I went to my cousin’s daughter’s baby shower last week. It is all so exciting being that the baby is the first grandchild and great-grandchild of this family line. It was a lovely event filled with happy expectations, well-wishing, and love. The afternoon was filled with “oohs” and “ahhs” and retold birthing and naming… Continue reading What’s In A Name?
It could have been construed as a love affair. The beginning eye attractions soon morphed into a need to know, to touch, and a longing to have. Love can only explain my husband, Matt’s, fascination for Saabs. Matt had owned a Saab, in some form or another, since 1978. He found the lines “classic” and… Continue reading A Saab Story
I woke up in 1968. At ten-years-old, I was bubbled within the safety of my family and school. I lived in a tidy house on a quiet dead-end street, with my parents, three sisters, and baby brother. There was a yard to run through and sidewalks to bicycle on. Weekends were spent with cousins—my first… Continue reading An Awakening
Sunday dinners were sacred. Family congregated to Grandma’s Brooklyn house on East 5th Street after church. Her brother’s family lived downstairs, and she lived in the upstairs flat. Grandma already had the sauce simmering, vegetables sliced and meat seasoned. I believed women got special dispensation from the burden of mortal sin by missing Sunday’s Mass.… Continue reading Craving The Adults’ Table
Grandma Mastropaolo was the eldest of five daughters—the only daughter who was born in a starving Sicilian village. In 1906, she and her mother traveled in steerage to meet her father on the other side of the world. Perhaps this gave her the authority to tell her mother’s tales and recount her stories as absolute.… Continue reading The Bread Story
My grandma was an excellent cook; not a fancy gourmet chef, but a home cook who could make simple ingredients into an epic meal. The stairwell to her second floor flat in Brooklyn heralded the warmth and goodness waiting behind her door. She enveloped each of her visitors with big arm hugs and kisses. Grandma's Sunday… Continue reading Grandma’s Clam Chowder
There are many Sunfish Stories in my repertoire. One of the best is one of the earliest.
The Country House American Venice was born of a land developer’s dream. He built homes on the Copiague’s marshland along the south shore of Long Island. A series of backyard canals led out to the Great South Bay. There were Venetian-style bridges above the canals giving the neighborhood a European flare. Unfortunately, the Great Depression… Continue reading The Country House
My grandfather, Willy Truglio, had the soul of a musician. As my father recounted his stories, it became clear that Willy held a deep love and loyalty for his family, friends, and neighbors. He cast a wide net of devotion laced with music. My father, Bill Truglio, continues to convey his father’s gentle being. ************** My… Continue reading The Piano Player Part II
Every year, for as long as I can remember, Mom baked Easter bread. The loaves were perfectly braided and shone with a glossy finish. As they baked, the house filled with home sweet home aromas heralding spring. Mom never cooked or baked small. There were five kids, a husband, and an extended family. She had… Continue reading Easter Bread