Memories, good and bad are the stuff our lives are made
of.  In writing this blog, I tap into that huge hard drive of mine where all my memories reside...9 out of 10 times there is a
food memory attached to the file..many times there are family attachments as well.  For those you who follow this blog you
know I'm from an Italian - American family in Staten Island, NYC.  My grandparents came from Italy between 1912 and 1920.
They raised their family of 8 children,  Antonetta, Assunta, Vincenzo, Antonio, Luigi, Luigina, Maria Giuseppe and
Generoso in the West Brighton section of Staten Is, an enclave of Southern Italian immigrant families.  The oldest of their
children was Antonetta(Antoinette) whom we lovingly called Aunt Ann, or A'Dunette.  Approaching her 88th birthday this
coming December, she was the matriarch of our Scaramuzzi family, my mom's side. 



Some pictures of my Aunt Ann with her sisters, her daughter, and some nieces. The first picture at the top of the
blog post was with her husband, our beloved Uncle Paulie at their son's wedding in the 70's.    It's awesome to
have all of these pix as they prove that your memories are real..Tough losing someone you've known all of your
life, especially when the ties to your own parents who are no longer here are so strong.  My mom and Aunt Ann
were sisters and best friends.  Since my mom's passing in 1999, Aunt Ann and I have enjoyed talking about
the old days, she recounted endless family stories, filling in blanks, giving me recipe and food tips when I didn't
know or recall how the family made certain dishes.  My grandmother's Christmas eve baccala dish of fried
baccala, then stewed in a sauce of chopped garlic, tomato, chile pepper, and olives is one of my most treasured
dishes.  My grandmother never made it for me, but Aunt Ann told me that was served at their Christmas Eve
dinners as she was growing up.. Those stories are priceless.  When you lose a person who has those missing
links for you, it's sad and lonely. She was quiet ill the last few months...terrible thing to watch a strong vibrant
person slow down into disrepair, but such is the circle of life. 
     I visited with her last Thursday after an evening out with clients in NYC.  She was struggling and weak, but
even in the flourescent haze of the nursing home nightime corridor, she whispered my name before I got into
the room.  She loved her parents, her husband, her children, grandchildren and greatgrandchildren, sisters and
brothers, nieces and nephews and all of her cousins tremendously.  I'm finding it hard to write this, but the words
need to come out...she was a tough and independent woman and you always knew where you stood with her..
Aunt Ann was brutally honest. And loving, and fun, and made awesome Christmas pastries, that she learned
from her side of the family, and from her husbands side...from different parts of Italy...Her sauce with sausage
tasted JUST like my mom's did.  Couldn't tell the difference between them.  She reminded me so much of my
mom, sometimes in looks, sometimes in her actions or movements.    Last week I saw the tired in her eyes,
she was ready to move on to the next chapter..

  This is my pot of sauce (gravy) with meatballs and sausage,
somewhere, deep inside the onion and basil infused tomato sauce is a piece of Aunt Ann...a piece of all who taught me
and will continue to inspire me throughout the rest of my life.

   So, Arriverderci A'Dunette, thank you for loving your family, thank you for being such a
good friend to my mom, may you rest in peace...