Nonna e il Nonno DiGloria

I thought I would write a quick post about my Grandma and Grandpa DiGloria, and consequently their son, my dad. I mainly wanted to focus on the times I remember in their home, and specifically around their table. I wanted this to be a bit of a "happy" tribute to their memories. Before I begin, though, just a word about my father. John Joseph DiGloria was born March 21st, 1933 and died, December 22nd, 1973. Since I was born January 23rd, 1973, I did not get to know him, being only 11 months old at the time of his death. So, dad, wish I had known you, but it wasn't meant to be, and as all good Italians say,  possa tu riposare in pace, may you rest in peace.

Maybe later on, I can write more on that, but for now, nonna e il nonno. This is by no means an exhaustive tale, just a brief overview, someday maybe I'll get my brother (the real writer in the fam) to pen something.

Grandpa, John DiGloria (originally, Giovanni DiGloria) was born in 1903 in Caltanissetta, Sicily (Sicilia), Italy, (which my wife and I had the amazing opportunity to visit while on our 8-day Sicily trip 2 years ago, more on that later). He was a teenager when he landed in Boston harbor (pronounced hahbah, for those who do not speak Bostonian) with his father and brother to begin the "American Dream". He became a barber (which we find ironic, since he was balding, my dad was balding, and us 3 "boys" are well into our balding phase). He and Grandma, Jenny (Vincenza) Zito married on November 7th, 1930 (according to the ginormous family Bible from 1957 that I have) and 2 1/2 years later, my dad, John Joseph, came along. A quick fun fact, my dad and my mom, Joanne Cutrona, DiGloria, Valentine...were both only children, which was pretty rare for an Italian Catholic family, much less 2 Italian Catholic families that got connected! So, yeah, no uncles or aunts, kind of a bummer, but it is what it is, as they say. Just a brief history to set the stage.

Of course, what I remember the most is sitting around the table and eating large masses of homemade Italian food. (Hold on, I need a minute...). Ok, I'm back, just got a little carried away for a moment. Imagine every single Italian movie you have ever seen, specifically any scene where there's a big table full of family, too much food and wine, and way too much noise, and that's what it was like (we can also include, My Big Fat Greek Wedding, change the title, a few family names and names of  dishes and bada bing bada boom). It seems like there was always a pot of sauce simmering on the stove, but that's probably just the way I remember it. The old memory has a mind of it's own sometimes. For instance, I was very young when my grandfather on my mothers side passed away, and apparently I only ever saw him with a cigar, because, to this day, I could swear I remember seeing him in the coffin with a cigar. They have always told me that was not the case...still not convinced, but I digress.

There were always several courses, including salad, veggies, pasta, meats, bread (always great bread from Tripoli's Italian Bakery), olives, cheese, olive oil, wine, etc. I remember watching her put the braciola (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Braciola) into the sauce to let it simmer for a while. Dipping the bread in, just to test it, of course, was always a necessity. Periodically, I was known to sneak a cannoli before dinner, too, and no it never once ruined my dinner...Not having cannoli's?!? Now that could definitely ruin your dinner. After we were so full we could barely move, she brought out the other fare, the desserts from Tripoli's, the cannoli's (what was left anyway), the assorted cookies, etc.

I suppose some of my memories might have been "enhanced" over the years, but suffice it to say that they were all happy ones. Even the "not being able to move or breathe we ate so much" memoires. After the meals, we would help clean up while the men made their way to the living room to sip amaretto and occasionally snore. Inevitably, my grandmother would be scurrying about most of the time, and just about the time we started breathing again, she would ask if anyone was still hungry...amidst the groans (which she would dutifully ignore), she would mention the possibility of making anyone a sandwich...

Good times. As I said, if some of my memories have been embellished over the years, so be it. I believe, we need to remember those times, and try to hold on to a few of those "traditions". I get bothered by our fast-paced, no family dinner society sometimes. We have to stop and smell the braciola (you can smell roses if you'd like, I'll stick to the meat simmering in the sauce).

Grazie, Nonna e il Nonno DiGloria.

As always, Buon Appetito!

Nonno, the early years

Nonna, the early years

Dad in the military

I found one of Grandpas old watches while looking for pics, I wound it and set it, and it still works.

Grandma and Grandpa later on with my nephew Nathaniel

Dad, early years

Now you understand me better...

I threw this in because looking at old family pics is like seeing stills from "The Godfather"

Mom and Dad, wedding

Grandpa in his haircutting smock

Grandma, with her apron in the kitchen. This is what I remember.