Tradition

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The discussion usually started around ten in the morning if we were all home.

"I wonder what Grandma is making for lunch."

There was no thought to the fact that lunch wouldn't be an event. We didn't even consider that we might be interfering on their day.

"Let's go."

By 11:30 we'd be sitting in either the garage on nice summer days or on the couch across from Grandpa as Grandma ran around the kitchen making extra food. The aroma of garlic and olive oil just driving us crazy as Grandpa asked us about our lives, and sometimes told us where we were screwing them up.

Right up until the very end Grandpa would have a shot before lunch. I'm not sure what he did, but Jim or John can probably fill in the details.

The real event was the meal.

There was usually pasta of some sort. We all had our favorites. Pasta and peas, or macaroni and beans. Sometimes marinara. Every once in awhile left over sauce from Sunday. The meat, the bread.

Oh God, the bread!

Grandma baked fresh bread nearly every day.

Can you imagine someone doing that now?

And she was running around that kitchen putting the plates in front of all of us.

Grandpa would be just about done with his first dish before she sat with a sigh.

And it occurs to me that it was different years and years ago. There were certainly expectations between man and wife and duties. Especially in old Italian households.

But Grandpa would always say something like:

"Did you give your grandmother a kiss?"

I'm not sure where or why this post is coming today.

I just thought about the old traditional dinners after making pasta on Sunday before I left for golf. I've still not had sauce on Sunday less than ten times in my life.

I can't imagine not honoring the tradition.

Grandma and Grandpa would be proud.

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