Rita Watson: Some old-fashioned advice for a harmonious marriage
Published on 23 February 201
We grew up with music. On Saturday afternoons, Grandpa would sit in his rocker with his glass of wine after lunch, turn on the radio, and become lost in the opera. During particularly dramatic scenes he would call Gram from the kitchen, where she would be rolling out pasta dough or making her biscotti.
“Nancy, Annunciata, why aren’t you listening?” And she would leave her table, characteristically wiping her hands on her apron, and sit on the window seat to listen. Then she would call us to join them. When we told her that we really didn’t understand the words, she said, “It’s about life, marriage and love agita.”
She explained that if we listened, we could hear the story through music without knowing the words — the sadness of strings, the doom from the oboe, the laughter of piccolos.
When I asked her about “love agita,” she reminded us of an incident in the pastry shop that Grandpa ran with his sister Zia Agatha. On that particular day Zia was supposed to be at home crocheting a wedding spread for one of her daughters. But she was called into the shop when a pregnant pastry chef found herself ready to give birth earlier than expected.
As it happened, Zia’s husband, a banker before joining the family business, came by with a young woman. People there said nothing, just rolled their eyes. As he and his young lady looked into the pastry cases to pick out some delights, his voice was barely audible, but then she began to giggle. Zia was in the back, and although she never heard Giuseppe, the giggle turned her into a statue.
Suddenly, in a flurry of flour, she grabbed a rolling pin and began waving it in the air as she dashed to the front. Ignoring the customers, she went into a tirade that sent the young lady flying out the door to escape her. Giuseppe stayed behind to soothe his sobbing wife.
“Zia is like those clashing cymbals,” Gram said. “She’s from the old country. She’s stubborn, hot-tempered, but forgiving of Giuseppe. And the next day he brings her diamonds.
“I never had those problems with Papa. This is the secret. Never criticize — men, they never forget an unkind word. Never raise your voice. And listen to their stories even if they tell them over and over again — you see how I do with Papa. I listen and I smile.”
While we never learned the words to all those Saturday operas, we came to hear the music as a reflection of marriage — high notes, low notes, clashes and a quiet expectation that in the end all the sounds would merge in harmony.
Rita Watson/ All About You colunmist