Hell in a Cookie Basket

Today, we had a tremendous send off to our Great Aunt Lil - this was my tribute to her - one that the very old and traditional priest did not approve of in the least. Although the man wearing robes that I wouldn't touch on my best drag days may want to send me to hell for being "inappropriate in the house of the Lord," in the end, all that mattered was that I made those in attendance laugh, remember and cry, not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy that we were blessed to have had such a wonderful woman lead our family for so many years.

There hasn’t been a time in our lives when Aunt Lil was not there  - and perhaps because of that – all of us, no matter how small the thought – believed that maybe, just maybe – this woman was immortal.

In August, I went to visit Aunt Lil when she was in rehab and as I left, I gave her kiss, looked her in the eye, and said, “Now, don’t give me an excuse to fly back here this year.” She, of course, didn’t listen to me and did things her way. In the end, didn’t we all know that she would get what she wanted?

“I’m spoiled,” she said once without a hint of humility. “I’ve always been spoiled.”
And who were we to argue?

Fifty years ago she brought two people together, and because of that simple take charge act, I stand here with so much gratitude – because without her, my brother and I would not exist as part of this amazing and wonderful family.

Holidays, birthdays, weddings, babies, graduations, anniversaries, new jobs, boyfriends, ex-boyrfiends, girlfriends, and ex-girlfriends – there’s not one of life’s events that she did not share with us. And no matter how old any of us got – there was always a card, and inside - $25 “to have coffee and a bagel on me.”

No doubt all of us remember the times at her house in Winthrop she shared with Uncle Tony. How much love was in that small two bedroom flat?

What crazy treasures existed up that spiral staircase to the attic, where once a red light shone in the window much to the wrath of my very old fashioned Italian grandfather? And how amazing was it to see her beloved Rinny Von Gregorie  running through those rooms? Well, for me, I just remember being scared of this huge German Sheppard, but that’s another story.

Just like the flat at 194 Washington Ave, her home in Malden meant the world to her.

What feasts would greet us when she had us over for a meal. When all I wanted was her famous potatoes and eggs, there would be lox, bagels, and a buffet that would, no doubt, cause the chefs of the Ritz Carlton to go back to cooking school. When I moved to the west coast, her cookie culinary fame brought her legions of new fans. And though only a select few met “the woman who made those cookies,”-  from just those sweets, they knew the kind of woman our aunt was. So if anyone ever tells you that you cannot bake love into a cookie, then they, like Aunt Lil always said, “can go shit in their hat.”

Her gigadellis filled the curio cabinets, the Hummels lined her mantel, pictures of family past and present and photos of new friends were everywhere you looked. Anyone who entered could tell that there was love in that house, that here were endless days and nights of good times. Here, she found safety and comfort. Watching her stories and game shows and reading her romance novels, she found there her sanctuary for so many years.  It was the place she wanted above anything else to return to and, of course – she got her way. I will always remember 37 Bellvale as a place filled with love, overflowing with good times and laughter – all the ingredients that made Aunt Lil so special. But one thing that that was missing from those rooms, and she always knew it - was her collection of classic dolls.

“Oh, Jimmy, I had so many dolls,” she reminisced, “And I gave them all away.”

“You never gave away that ugly one over there,” I’d tease pointing to the scary dark haired, bug eyed doll in the pink dress.

“Don’t you make fun of her,” she’d scold, adamant that as a child, I poked out its eyes causing it to go to the doll hospital. A fact that I insist to this very day is false and that she lied. Because, after all, Aunt Lil would never lie, would she?

And no matter how old we got or how many times we thought we had the upper hand, how easy was it  for her to scold us and make us feel as if were ten years old again?  That’s a hell of a talent and like her closely guarded recipes; she never gave away its secret. She was the original diva, the reigning queen of the family and in her own “special” way – she reminded us of that time and time again.

I’m not sure what life will be like without her. Right now, it’s strangely empty, but just think of what life would have been if she had never been ours - if she had not been here to watch over us and see her family grow into a tree with so many branches that it’s getting harder and harder to keep them all rooted in one place. I have no doubt she knew that she was surrounded by love - and how special was it that  some of us here even heard her say out loud -  “I love you.” 

Secrets or perhaps just not being comfortable in sharing were a part of her make up that everyone knew all too well. So imagine my surprise this past summer when she opened up for a brief moment about the answer for a successful marriage.

 “My Tony was the best, and once you find the best there is no other,” she told me, dabbing a tear from her eye, as she remembered her husband, even almost 40 years after losing the love of her life.

That’s how I know that we can be sure, as my cousin Nance said  - that Uncle Tony was there to greet her and ask her simply, “what took you so long?”

Theirs was a marriage like no other, this was a couple like no other pairing and this – this was what “til death do us part” meant. Okay, so maybe a union shouldn’t be totally skewed to give the woman everything she wants when she wants it, but after all, this was Aunt Lil, so the bar was set a little too high for anyone else to emulate. Before the term, “soul mate” was even coined; she discovered hers and to the day she left us, she never stopped loving that man.

And it’s that love that she had for Uncle Tony … and all of us… that we will carry around in our hearts for ever – because she will never truly leave us.

To quote from my brother’s favorite poem by Mary Frye.

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

That last line is true, isn’t it? For though we are here today to pay our respects, I will not say they are our “final” ones. For this amazing woman will always be, not only a part of the family she knew, but also a legend to the ones who are yet to come.

And, who here wants to bet that right now, Olympia Margarita Staffieri Gregorie is arguing with God about the lousy scratch tickets they have in heaven.

May God bless her.

Love in a Cookie

In a typical year, I travel back to Beantown only in the summer, but this year, with my parents’ 50^th anniversary in May and my cousin’s wedding in August, I was high above the fly over states for more than my usual schedule. Tomorrow, I once again get on board a United jet bound for the east coast.  Yet, although the occasion is a sad one, really, the bidding goodbye to my grandmother’s sister – the family’s great Aunt Lil – is really a celebration of a life that has touched so many.

For as long as I can remember, my aunt has been there. When I was just eight years old, after my grandmother succumbed to ovarian cancer, it was clear that Lil was not going to be her replacement. But she was something even more special – she held the family together in so many ways and for so many years to come. She had fought and won her own battles, lifesaving operations, the loss of her beloved husband, illness, and more. Yet, if she were afraid, she never once showed it. Perhaps that’s where I get my confidence from – it’s hard to tell. But in all of her 95 years, Aunt Lil was the rock of this Italian brood I call my family.

When I moved away – I knew how much I’d miss her and with every visit, hers was the first house I stopped in on the way back from the airport. When all I wanted was a simple breakfast and time to visit, she produced a buffet of culinary overload. And, how privileged I was when one year, I brought my San Francisco friends to her house to experience her hospitality and unique way of loving.

She asked nothing of us –and all that it took to make Diamond Lil happy was a handful of scratch tickets. How she’d squeal like a little girl opening her first doll on Christmas Morning when there was just a hint of a winner revealed. But don’t try to fool her – she knew those tickets like nobody’s business – the second an 11 appeared, she knew the ticket was a loser. And she would curse the Massachusetts State Lottery Commission for being so cheap. The day she won $50 on a ticket I gave her was pretty special, and of course, she took me out to lunch, which was even better.

For her 80^th birthday, we all gave her a bouquet of roses with scratch tickets on every flower. There were chances from all corners of the state, Provincetown, Boston, The North Shore – and not a jackpot winner in the bunch. But it was the thrill of the game she loved. Vegas in the 50’s was where she and her husband played, Judy Garland sitting on the edge of the stage was  one of their entertainers, Broadway with all the greats, including Hello, Dolly with Carol Channing – the stories of her travels made me envious.

Her love was in everything she did. In her cooking, in the time spent with family, in her never failing to remember any occasion with a card and “$25 to have coffee and a bagel on me.” The fact that she was the reason my parents met has never been lost on me. This year, to have her sitting in her living room, presiding over their 50^th vow renewal like the queen that she was – was the most precious gift my parents could have received that day.

Her cookies were coast-to-coast famous, and over the years, she shipped tins and tins of them to me every year for my holiday parties. She guarded her recipes tightly and only recently as the reality of her age set in, did she relinquish them to me. The day she mailed me her pizzelle maker was bitter sweet – I realized that she was now too weak to make her famous Italian cookies and the sadness disappeared when I felt so privileged that she had given me the machine. When I returned to Boston this summer to visit her, I took her bags of the cookies I’d made. She nibbled on them and deemed them worthy. It was a very special day for me.

She very rarely spoke of the “old days,” of her Italian immigrant parents and the hardships they faced. Instead she was all about living for the day. During her marriage, her husband spoiled her so much that it set the precedence for years to come. But, really, how could we compete with the man who brought such things into her life, including the puppy of the original Rin Tin Tin? When he passed away in 1973, the light went out from her eyes – but she ventured on – greeting each new generation of our family with the same outrageous behavior she’d been showing for years.

This was a woman who never wanted for anything and who remained living alone until she turned 94. How many in this world can say that? But, I knew that when she lost her ability to bake, that her time with us would be winding down. So when I got that pizzelle maker last year, I put as much love in every cookie as she had done so many times before. 

And if you don’t think you can convey that in a cookie, then, like my Aunt Lil always said, “You can go shit in your hat.”