I married into an Italian family and for the last twenty years or so, I have had an education on the Mediterranean perspective of the world. Suffice it to say there is a real difference between my Yankee, New England upbringing, and the Italian perspective, particularly as it relates to raising children.
I always liked this festive picture of Mamma who was helping get ready for my daughter's Tea Party Birthday.
Sara Leonardi was born August 18th, 1931 in the town of La Spezia to Ippolito Leonardi and Leonilde Chiappini. She was the youngest of seven children. A good portion of her childhood had the backdrop of World War II, Mussolini and Fascism. I have not heard a lot of her first-hand accounts of these times, but it certainly left a mark on her. Probably the most meaningful of which resulted in her leaving Italy in the summer of 1950 to travel to America where she would eventually meet her husband, James Vernazza. She would never return to Italy and her new life began in Daly City, California (gateway to San Francisco ;) with another very Italian, and now American family, the Vernazza's.
Many people have told both me and my wife that I am either very understanding, kind or patient to live with my mother-in-law. And while appreciate their thinking that I am a good person, I suspect it has more to do with Mamma than me. Mamma's sole purpose is to serve her grandchildren, and secondarily to help the household in general. So from that perspective, it is hard to not like her and appreciate all that she does, despite the fact that from a style point of view, there is not always alignment.
Mamma also speaks primarily Italian. Her daughter understands her perfectly but responds to her strictly in English, and Mamma, in turn, understands her with very few exceptions. The same holds true for my three kids, however, the condition of mutual understanding is not quite at the level it is between Mamma and her daughter. However, my ability to communicate with Mamma is quite limited and challenging. I know a very limited number of Italian words and Mamma understands a very little amount of my English; which I think is no different from the English delivered by her daughter and grandchildren, but somehow for her, it is not the same. Our communication is very dependent on physical gestures, volume emphasis for our very short messaging strategies in hopes of getting the point across. I would say about half of our communication when it is strictly the two of us, results in failure and frustration. Needless to say, she and I have never had any deep, philosophical conversations. There is a wide array of topics that many relationships generally cover, but that has never been a part of our relationship. It is this condition that makes me wonder if this is why we have a good relationship of mutual understanding? Of course, this does not mean mutual agreement. All in all, living with Mamma has been quite good. However, there are certainly sources of irritation, puzzlement and hilarity.
My relationship with Mamma began when I started dating my wife (maybe too obvious, duh) and I thought the fact that she only spoke Italian was very cute and very much intrigued me. However, my life of communication struggles would really first reveal itself in a phone call I would try to make to my now wife. I have recorded this story because I think it is better delivered and understood in an audio recounting then trying to convey it in written word.
Soon thereafter, I had my first Thanksgiving dinner with the Vernazza family and this was going to be another education in Italian thinking. I have now come to believe that within the genetic makeup of Italians, there is a gene that creates a primal fear that you may serve a meal that will not provide enough quantity for the people dining. This fear becomes heightened when you are entertaining and there will be individuals outside the customary circle of usual suspects. The result is insane quantities of food. So my first Thanksgiving with the Vernazza's was really my first formal function with my wife and her family. As a kid, Thanksgiving was a pretty formal and memorable event for me. With the west coast and Italian factor, I had no sense of what this Thanksgiving would be like. So when I arrived at the Vernazza castle (ironically located on Castle Street), I was not completely sure what was in store for me. At this stage in my life, I was also at my peak ability to consume impressive quantities of food, and my abilities would definitely be tested on this day. When I arrived, there was a bountiful amount of finger foods. This would also be my introduction to prosciutto which I have enjoyed quite a bit over the past twenty years. So after some serious grazing on hors d’oeuvres, it was time to sit down and begin the meal. First out was was the tortellini soup. Mamma hand makes each tortellini that contains some mixture of boiled vegetables and meat and then enclosed in handmade pasta. Very good, and who am I to turn down the second helping that was essentially forced on me. Next were two generous trays of lasagna, and I love lasagna. Hmmm .... Okay so it was not the giant turkey I was expecting and the Norman Rockwell'esque Thanksgiving experience I was used to, but when in Rome, do like the Romans. Mamma's lasagna was very good and is legendary in our family - well deserved, although her prodigy does not love it the way most guests and non-Italians do, which is another story for another day. I will say my previous lasagna experience generally included running down to the corner store to get the Stouffer microwavable lasagna which I liked, until my introduction to Mamma's efforts. I would go on to consume a very generous first and second helping. And my memory is a little fuzzy, but there is a good chance that I had thirds as well. At this point I was stuffed and very happy. And again, not the Thanksgiving foods I was used to, but none-the-less quite good. Welcome to the Italian lifestyle! But wait, what is that out of the corner of my eye? Holy shit, it is Mamma coming out from the kitchen with a turkey! And not just a regular turkey, but a gigantic one. At this point, I am a little pissed at my soon to be wife for not giving me the heads up that the lasagna was effectively an appetizer. And so to be a good guest, I took a generous serving of turkey, stuffing, vegetables and mash potatoes. Somehow I stuffed more food into me. Now I went from pleasantly stuffed to downright uncomfortable. And this does not even cover the dessert that was brought out afterward. So this was my first introduction to confirming the stereotype of Italians and the belief that they serve, and expect their guests to eat a lot of food. Interestingly enough, they do not hold themselves to the same quantity standards they do for everyone else. No question this stereotype is true, and again, there is definitely a genetic condition that creates this primal fear of not being able to provide bountiful quantities for those that sit around their table. The result is overestimating what people can realistically eat by at least a factor of two.
I come from Scottish ancestry and along with my New England, Yankee upbringing, I have always had a disdain for waste. Eat what you take was very much my childhood. This condition combined with my mother-in-law and wife's perspective that they must not be caught short on quantity of food for any meal has proven to be a challenge and a problem for both my waistline and wallet. To make matters worse, these Italians are not great consumers of the leftovers that are a condition of most meals. The result is I eat too much in hopes of not throwing the food away, and despite my efforts, we still regrettably throw too much away. This is definitely one of several personal disappointments in my life.
Mamma is very superstitious. I think it is a combination of the generation she comes from and her religious upbringing. This view of the world manifests itself in a couple of ways. One of the more entertaining (and irritating) situations that arise often is that a major life event cannot happen on either a Tuesday or Friday. This includes new jobs, doctor appointments, births, graduations, etc. One of the more entertaining events that was impacted by Mamma's day of the week fear is when we bought our first home. The purchase had to run through probate as the previous owner had died and this took a long time. My agent finally called me on a Thursday night and said I could get the keys the next day. I was very excited and called my wife and said we can get in on Friday after work. We were living with Mamma at the time and my wife's first thought was we can't go in for the first time because it was a Friday. My reaction to that was bullshit! I just spent a couple of months jumping through hoops and we are going in as soon as we can, which just happens to be a Friday. I was not going to be denied. So we lied to Mamma and said we were going out to dinner. We went to the house and went in as first-time homeowners. This was a big deal. We walked around inspecting everything and then we went into the garage. The door to the garage was spring-loaded and when we walked in, the door shut behind me and locked. I had lunged back to try to catch it but was too late. Damn!!!! As the door was shutting, I realized in that instant that I put the house keys on the kitchen counter. I walked out a side door and around the house and of course the front door we locked behind us when we first went in and now could not get in. Right there was a window that I peered into to see the keys sitting on the kitchen counter. We tried everything to get back into the house. Of course, everything was locked other than the garage. So I was now forced to call a locksmith to break into my now new house of 16'ish hours. And to add insult to injury, I had to pay him about $100. When we got back in, I got the giant 'I told you so' from my wife. Needless to say, we did not share this with Mamma because her concern would have gone way beyond getting locked out. She would have concluded that the house and all that entered, were going to be cursed and damned for eternity. And when something bad happens from time to time as is the expectation in life, we would have been reminded we got the house on a Friday!
Another manifestation of her superstition revealed itself when our kids were small. I was raised Protestant and have not practiced religion for the vast majority of my life. I think Mamma realized this about me after a short period of time. From her perspective, this was not an ideal situation, but somewhat hypocritical as she was not a fervent churchgoer. There was a history of pretty strong activity with the Catholic church, but that had activity had waned some over time. However, for major events, the importance of church was strong. And so when her grandchildren were born, she was quite insistent about getting them baptized. As I dug into why this was such a big issue, the answer was an education about Catholicism that I was unaware of; apparently you are considered to be an animal, or not human in God's eye until you are baptized. Mamma was determined to have her grandchildren be considered human. I am guessing that this is all so they would be admitted into the 'pearly gates' when it is all over. Needless to say, we obliged her wishes and our kids received the Catholic 'golden ticket' to the hereafter!
This is the preparation for Ben's baptism at the Saints Peter and Paul church in the North Beach (Italian) section of San Francisco. You can see Ben being held by his Uncle and namesake quite wary of what is too come; God's cold water on the head! Mamma second to the right holding Sara's hand is thinking to herself, 'now all my grandchildren will be legit Catholics!'
The stereotype of Italian grandmothers is not an exaggeration. They are unbelievably dedicated to their grandchildren, particularly the boys. And Mamma is no exception to this rule. This first played out as she provided daycare for all three of her grandchildren which was very good for my kids, and worked out very well for me, if for no other reason than the price was right. The Italian grandmother prime directive is keeping people fed and warm, and this applies in an exaggerated approach with grandchildren. All three of them got a steady diet of baby food, homemade soups and the Italian staple, pasta. With Ben who was her last, he was so doted on that I was anxious to put him in 'preschool' with his sister. The condition of being overly cared for is certainly a good problem to have, but I felt strongly that he needed to have a toy ripped out of his hands by some kid because this was the opposite of the experience he was getting with Mamma who was waiting on him 'hand and foot'. I don't recall completely what we told her as to why there was going to be a change, but my guess is we probably had to lie to Mamma and say that he needed to go to school because some higher authority required it. Needless to say, my kids got a very caring start to their lives. Thank you Mamma!
Mamma loves her grandchildren!
After Mamma moved to the US, she lived in Daly City, the 'Gateway to San Francisco' for most of her life. We then moved to Orange County, California in 2002. Instead of leaving Mamma up north in Daly City, she moved down with us in Southern California and has lived with us ever since. This has been a good experience for everyone involved generally speaking, but it certainly has created some amusing situations. The following are some of her idiosyncrasies and habits.
Mamma loves bread. Which I guess is based on her being Italian and is not altogether surprising. My wife will buy her a French (ironic) baguette seemingly every day. There is a family theory that bread was a very important part of her World War II childhood and general survival. Apparently for many meals, all they had to eat was bread and saving it was very important. Today, she dutifully cuts at least six to ten pieces for dinner almost every night. She eats about half of them herself and always tries to sell the others to anyone who might eat them. Most often, she is the only one eating the bread. This leaves at least two or three uneaten pieces and about six to nine inches of uncut baguette. Needless to say, a significant portion does not get consumed. Now she will use breading for various recipes and I don't see very much bread thrown away. Sometimes there will be a few leftover halves of bread in the freezer for future use, but there is a significant amount of bread that has to go unused and generally speaking, it is unaccounted for. Where does it all go? You would think maybe the local bird population would be grossly overweight, but this is not the case. I am pretty certain it does not get tossed despite her proclivity for throwing perfectly good things away. So I have concluded that she is stuffing it in some wall cavity in the house and when she finally passes away, we will discover some giant store of moldy bread squirreled away that she was saving for the end of the world!
Mamma is a 'stuffer', and you might ask, what do you mean? She is very concerned about having a clean house, which is great and I have been blessed for the most part of this never-ending goal she pursues. However, she will clean and organize based on what it looks like and pursue the most expedient approach to putting stuff away. This manifests itself in situations where there is something lying around and that item gets put away in a drawer or cabinet that is closest to where the item has been left, and not where it really should go. Of course in the grand scheme of things, this is by no means a deal-breaker, but I find it to be a real annoyance. Just put it where it belongs! Even if the steps you need to take to make it happen, are significantly more than the expedient 'stuff' that is her approach! Her daughter is a bit of a 'stuffer' as well, but mercifully not quite as bad. It is hard to know if this practice has left its mark with her grandchildren who for the most part don't seem to put anything away; nagging parent perspective. I am hoping the stuffing cycle is broken with the new generation, but there is much work to be done before this hand reveals itself.
Mamma's view of cleaning is 'if you are not burning nose hairs, you are not cleaning!' She loves bleach in particular, and she uses it liberally everywhere. Her grandchildren have protested vigorously about her bleaching of their clothes which either discolors the items, or over time, makes the fabric weak and prone to ripping. Our kitchen and bathrooms get a fair amount of bleach and this really knows no boundaries; our kitchen cabinets are faded and spotted. I have begged Mamma's 'bleach pimp', my wife, to stop buying this unnecessary addiction, but after nearly fifteen years, I have watched gallons and gallons of various bleach brands getting totted into the house after their customary Saturday shopping trip.
Mamma on occasion surprises me and one of those pleasantries includes her use of wool balls as an alternative to dryer sheets. I ran an eCommerce website called BuyGreen.com and would ask Mamma to try many products; because if she liked it, average consumers would love it. So wool dryer balls got tested as one of many products, and these items became Mamma approved! And approval was definitely not the case for all items I asked her to try. And for a considerable period of time, she really has been quite protective and careful with these three baseball-sized wool balls. And why does she love them, because she only speaks Italian I cannot be totally sure, but I would hope it is because they work and we avoid the very nasty chemicals found in most dryer sheets. Probably wishful thinking, but ultimately the end result is all that matters.
One of her most curious habits is she talks and swears at the television. She is very involved in most of her shows which is a relatively small population. They all generally create some out loud verbal commentary, but some shows elicit an unusual amount of vocal energy. As best I can tell, either game shows or Mexican soap operas generate the most action. Her favorite shows include RAI which is Italy's national public broadcasting company, a few of the Mexican soap operas, a variety of cooking shows on Food Network and when someone is downstairs with her, channel 7 which is our local ABC affiliate. The latter is a concession to the predominantly English speaking element of the household. I work out of the house upstairs in our loft and she typically watches in the family room/kitchen during the day. The game shows on RAI and Mexican soap operas generate the most amount of vocalization and consume the majority of her time when I am working. During the game shows she generally utters 'stupido', often over and over like a machine gun. When she really gets worked up, she might be telling the poor participants how dumb they are ten times a minute. I am perplexed by this in that I wonder how someone can stick with a show that is full of stupid people and or activity that is so clearly frustrating to her; or so I think. I would definitely search for something else and turn the channel for things far less annoying or interesting. We also believe that they show the answer to the viewing audience and so when the contestant gets the wrong answer, she concludes they are stupid because she has seen the answer. I am not sure whether she actually knew the answer or not. I am not even sure she goes through the review process when she sees the answer as to whether she actually knew it. And if she did not know, you would think maybe there should be some empathy for the contestant, but this is not the case and they are all just 'stupido'. In respect to the Mexican soap operas, there are lots of 'ooohs and ahhhhs' with a liberal number of 'ah fanculo' and 'stupido' sprinkled in. And while I have never really watched one of these for any length of time, they definitely are a bit racy. There is a part of me that wonders how much critical thinking is going on with respect to the fictitious nature of these stories. She has on occasion suggested that there may be things going on in her life, or more accurately she observes in the rest of the household that are the same issues she has seen on these shows. If only our lives were that interesting!
She will not go to bed until her daughter comes home. I guess old habits are hard to break, or maybe you never stop being a mother. She will also stay up for her grandkids, although she is 'off duty' the second my wife gets home with respect to being responsible for her grandkids. If I were to come home but my wife is not home, she will stay up until my wife returns. Clearly she has a lot of confidence and respect for my abilities to be at least quasi-responsible parent and manage the welfare of the rest of the family. I suspect she thinks that both my wife and I are pretty incompetent as parents and that she has to stay alive to make sure her grandkids make it to adulthood and leave the nest or something like that?
As I have suggested earlier, she is superstitious and another way this manifests itself is trying to predict the outcome of important events by playing solitaire. This is particularly true for upcoming events with her grandchildren. I will come downstairs and Mamma has busted out the playing cards and will have a hand of solitaire going on the couch. I am not exactly sure how prediction happens with solitaire, but there are times I will ask her what the outcome will be of the event she is concerned about, and I will get a thumbs up or down. Clearly there is no analysis going on relative to the accuracy of the cards, much less the rationality of the practice altogether.
I have found myself on occasion trying to fight her on some of the practices I find ridiculous. For instance, in this period of converting to HD television, I have shown her more times than I care to say that if she adds one thousand to her favorite channel, it will be in HD. I show her that the picture is clearly better and on top of it, the old stations have a giant black border of the unused screen. I will change channel 56, the Food Network to 1056 and then point out the difference of the HD picture, after having shown the deficiencies of the old channel. And despite my efforts, she will have gone back about ten minutes later to the older channel.
She also loves to throw stuff away, if it does not get stuffed first. Everyone in the family harasses her about this, but stuff gets chucked all the time; except for bread. She also won't allow us to use 'every last drop' of food. If there is some left in a bottle or Tupperware, she will throw it away and open a new one. Sometime what is left over is a fair amount She has some internal clock that decides, this has got to go and suffice it to say, her clock does not run nearly as long as my clock does. This habit I find is a contradiction to her childhood during WWII, but her actions clearly prove that I am wrong and this is not the case. Needless to say, I am quite good at fishing stuff out of the garbage.
This is James Vernazza in a family picture with his wife Sara (Mamma), daughter Mandy and mother Nona. I believe this was taken in May of 1971. He was a dentist and passed away 1994 from cancer, probably the result of his radiation exposure at work. He was survived by his twin brother and sister, both have subsequently passed away.
My kids and I only know Mamma and for this side of our family, her husband is merely a name, James Vernazza. My kid’s grandfather is known only through images they have seen from pictures. I never met him either. He died of cancer shortly before I met my wife. From all accounts, he was a good husband, father and I suspect would have been a good grandfather. I think about the fact that there is this hole in our family and yet it just sort of is 'what it is'. My mother-in-law does not really talk about him much and if she did, because of our language challenges, I suspect I would be somewhat oblivious of her remembrances whenever they arise. RIP James Vernazza, I wish I had the chance to meet you.
Mamma lives in a bedroom downstairs. She is often the first one up in the morning so that she can get her grandson's snack and breakfast together in anticipation of his day at school; god forbid the prince do it himself. On occasion, she is not the first one up and when I come down and see that her door is closed, I always wonder if today is the day? I am convinced that she is just going to 'keel over' one day and die - I hope it is quick. She is 'strong as a horse' all things considered and so hopefully it will not be for a while, but this scenario is certainly on the horizon and a real possibility. I dread that day.
Sara Vernazza is an extraordinary woman and her family is lucky to have her in our lives. Her contributions have and will continue to be considerable. She is fiercely protective and caring about the well being of her offspring, and for an Italian grandmother, that is exactly the way it should be. Molto bene!