Pasta Fazool for the Soul

MONDAYS & TUESDAYS

One of the things about our house growing up, was that there was always something good left over that would be good to eat. Later after I was married, I could pop in my mothers unannounced and she would say, "you should call and tell me that you are coming." She would say, " I could prepare." Then she would pull out a meal fit for a king. Even on the day she died, she struggled to her kitchen and made me a bowl of her chicken vegetable soup. She also took out a stick of pepperoni and a wedge of imported provolone.

At dinners, no one wanted to sit next to my father. If you said something disrespectful, you could get hit. He didn't really hit us that much, just enough to know that when he spoke, we should listen. We all could talk, but if the conversation veered in the wrong direction, my father would yell "ENOUGH!" and put his hand up. You then could hear a pin drop. If we kids acted up, my mother would call us "animaahls." Italian for animal. My father would always tell us to sit compost (upright) when we ate at the table.

For snacks, my family could make a meal of celery dipped in salt and oil, (pure, extra Virgin olive oil). Who knew at the time this would be good on the Atkins diet?

Every day of the week either a neighbor would come over or one of our relatives. Our neighbor John, who is almost 90 years old now, owns a 100 million dollar a year business. He was over our house almost every night since I can remember. We used to play a card game called "45" for small amounts of money. Looking back now, it's hard to believe my father and his friend on some nights would play cards with me 12 or 13 years old at the time. Up to six could play and someone was always coming and going. My mother, brother, sister, uncles, aunts, another of my fathers friends or someone would be there.

My mother and father had many friends. Even on the night of their wedding, the wedding party went with them to their hotel room and had a party. My parents spent their honeymoon at the New York World's Fair in 1940.

My brother and I would tease my father when we teamed up partners against him and my sister. That teasing would have my father yell at my sister for throwing the wrong card. Once my father ripped up the cards. It was funny. Like all arguments or yelling in an Italian home, 10 minutes later we were all laughing and the past was forgotten. One time my Aunt Gilda (actual 3rd cousin who was close to my mother's age), and her husband Andy, came over in the middle of one of these family card game arguments. Gilda and Andy were so close with our family, they would walk right in, no knocking. Gilda would open the door and yell, "hello" and on that occasion, my father instantly became mellow. We all laughed. Gilda would also argue politics with my father in a fun way.