house. Her memory was even better than that of our parish priest. Nonna knew precisely how long it had been since our last visit.

My husband and I have taken several trips to Italy. Recently while sorting out photos, I noticed that I had accumulated dozens of pictures of Nonna’s, bordering obsessive. This past summer was no different. While trying to snap some “shots” of the Nonna’s, I lost the top of my gelato cone (Stracciatella and Pinguino), walked out of my flip flop and tripped. Thank goodness, my hubby is well prepared for these “behaviors.”

Upon my research, it seems that during the summer months, seven-thirty is the pinnacle hour for Nonna spotting. The shutters fly open, and a lace curtain blows softly in the evening wind and, she appears. Always in a cotton shift, sometimes a simple earring or a random string of pearls, other instances, a bit unkempt from a day of excessive heat and no air conditioning. I want to visit, peek behind the lace curtain. I imagine a fruit bowl placed upon a lace doily sitting on the wooden table. The lights are off to keep the house cool. Nonna had the shutters closed tight all day to keep the heat out. Tonight, I assume she is cutting up some cheese, salami, and fresh fruit. It is too hot to eat heavy. All her chores are complete. No television is necessary; the passers-by, locals, and tourists alike are Nonna’s amusement at her leisure.  Maybe her daughter will come by and take her for a coffee or gelato, or she will sit guard at her children's souvenir shop in town. She is a constant reminder of comfort, patience, a simpler time without complication. She, even with the clock ticking, will always have time for you.

I have come to conclude I am afraid that Nonna’s as we have known them are going to leave and never come back. Will Italy continue to “make them”? As we evolve as a society, Nonna’s will look and behave differently as they have in the past, but it doesn’t mean that love is compromised. I hope to take what I have learned from my Nonna and be the best of what she taught me. I feel lucky to have been part of a generation that enjoyed these unique, strong, resourceful women.

For now, the photos are like warm milk and cinnamon for my soul.