The Way We Are

Have you ever wondered why we are the way we are?  It is kind of a strange question but really, what makes us tick?  I am not getting all scientific here but sharing my family tree with you to maybe get some insight to why I am as I am. Maybe, this will enlighten me too!

When I became a mom, I was thrilled.  I can now see how different I was then my mom was such as in my house growing up with my mom we kind of were like the Cleavers. My Dad was the King of the house kind of like an Italian Ward Clever and he had two volumes loud and louder.  My Mom was like a WASP June Cleaver.  We never ate in the dining room in fact nobody ever saw our living room or dining room unless it was Christmas and that was once a year.  We did have a couch that had the plastic wrap sealing it because my mother was saving it forever. I wonder what ever happened to that couch because it was sealed for life. It was too good for us kids to sit on. By the way, my mother never wore pearls, but I knew she wanted to while she vacuumed. She was the June Cleaver of the neighborhood. By the way, my brother’s did not call me the beav either.

My mother knew how to deflect that her dinner plan was Pizza or McDonald’s by starting to tell my Dad, before he barely opened the door all her problems and how rotten us kids were. Then the fun began. Now I know why my dad traveled 3 weeks out of the month.

My grandmother lived with us, she was all Irish, and she was June’s Mom (my mom’s Mom) she was known as the ref in our house.  She broke up more fights between my brothers and me.  When we did fight, she would separate us and then she would tell us “to pretend we were on a bus.”  I am not sure of the significance of that statement however, we did stop fighting immediately.  To this day, I do shake my head at that and wonder am I swimming in that same gene pool and I keep watching my own kids for any signs.  So far so good, they are not babbling about being on a bus.

My grandmother thought she was Julia Childs.  The only resemblance to Julia was that she was old, wore an apron and talked funny.  I only wear blue jeans because of seeing her dressed in those aprons with all the pockets. Those aprons she wore over her dresses were unsightly. She wore an apron from the time she woke up until she went to bed. She had so many pockets in those aprons she was like Ray Rayner. Those pockets must have been filled with treasures because they were always bulging

I have to tell you I wished she cooked like Julia Childs but if you know anybody who is Irish they only cook two ways, well done or burn it. She never used any seasoning so everything we ate had no taste.  It was amazing that I was in my twenties before I realized you could actually buy fresh vegetables and they did not grow in a can. My grandmother’s version of Italian spaghetti was pasta with tomato soup poured over it and then she fried it. I had no idea you could boil pasta and what that tasted like. No wonder, I have the worst eating habits in North America. 

Now my grandmother who was my dad’s mom was Italian and she bragged how great it was to be Italian. I do not think she was keen on me being Irish at all.  She would tell me the best parts of me were Italian to this day I am not sure what those parts are.  She was about 4 feet tall and about 4 feet wide. When she walked, she moved like R2D2.  She had a dark mustache and that was a good thing because it hid that she hardly had any teeth.  She had more hair on her face than my father did when he had a five o’clock shadow.  Watching her eat was an education in oral hygiene.  She would brag that she was the best cook and had all the old world cooking skills I think she learned how to cook from the galley cook on the boat she came over on where I believe she might have been a stowaway. 

She married an English man who was my grandfather and I am not sure if she just got bored with cooking or lost her art of cooking but her cooking skills went down hill quickly.  I am not sure how the Brits eat but if this was any indication, I will not be going to England for any gourmet meals.

It was always fun to see my Irish grandmother and my Italian grandmother get together because they could not be in the same room with each other without them arguing on how to cook something.  Neither one of them had a clue! 

My grandmother who was Italian loved her wine and said it was good for the heart and this was way before Dr. Oz said it was heart healthy.  She must have had the best working heart going she could put away a bottle of wine before dinner was over. 

The more I have been thinking about that whole family tree I wish I had been adopted.