Wednesday, October 15, 2003
Nono used to let me help fill the humidifier behind the furnace and change the filters. Funny how they had a showerhead coming out of the unfinished ceiling down there so the bathtub would stay nice. I remember there was a meat grinder on Nono's work bench too down there, the kind you crank by hand, and that Noni would sometimes use it to grind beef for meatballs or chicken livers for the sugu. Bet you thought I'd forgot, hmm? And all the canning we used to do in that house when we lived there with Noni later? Remember that, Mom? Noni used to have a garden back there too, I think. I know she used a clothesline out there and that ringer washer forever. Clothespins were fascinating, especially when she started getting the ones with springs. Noni also had the old Singer sewing machine. She was great at sewing. I remember she told me one time she used to work at the old Freeman Shoe plant - not the one out in the industrial park along the interstate, the one before that that was a smaller brick place down Yates a few blocks. I think that was the same place your storage unit was when you had the construction company. I remember a zillion times watching the flywheel spin on that old treadle powered sewing machine. It was a really nice one, too, in great condition. Noni kept it perfect. Do you know if she made Johnny for me? I can't remember. She used to make those funny turtles that the bath soap went into, too. Those were neat. They were usually red or green and made out of some thin sponge material. Lots of times if I was really a mess she would have me take a bath in that concrete wash basin down there in the basement. I remember that, too. I remember all the details of the furniture, like the red chair with Berber fabric on it that she sat in a lot that had the carved wood handles, and the round table with the drawer in it made out of wood they sat in front of the bay window. There was some kind of foot stool, too. It had a leather top and metal wire hoops for legs. Nono would always sit by the round table reading the newspaper in the mornings after his stroke, with the huge magnifying glass. I also remember when the crab apple tree he planted for Noni right in front of the bay window was planted. It seemed just like a little stick, but it grew taller than me by the time we finally moved away for the last time. I remember watching Felix the Cat at their house a zillion times, too, or playing with my friend Jimmy Wallace down the street until they would call me in. I bet you were at work then. I sure know you did enough of that in your life. You know, that memory about Nono'sd stroke just reminded me how they always drove Ford Falcons, and how Noni would have to drive because Nono's eye closed after his stroke. I remember the trips to Monroe and the steam locomotive in the park there, or out to Johnny's farm and the way Johnny's wife always gave us milk fresh from the cows, or picking strawberries in the springtime with Noni and sometimes you were off work and got to go too.
Some things I should mention:
Nono is why I love sitting in front of my garage with the radio on smoking cigars in the summer. He also is why I use a three head Norelco electric razor to this day to shave with. I was given one of his old ones when I was thirteen, started using it when I was 17, and used it until it fell apart when I was over thirty. I think it must have been nearly thirty itself. Because of Nono, I saw Muhammed Ali fight as it happened many times. Nono is why I respect a man who is a solid worker.
Noni is why it near brings tears to my eyes to cook pasta, why I can't look at a rolling pin without thinking of made completely from scratch ravioli, why ironing always makes me feel at peace when I do it, even though it's not often.
Both of them are why I love listening to Elvis, why I think Christmas demands lights, why I know there is magic in the world. It's there because people have something called love.
Despite all the mistakes they made, Mom made, and WE made and make, that is one thing all of us know deep down.
Nono is why I love sitting in front of my garage with the radio on smoking cigars in the summer. He also is why I use a three head Norelco electric razor to this day to shave with. I was given one of his old ones when I was thirteen, started using it when I was 17, and used it until it fell apart when I was over thirty. I think it must have been nearly thirty itself. Because of Nono, I saw Muhammed Ali fight as it happened many times. Nono is why I respect a man who is a solid worker.
Noni is why it near brings tears to my eyes to cook pasta, why I can't look at a rolling pin without thinking of made completely from scratch ravioli, why ironing always makes me feel at peace when I do it, even though it's not often.
Both of them are why I love listening to Elvis, why I think Christmas demands lights, why I know there is magic in the world. It's there because people have something called love.
Despite all the mistakes they made, Mom made, and WE made and make, that is one thing all of us know deep down.
I put some of these pictures up at my desk at work so that I'd always remember my people. Noni & her mama were from Medina in Sicily, Nono was un Tuscano from Quarratta in Italia. Both emigrated to the United States in the 1920's and wound up settling in Beloit, WI as there was work and a large population of Italian Immigrants there. Noni's mother and her brother, Uncle Ross Gerizzo both came over as well.
Noni's mother is buried in the cemetery out on Colley Road in Beloit, and when I was very little we would go every week and trim the grass 'round her headstone and put out flowers. She died before I was born, at age 65 of leukemia.
Noni & Nono are buried side by side in the cemetery out on Shopier Road next to Our Lady of The Assumption Catholic school and church. So is Uncle Ross.
Noni died of leukemia at 65 also. I was eight years old when she died. We were living in Nebraska, 500 miles away. Mom drove all the way back as fast as she could, but Noni was gone before we could get there. That was the first time I'd ever seen my mother cry. Noni & Mom hasd often had a very antagonistic relationship, to put it mildly, but I think they had healed much of it after Mom was an adult. I know Noni was an AWESOME grandmother. She was absolutely incredible in the kitchen. I can not stress that one point enough, cooking was her art and she was a master at it. Her spagetti sauce (Sugu in Italian) would go on the stove to simmer at 6:00 in the morning, and be there until it was time for dinner. Everything she ever touched in that kitchen at 1740 Yates Avenue turned to absolute gold. Lori is the one who should post all the recipies, but no one could ever duplicate her craft. She spoiled us all rotten, too. There are so many things I remember about her, the way she would iron in the basement and listen to Mario Lanza on one of those old suitcase record players. The way she grew fresh spices under the kitchen window in the flower beds along the house. The way she would make biscotti, the big snowflake flat cookies in an iron like a press. She would always knit scarves and mittens and hats and afghans and baby booties for people. She loved the soap operas, and also the old Divorce Court. She was quite capable of giving a dose of razor sharp tongue to any adult she didn't agree with, but she treated us children wonderfully.
Uncle Ross is buried in the same cemetery as Nono & Noni. He died before I was born. Mom and Nono both told me he had a heart attack watching the "Friday night fights" - boxing. The same thing happened to Nono in 1979 while I was away in basic training for the Air Force.
Nono was always a worker when I was very little. He worked at Fairbanks Morse for 44 years. (Now owned by Colt Industries.) I remember how Noni would drive down in the afternoon to pick him up, and I would run down the sidewalk in front of Fairbanks and he would pick me up and whirl me around. Sometimes Noni would go to the Old Fashioned Bakery across the street from Fairbanks on Park Avenue before he got out of work, and she would buy Jelly Bismarcs, my favorite. The lady who ran the shop would always give me a free sugar cookie. Sometimes Nono and Noni would go to Frank the Tailor's place. He was an Italian tailor who made really nice clothes for gentlemen. (Frank moved back to Italy when I was in my early teens.) Other times they would go to the Italian grocery store in Rockford and the delivery men would roll out huge wheels of Parmesian cheese. Italian grocery stores, the real thing, they are WONDERFUL places. The smells and all the foods... At any rate, Nono was a quiet man mostly, given his choice. He loved smoking cigars in the summer, outside with the garage door open and the baseball game on a little clock radio on the shelf. If you look at the full size picture of him and his mother here, he has a lit cigar in his left hand. He and I would watch all the westerns on Friday nights unless there was boxing on. Often Nono, Noni, and I would watch the Ed Sullivan show together. I saw Elvis's 1968 comeback special with them, and one of his appearances on Ed Sullivan. I also saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan with them when the Beatles were a new phenomenon. I think I was three or four. We also watched Flip Wilson and Red Skelton, the old Dick VanDyke show, and the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. Nono had lots of neat old tools in the garage, and he would work on things and teach me little bits. He taught me how to ride a bike without training wheels. I used the same method to teach my son. Nono had a little tiny dog later in his life, long after Noni passed away. Her name was precious, and she was half Pekinese and half Poodle. The two of them were inseparable. Nono would also always have a glass of wine with dinner. Every night. Not several glasses, at most two. It was part of dinner. We would have hard salami and gallon jugs of Gallo red table wine down in the wine cellar, and we'd always have to go fill his little wine decanter before dinner. He had his moments, he would get mad at us as teenagers and say bad things to us, but it was always alright in the end. People just have limits and sometimes even when your really love someone alot they get to you and you have to vent, but we always knew in the end how it really was. I think Nono was Mom's favorite person on Earth.
Mom, I know this place is supposed to be about you, but the memory of you is incomplete without the memory of these two. Ypour adopted parents and you had your difficulties, I know, but I remember you telling me that they made up for it as grandparents, and I know you meant Noni. Now that you are all together up there in Heaven, I hope that the two of you can share the love that transcends this place, this school we all came to. I may very well write of them in bits and pieces here, because they are a part of your story as much as any of us are. These are things that deserve not to be lost.
Love,
Dan
Noni's mother is buried in the cemetery out on Colley Road in Beloit, and when I was very little we would go every week and trim the grass 'round her headstone and put out flowers. She died before I was born, at age 65 of leukemia.
Noni & Nono are buried side by side in the cemetery out on Shopier Road next to Our Lady of The Assumption Catholic school and church. So is Uncle Ross.
Noni died of leukemia at 65 also. I was eight years old when she died. We were living in Nebraska, 500 miles away. Mom drove all the way back as fast as she could, but Noni was gone before we could get there. That was the first time I'd ever seen my mother cry. Noni & Mom hasd often had a very antagonistic relationship, to put it mildly, but I think they had healed much of it after Mom was an adult. I know Noni was an AWESOME grandmother. She was absolutely incredible in the kitchen. I can not stress that one point enough, cooking was her art and she was a master at it. Her spagetti sauce (Sugu in Italian) would go on the stove to simmer at 6:00 in the morning, and be there until it was time for dinner. Everything she ever touched in that kitchen at 1740 Yates Avenue turned to absolute gold. Lori is the one who should post all the recipies, but no one could ever duplicate her craft. She spoiled us all rotten, too. There are so many things I remember about her, the way she would iron in the basement and listen to Mario Lanza on one of those old suitcase record players. The way she grew fresh spices under the kitchen window in the flower beds along the house. The way she would make biscotti, the big snowflake flat cookies in an iron like a press. She would always knit scarves and mittens and hats and afghans and baby booties for people. She loved the soap operas, and also the old Divorce Court. She was quite capable of giving a dose of razor sharp tongue to any adult she didn't agree with, but she treated us children wonderfully.
Uncle Ross is buried in the same cemetery as Nono & Noni. He died before I was born. Mom and Nono both told me he had a heart attack watching the "Friday night fights" - boxing. The same thing happened to Nono in 1979 while I was away in basic training for the Air Force.
Nono was always a worker when I was very little. He worked at Fairbanks Morse for 44 years. (Now owned by Colt Industries.) I remember how Noni would drive down in the afternoon to pick him up, and I would run down the sidewalk in front of Fairbanks and he would pick me up and whirl me around. Sometimes Noni would go to the Old Fashioned Bakery across the street from Fairbanks on Park Avenue before he got out of work, and she would buy Jelly Bismarcs, my favorite. The lady who ran the shop would always give me a free sugar cookie. Sometimes Nono and Noni would go to Frank the Tailor's place. He was an Italian tailor who made really nice clothes for gentlemen. (Frank moved back to Italy when I was in my early teens.) Other times they would go to the Italian grocery store in Rockford and the delivery men would roll out huge wheels of Parmesian cheese. Italian grocery stores, the real thing, they are WONDERFUL places. The smells and all the foods... At any rate, Nono was a quiet man mostly, given his choice. He loved smoking cigars in the summer, outside with the garage door open and the baseball game on a little clock radio on the shelf. If you look at the full size picture of him and his mother here, he has a lit cigar in his left hand. He and I would watch all the westerns on Friday nights unless there was boxing on. Often Nono, Noni, and I would watch the Ed Sullivan show together. I saw Elvis's 1968 comeback special with them, and one of his appearances on Ed Sullivan. I also saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan with them when the Beatles were a new phenomenon. I think I was three or four. We also watched Flip Wilson and Red Skelton, the old Dick VanDyke show, and the Tonight Show with Johnny Carson. Nono had lots of neat old tools in the garage, and he would work on things and teach me little bits. He taught me how to ride a bike without training wheels. I used the same method to teach my son. Nono had a little tiny dog later in his life, long after Noni passed away. Her name was precious, and she was half Pekinese and half Poodle. The two of them were inseparable. Nono would also always have a glass of wine with dinner. Every night. Not several glasses, at most two. It was part of dinner. We would have hard salami and gallon jugs of Gallo red table wine down in the wine cellar, and we'd always have to go fill his little wine decanter before dinner. He had his moments, he would get mad at us as teenagers and say bad things to us, but it was always alright in the end. People just have limits and sometimes even when your really love someone alot they get to you and you have to vent, but we always knew in the end how it really was. I think Nono was Mom's favorite person on Earth.
Mom, I know this place is supposed to be about you, but the memory of you is incomplete without the memory of these two. Ypour adopted parents and you had your difficulties, I know, but I remember you telling me that they made up for it as grandparents, and I know you meant Noni. Now that you are all together up there in Heaven, I hope that the two of you can share the love that transcends this place, this school we all came to. I may very well write of them in bits and pieces here, because they are a part of your story as much as any of us are. These are things that deserve not to be lost.
Love,
Dan
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