My Grandfather's Apartment
I remember the first time I arrived in Vicenza, to meet the paternal family on my mom's side... my Italian grandfather, my dear Nonno Mario....Antonio Mario Ingui, to be exact... whom today is still buried at the city cemetery in Vicenza.
Even today....every time I come home to Italy - visiting my grandparents and loved ones is my first thought... sometimes even before jet lag sits in... and the day before I leave to return to America, I always make sure to say goodbye to them all... I always bring them all flowers and visit each of their graves...for Nonno, Nonna, and I always bring flowers to our other family and friends while I'm there...
Now onto discussing my happy memories with them...
Here are some pictures of the "way" to Nonno's house:
When Nonno knew that Mamma and I were coming "home" to Vicenza, he would always let the neighbors know, and towards our arrival, he would always be waiting in the street...no matter how cold it was during Christmastime for the taxi cab or a bus to bring mom, dad and I to him from the train station.
Nonno was old, with emphysema towards the end of his life...though he never stopped smoking his pipe and his Pall Malls (that he would buy from the old cigarette machine at Bar Astra.
I remember the big stifling hug he gave me when I first got out of the taxi cab to meet him.
All I could feel was having my little face smashed into the wool sweater he was wearing and at the same time, I smelled the pipe smoke on him that I soon grew to love very very much.
Now that I'm older, thinking back... it meant SO much to mean SO much to someone...and how rare and special it was to spend time with my REAL grandparents, and to get to know each of them. What a gift mom gave me by bringing us home to Italy every other year! It was such an honor to get to know my Nonno Mario... I especially enjoyed when he would cut the peels off of oranges for me in a swirl pattern with his knife, and then we would burn them in the fire to make the house smell good.
Or when we arrived, Nonno had a tradition of having a log of salami and a knife on the table, for us to share when we first arrived. I also appreciated being invited over to the neighbors houses for dinner. They would each take turns cooking when we did not have time. Mamma loves especially the artichokes that Graziella made.
I didn't get to drink soda pop very often in America, so every table I sat at always had aranciata. That was my favorite, sitting with Nonno's neighbors Mario and Laura, hearing of Mario's travels to Montana, while I got to drink aranciata!
Nonno and Nonna used to live in a large house in a different part of Vicenza, near Ponte degli Angeli...which I have only seen the old house a few times, and my Mamma's memories only remain there.
When mom married my Dad and when they moved to America in 1964, Nonno found a smaller place to live at the apartments in Stradella Retrone. It was perfect for me as a "new kid in the neighborhood". People still said "good morning, buon giorno" to you as you walked by. If they were really old men, they would tip their hat at you. My Nonno used to do that. Not many traffic, great neighbors that I still today, consider family... and a bar just walking distance from Nonno's apartment... To clarify, a "bar" in America is very different than a "bar" in Italy. The bars in Italy were more like coffee houses or a small restaurant here in America...although MUCH more fun going to a bar in Italy with my Nonno as a child!
Let me explain, the old Bar Astra near Stradella Retrone was quite magical for me.
My Nonno Mario and I would walk down there and he would have his morning coffee for him...or if it was later in the afternoon it would be coffee with grappa... and he would always order me a cafe latte or a cappuccino with some type of biscotti from Signora Anna, the owner of the bar. Mrs. Anna "looked after" my nonno Mario for many, many years making him coffee and talking about the "talk" of the day...every day Nonno would go and see her. Signora Anna was loud, happy, and was a good match for her bar guests...she would laugh a lot and she would make Nonno laugh a lot too. Even though I did not understand Italian yet, when they laughed, I laughed too... the happy energy was sheer contagious. Signora Anna had some important things always in her bar...a daily newspaper, a chess game, a checkers game, some playing cards, ice cream on hot days, and video games in the back room (PacMan was my ULTIMATE FAVORITE!). Nonno seemed to have a magic pocket that held endless amounts of coins in it. I knew those coins were for me to play the video games at Bar Astra. Also, some of his neighbors would be there at the Bar, or outside of the buildings, it was such a social event - daily...Nonno had some casual conversations, and then many long private conversations with my Mamma. I regret not being able to understand many of those conversations when I was 6.
So, when we were "home", Mamma had a lot to do in taking care of Nonno. She would send me out to play with the neighbor children...thankfully, I made new friends in the neighborhood. One of them Cinzia - thankfully spoke very good English. She was older than all of us, and she was able to translate for me and the other children, as we wanted to communicate. After that first introduction, me and these children would write back and forth for years... 40 years to be exact... At the time, when I was little, I also carried around an Italian/English dictionary, although at 6 years old, it was difficult to use it...I carried it more for them to find American words that I might possibly understand. The kids would come in front of Nonno's apartment and ask if I could play every day, sometimes twice a day.
I felt so free and happy home at Nonno's place...of course shy, but these kids were genuinely nice. I really appreciated that. One day, the kids invited me out to play and we played kick ball near Nonno's apartment.
One of the children accidentally kicked the ball into Nonno's neighbor's window, Signor Baggio... and then.... everyone took off running (scappa via!) in every direction!
Not knowing where any of them were going or where any of them lived yet, I didn't know where else to go and so I courageously remained right in front of Nonno's apartment....and then Mr. Baggio came out to see who kicked the ball at his window. I was the only one there and I could not speak Italian yet, and he definitely spoke no English. He was extremely angry, probably because the kids did this all the time (the courtyard was small and the windows were very close to where we played, it was almost impossible NOT to hit a window once in a while)... Either way, I froze. This old "mad" man came at me and grabbed my ear and smacked me on my cheek. It was the first time a man had hit me. I just started crying and my Mamma and Nonno came out right away. Nonno started waiving his hands and said "NO, she's mine! in Italian"...and then they brought me inside the apartment. I always said good morning to Mr. Baggio and Mrs. Baggio, and as a good polite girl, I would always offer him my seat when we were in a room together, he always declined. I found out when I was much older that he declined taking my seat, because he had his back fused years ago and he was in a lot of pain most of the time. Mr. Baggio was one of Mario's friends, they would play chess together at the bar, and we would have meals together. The kids were always afraid of him, and rightfully so. He did have a somber scary look to him, but my Mamma encouraged me to give him kindness because he was so old and in so much pain. So I did. After Mr. Baggio died, we came back to Vicenza a few years later in 1996, and we had a family dinner where Mrs. Baggio was able to attend. It was lovely to see her again for the last time. She was always such a sweet lady, and such a good friend to my Nonno.
Below are some pictures of my experiences "running around town" with Mamma, or going for a walk with Nonno to see his friend Paola. Nonno just loved to walk, but in the last part of his years, he couldn't walk as far as he could, with his emphysema.
Even today....every time I come home to Italy - visiting my grandparents and loved ones is my first thought... sometimes even before jet lag sits in... and the day before I leave to return to America, I always make sure to say goodbye to them all... I always bring them all flowers and visit each of their graves...for Nonno, Nonna, and I always bring flowers to our other family and friends while I'm there...
Now onto discussing my happy memories with them...
Here are some pictures of the "way" to Nonno's house:
Mamma loved being in Vicenza during Christmastime, because everyone was home on vacation.
The only time I remember being in Italy when it was NOT Christmas (in my childhood years), was only for each of my grandparents' funerals.
When Nonno knew that Mamma and I were coming "home" to Vicenza, he would always let the neighbors know, and towards our arrival, he would always be waiting in the street...no matter how cold it was during Christmastime for the taxi cab or a bus to bring mom, dad and I to him from the train station.
Nonno was old, with emphysema towards the end of his life...though he never stopped smoking his pipe and his Pall Malls (that he would buy from the old cigarette machine at Bar Astra.
I remember the big stifling hug he gave me when I first got out of the taxi cab to meet him.
All I could feel was having my little face smashed into the wool sweater he was wearing and at the same time, I smelled the pipe smoke on him that I soon grew to love very very much.
Now that I'm older, thinking back... it meant SO much to mean SO much to someone...and how rare and special it was to spend time with my REAL grandparents, and to get to know each of them. What a gift mom gave me by bringing us home to Italy every other year! It was such an honor to get to know my Nonno Mario... I especially enjoyed when he would cut the peels off of oranges for me in a swirl pattern with his knife, and then we would burn them in the fire to make the house smell good.
Or when we arrived, Nonno had a tradition of having a log of salami and a knife on the table, for us to share when we first arrived. I also appreciated being invited over to the neighbors houses for dinner. They would each take turns cooking when we did not have time. Mamma loves especially the artichokes that Graziella made.
I didn't get to drink soda pop very often in America, so every table I sat at always had aranciata. That was my favorite, sitting with Nonno's neighbors Mario and Laura, hearing of Mario's travels to Montana, while I got to drink aranciata!
Nonno and Nonna used to live in a large house in a different part of Vicenza, near Ponte degli Angeli...which I have only seen the old house a few times, and my Mamma's memories only remain there.
When mom married my Dad and when they moved to America in 1964, Nonno found a smaller place to live at the apartments in Stradella Retrone. It was perfect for me as a "new kid in the neighborhood". People still said "good morning, buon giorno" to you as you walked by. If they were really old men, they would tip their hat at you. My Nonno used to do that. Not many traffic, great neighbors that I still today, consider family... and a bar just walking distance from Nonno's apartment... To clarify, a "bar" in America is very different than a "bar" in Italy. The bars in Italy were more like coffee houses or a small restaurant here in America...although MUCH more fun going to a bar in Italy with my Nonno as a child!
Let me explain, the old Bar Astra near Stradella Retrone was quite magical for me.
My Nonno Mario and I would walk down there and he would have his morning coffee for him...or if it was later in the afternoon it would be coffee with grappa... and he would always order me a cafe latte or a cappuccino with some type of biscotti from Signora Anna, the owner of the bar. Mrs. Anna "looked after" my nonno Mario for many, many years making him coffee and talking about the "talk" of the day...every day Nonno would go and see her. Signora Anna was loud, happy, and was a good match for her bar guests...she would laugh a lot and she would make Nonno laugh a lot too. Even though I did not understand Italian yet, when they laughed, I laughed too... the happy energy was sheer contagious. Signora Anna had some important things always in her bar...a daily newspaper, a chess game, a checkers game, some playing cards, ice cream on hot days, and video games in the back room (PacMan was my ULTIMATE FAVORITE!). Nonno seemed to have a magic pocket that held endless amounts of coins in it. I knew those coins were for me to play the video games at Bar Astra. Also, some of his neighbors would be there at the Bar, or outside of the buildings, it was such a social event - daily...Nonno had some casual conversations, and then many long private conversations with my Mamma. I regret not being able to understand many of those conversations when I was 6.
So, when we were "home", Mamma had a lot to do in taking care of Nonno. She would send me out to play with the neighbor children...thankfully, I made new friends in the neighborhood. One of them Cinzia - thankfully spoke very good English. She was older than all of us, and she was able to translate for me and the other children, as we wanted to communicate. After that first introduction, me and these children would write back and forth for years... 40 years to be exact... At the time, when I was little, I also carried around an Italian/English dictionary, although at 6 years old, it was difficult to use it...I carried it more for them to find American words that I might possibly understand. The kids would come in front of Nonno's apartment and ask if I could play every day, sometimes twice a day.
I felt so free and happy home at Nonno's place...of course shy, but these kids were genuinely nice. I really appreciated that. One day, the kids invited me out to play and we played kick ball near Nonno's apartment.
One of the children accidentally kicked the ball into Nonno's neighbor's window, Signor Baggio... and then.... everyone took off running (scappa via!) in every direction!
Not knowing where any of them were going or where any of them lived yet, I didn't know where else to go and so I courageously remained right in front of Nonno's apartment....and then Mr. Baggio came out to see who kicked the ball at his window. I was the only one there and I could not speak Italian yet, and he definitely spoke no English. He was extremely angry, probably because the kids did this all the time (the courtyard was small and the windows were very close to where we played, it was almost impossible NOT to hit a window once in a while)... Either way, I froze. This old "mad" man came at me and grabbed my ear and smacked me on my cheek. It was the first time a man had hit me. I just started crying and my Mamma and Nonno came out right away. Nonno started waiving his hands and said "NO, she's mine! in Italian"...and then they brought me inside the apartment. I always said good morning to Mr. Baggio and Mrs. Baggio, and as a good polite girl, I would always offer him my seat when we were in a room together, he always declined. I found out when I was much older that he declined taking my seat, because he had his back fused years ago and he was in a lot of pain most of the time. Mr. Baggio was one of Mario's friends, they would play chess together at the bar, and we would have meals together. The kids were always afraid of him, and rightfully so. He did have a somber scary look to him, but my Mamma encouraged me to give him kindness because he was so old and in so much pain. So I did. After Mr. Baggio died, we came back to Vicenza a few years later in 1996, and we had a family dinner where Mrs. Baggio was able to attend. It was lovely to see her again for the last time. She was always such a sweet lady, and such a good friend to my Nonno.
Below are some pictures of my experiences "running around town" with Mamma, or going for a walk with Nonno to see his friend Paola. Nonno just loved to walk, but in the last part of his years, he couldn't walk as far as he could, with his emphysema.
Besides the obvious beauty in such an old city with many stories, it is the people I miss most... The friends, and family - day after day each of them did small and great things to look after my Italian grandparents, my Nonno and Nonna, until their dying days, and even now - they look after their graves with lit lights on their tombstones and flowers at their grave sides. I remember Mamma telling me of the story when Nonno was dying in 1983... one of our friends, Giorgio took Nonno to the hospital. Mamma said they had to pry Nonno out of Giorgo's arms...Giorgio and his family loved my Nonno so much, it was so difficult for Giorgio to let Nonno go....and then there is Mario e Laura, and Paola, so many friends that I owe so much gratitude to, for looking after my Nonno e Nonna. I love them each and all so much.... for their acts of kindness ( simple and great) when I am with them, either having dinner with them, or bringing them flowers at the cemetery... my feelings of sincere respect and gratitude for each and every one of them - will live on forever...grazie e tvb.
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