Rita Watson: A tale of diamonds, love and lasagna
Published on 13 January 2014
Grandma and Grandpa kept the Christmas decorations up until well past the time when the three wise men were expected to arrive. And it was always during the first week of the New Year that Zia Agatha and Uncle Guiseppe would visit, arms filled with pastry for a second Christmas feast. Even though Grandpa ran the pastry shop with his sister Agatha, Gram was always miffed when someone else brought pastry into her home.
After rounds of kisses, to continue the ritual even in the most frigid weather, Guiseppe and Grandpa would go off to the porch to smoke their cigars. Since Gram didn’t want Zia in her kitchen, she would hand her the salt and pepper shakers to put on the table and then said, “Zia, everything is done. Come sit by the fire.”
Zia took her cue to regale us with countless tales of her whirlwind courtship in the old country. Gram’s twinkling blue eyes would begin their roll.
Great Zia Agatha prided herself on being married forever and wore a diamond on each finger as proof of Guiseppe’s love for her. Gram said that the diamonds were gifts from Giuseppe because he took so many trips to Naples to breathe the good Italian air into his lungs, to restore his soul, and to renew his strength. What Zia called “his exercise” came from a bevy of younger women in his native village.
We had always suspected that Guiseppe was a ladies’ man because of whispers and looks that other relatives had shared about his “comares.” On this particular Sunday, Aunt Gal stopped by to complain about her philandering husband, the younger brother of Zia and Grandpa. Unlike his plump siblings, her husband was tall, thin, and always dressed in a white pin-stripped suit, black shirt, and wore black patent leather shoes with spats.
Zia barely acknowledged Gal and so continued her tale of Guiseppe’s love. That’s when Zia’s sister-in-law dared to say, “Zia, please. He is as bad your brother, my husband”
Zia let out a loud wail and grabbed her heart and the massive diamond pin resting on her hefty breasts. Gram took advantage of the drama to slip away. Then Zia reached into her dress for her lace handkerchief, dabbed at her eyes filling with tears and sobbed, “Giuseppe, my Giuseppe, he is my one and only love. Look at my hands.”
With that, Grandma opened the French doors separating the dining room and living room. Setting down a large pan of lasagna she motioned to us: “Tell Papa and Giuseppe to come in. I cooked all day. Don’t let this get cold. The rest of you – to the table.”
Rita Watson is an All About You relationship columnist. This story is adapted from her upcoming “Italian Kisses: Gram’s Wisdom.”