Ahhh, sushi....

I am still astonished at the fact that I absolutely, positively, entirely, completely LOVE sushi.  I'm not talking about California Rolls, or Cucumber Rolls.  I'm talking about eel, tuna, salmon, spicy yellow tail, ebi, tobiko, and nato.....Okay, not nato.  I exaggerated. 

The man who was my "Man of Honor," Chuck, AKA Charlie, AKA Charlie-San, AKA Joe, is my standing sushi companion.  No matter what name I call him, the one name that never wavers is, "friend." Even despite getting married (and not to him), he and I have our "sushi dates" whenever we can. 

Tonight, I am awaiting his arrival to feast at our favorite sushi restaurant,  Hastings Sakura Garden. We trek about 40 minutes to get to this restaurant because several years ago they moved from their original location that was a mere 15 minutes away.  Let me tell you, the trek is worth it.  These people have become more than just our friends - we consider them extended family, and whenever we walk into their "home-away-from-home,"  we are made to feel that way too.  Long hours are spent perfecting the presentations and ambiance.  Great pride from all, is exuded from the moment we are greeted until we bid our farewell.  How wonderful to enjoy a meal prepared just for you and presented as if it were a one-of-a-kind "gift." 

Tonight, I think I shall have a "Summer Love Roll."  It is described as follows: Salmon, mango and crunch inside, topped with black-pepper tuna, eel, shrimp and avocado.  My mouth is watering.  The sushi chef will, as usual, offer us a specially-prepared appetizer.  Sometimes they are new creations and other times they are one of the tried-and-trues off the menu.  Either way, they are delectable and much appreciated.

I think I hear my friend's car approaching.....Time to chat away 40 minutes and then enjoy the bliss of edible art. Good food, good friends, good wine.  What more could a girl ask for?

Hummm.  I'm hungry.

Coming to America

The Dante Aleghrie

My grandfather, John B. Mauro, was born in Susquehanna, PA on October 31, 1904.  He lived there for about seven years and then sailed to Italy with his parents.  On July 2, 1923, at age 19, my grandfather decided to return to his birth country for a better life.  He sailed as a steerage passenger on the Dante Aleghrie from Naples to Ellis Island, NY.

Ellis Island

Listening to him tell the story made you aware of what a huge event it was in his life.  By the time he was 92 years old, you could watch him look off into the distance as he went back in time and re-told his story for the 1,000th time, verbatim.  After hearing the story for the 742nd time, I began to dread the opening words, "You know, when I came to the United States back in '23, I saw the most beautiful sight.  I saw 'The Lady.'  I stood by the railing of the ship and cried."  That is how the story started, even though it was actually the end of his ocean journey.

The "Lady" he lovingly referred to was the Statue of Liberty.  Tears would fill his eyes as he recalled the sight.  Tears fill my eyes as I remember his words.  The story continues with his search for a good boarding home.  A good home, with good people. People from his vicinity in Italy, Naples.  Then, he would find a job.

Since he wanted to save the best part of the story for last, the tale would then return to the ocean journey.   He reminisced how while traveling via steerage, he was the youngest in his quarters.  It seemed like there were many men sharing the same sleeping area and  after each meal, they bullied him into washing the dishes and utensils that had been provided to each for the trip.  Galley-type meals were included with the cost of the ticket, but since he wasn't too thrilled at being the dishwasher, he decided to purchase his meals in the commoner's dining room.  Unfortunately, by the time he arrived at Ellis Island he had spent the little money he had, and was unable to pay his entry fee into the United States.  He was, therefore, treated as an immigrant and had to follow the procedures as if one.  That is how he actually got to see the main building on Ellis Island.  He waited there until his U.S. entry tax could be paid.  His older brother somehow learned about his status and paid his debt, thus, making  my grandfather indebted to his older brother.

One look from older brother to newly arrived younger sibling, prompted an immediate trip to a store where a new suit was purchased.  Apparently, my grandfather's mother had lovingly sewn him a suit.  It must have been so hard of a labor of love to sew a suit for a son who would be leaving you, possibly forever.  Her tears may have caused the suit to end up as badly as it was described.  Story has it that it was an ill-fitting, green, serge material hanging off my very fit grandfather's frame.  Here he stood....19 years old, basically on his own and looking like he "just got off the boat."  Now, to his mission...to find that "good family" and a job.

My grandfather happened upon a boarding house that was run by "paisans."  Paisan's are people who were from the same town as yours in Italy, but now lived in the U.S.  Italians believe that if you are a "paisan," you are family.  When he knocked on the door to inquire about an available room, he was greeted by a 16 year-old girl who was the daughter of the woman who ran the house.  It was located in Mt. Vernon, NY.  She was the youngest of three, with two older brothers. 

This is where his story takes on a different tone.  It becomes softer and gentler.  He reminisces about courting this girl and winning her heart.  I remember there was an incident of a box of chocolate and a slammed door in his face, a story about shoveling coal in the winter, getting ice cream in the summer and what a great boarding house he had found.  Many other details are getting lost in the fabric in my mind. 

To fast-forward to the best part of his story. It concluded with how they became engaged, got married, had three children and lived happily ever after.  My existence in this specific space and time, is due to the fact that a man was born in Susquehanna, PA and went back to Italy, only to return and meet my grandmother.   

On August 5, 2013, 90 years after my grandfather sailed into the Upper Bay of The Hudson River passing Liberty Island and arriving at Ellis Island, I sailed out of Pier 90 in Manhattan, on the Carnival, Glory.  As I passed Ellis Island and "The Lady," I thought back to my wonderful grandfather, his journey, his story, and his life.  I wish I could hear him tell it just one more time.

On board with me were two of his three children, two of his nine grandchildren, one of seven great-grandchildren and three of seven great-great grandchildren.  He would have been so proud. 

Yet another....

Yet another has arrived to enter my heart.  My newest granddaughter,  Emma, arrived on August 7, 2013.  At the time of her birth, I was on a cruise ship, sailing up the east coast from New York to Canada.  The occasion was my marriage to a most wonderful man. 

I flew out to see her right after the cruise and can't explain how you can so easily fall in love with a wisp of a thing, but boy, immediately, my heart swelled with love and adoration for this little person who doesn't even know me yet.

Trips out to Colorado are not as frequent as I would like them to be.  I will try harder to get out there again real soon.  They grow up so quickly, as I can attest to with my other five grandchildren.

Thank goodness for Face Time.  I am able to keep close to Emma and hers sisters via that format.  I love our talks and time spent over the Internet.  It is wonderful.  Today I Face Timed with her and her daddy.  When he held the camera for her to see me, I watched as her eyes, wide open,  seemed to focus on the image.  I called her name and asked her if she remembered my voice.  She did seem to be listening, or maybe it was my hope that she could.

I will Face Time and watch Emma grow until I get another chance to hold her in my arms again, kiss her face and smell her scent.

Wait for me Emma.....

A little red lobster

I love planning visits to see my six grandchildren, all of whom live a distance from me.  Yet, the whole time I am visiting, I am dreading the thought of when we will eventually have to say, "Goodbye."

The toughest ones to visit, out of the six, are the three in Colorado. I don't get out there as often as I do to visit the three in North Carolina as those can be a road trip for a long weekend,to catch a recital, holiday or birthday. Colorado takes planning, money and time.

My sweet six-year-old, Nina, is the eldest of the three Colorado girls and when I do get to visit there, she too is very aware that my visit will eventually come to an end. She is always drawing me a picture to take home with me "so I won't forget her." Yeah, like I ever could. On my last visit, she created a crayon drawing that was markedly improved from my last visit. She is staying in the lines so much better now. At home I have a huge folder filled with drawings from all of my grandkids. I can't wait for the day when I either give them back, or at least let them view my collection.

On this visit, I had just returned from a cruise to Nova Scotia, and while there I brought her back a stuffed lobster that was holding onto a smaller lobster.  When I gave it to her, I told her I liked to think that I was the big lobster and she was the little one. She loved it and slept with it each night of my visit. She called it, "Meema," her name for me. 

The thing that warmed my heart, yet broke it in two, was when she handed me the stuffed toy and asked me to separate the two lobsters. She explained that I should take the baby lobster home with me to remind me of her and, in turn, she would keep the big one(aka Meema)so we could be with each other all the time. As hard as I tried, I couldn't hold back the tears. I grabbed  her and the lobsters and held on as tightly as I dared. Part of me wanted to keep the two lobsters together, as they were meant to be - like the way I wanted to be with her, however, she insisted, so we got the scissors and I snipped just two little threads to separate them. We each took "the other," and made believe that they were talking to each other - puppet-like.  We laughed on the outside, but I knew we were each a little sad on the inside. 

The next evening, I left on a red-eye flight to NY. I crept into each of the kid's rooms to kiss their foreheads and take in my last deep breath of them (until my next visit). 

When I entered Nina's room, there she was, with "me" by her side, sleeping like an angel. My kiss lingered a second longer.

Packed in my carry-on bag was "her."  

I sat on the plane and made a fool out of myself, sobbing deeply with a little red lobster pressed to my face. I didn't care who saw me or what they thought. I could only think of what I was leaving behind.

So, a little red lobster sits on my desk.  A constant reminder that my Nina is with me every day, not only in my heart, but right in front of me. A constant, tangible reminder.

Some day, I will tell her that she never had to give me anything to remind me of her. I could never forget her; she is burned in my mind, my heart and my soul.

That little red lobster is so darn cute, just like my Nina.

Thank you, Nina, for being "you.”

"REVISED” 11/5/2024

Last year, the two lobsters were sewn back together. Nina, then 16, was ready to put Meema lobster away for safe keeping. She knew I’d always visit and never forget her. 

Some photos from our visits:

Animal Magnatism

I can remember every pet that ever loved me. I didn't pay a dime for any of my special friends, nor was I ever looking for a pet, they just somehow showed up at different times of my life. Each one has left a special mark in my heart and earned a spot in my mind forever. My first pet came into my life around 1958.....Lucky, the stray Heinz 57 mutt. As I wrote in a previous blog, he wandered into my life as an injured, lost soul and warmed up some really cold nights for me. Great dog.  

Buffy was next. He actually was my grandfather's dog and I got to name him and pretended that he was mine. He was a yellow lab mix and a stray as well. He was a super-smart dog and had eyes that led straight to his sweet soul. At night, he was supposed to sleep in the basement, buy my grandfather and I would sneak him upstairs to sleep in the living room.  My grandmother pretended not to notice.

My next pet was quite a story. I read about him on the front page of the local paper in Mt. Vernon, NY. The Daily Argus, way back in 1973.  It was the day after Christmas and he was found during a snowstorm, wavering from side to side of a double yellow line on Lincoln Avenue in Pelham, NY. Not a location that would ensure a long, healthy life for a puppy. A woman picked him up and brought him to her home. She was unable to keep him and had hoped the story in the paper would find his rightful owner.  I guess the "rightful" owner ended up being me, since no one claimed the poor boy. Ta-da!!! Sammy entered my life.  He was my buddy through the first 13 years of marriage and the birth of my two sons.  Sammy was the best dog ever.  He was protective, loving, and had a deep sense of understanding.  He had this uncanny sense of knowing whenever I was sad.  There were too many times when he would curl up next to me and lick away tears as they fell from my eyes.  He would lay a paw on my shoulder, as if to say, "I'm here."  He had "those eyes" too.  Those soul-searching eyes. 

The pal who followed Sammy was named Auggie, named after Auggie Doggie, the cartoon.  He was a full-bred beagle that was given away because he had a physical defect - a bend in his tail.  No good for a breeder, or to use as a show dog, but let me tell you, he was quite the entertainer.  He kept the family laughing at his antics, which included getting loose, stealing food and leaving the evidence on my front lawn.  He showed up  with various items, but the most memorable were the peach can stuck on his snout, a half-defrosted roast beef, a raw turkey neck, and various dishes that, at one time, held cat food. He ate anything and everything.  He got "skunked" a couple of times and actually let someone enter our home one night without so much as a raised eye lid.  I think he may have snored through it all.

The adventure that followed Auggie was the well-renowned, chick-magnet, collegiate and well-traveled "Tank."  So named by my son.  I called him "Mommy's baby," or "Tankie."  Tank lived in more places than my kids had at the time.  He spent a semester at Cobbleskill Community College, he hung out at Fulgum's Bar, sat in the front seat of a Jeep Wrangler while cruising around town and flashed "those eyes" at all the girls.  He also loved to sleep under the covers in my bed.  A wonderful foot warmer and friend. Everyone in our little town knew him. Tank lived to the ripe old age of 14!  He was well cared for and well loved by many right up to his last day.  He lived a most charmed life.

Bogey, although not technically mine, earned a spot on my list.  He helped me find the man I am about to marry.  It's too long a story to go into, but suffice it to say, that I agreed to a first date based on the fact that he had a Golden Retriever.  I figured that anyone who has a Golden, can't be that bad  Fast forward to today, as I count down the days to our wedding.  Bogey, although named for the golf term, was a true tennis fan.  He LOVED tennis balls and had to have TWO thrown out to him in the yard.  Not one.....it had to be two.  

He was a lover and a super spoiled sweetheart. It ended up that Bogey and Tank were the same age.  They were both gently sent to the gate within months of each other.  It was a tough time and I well up with tears to remember.  I choose to  remember them running, jumping, wagging their tails and chasing tennis balls.  

I will end this blog entry with my last pet........a black and white tuxedo cat, named Lucy.  To be continued...

Getting married again....

I remember a time when all I wanted was to get married, have two kids and live "happily ever after."  Well I did get married, at 18 years old, no less, and had my two kids.  Two great kids. Actually, they are men with families of their own now. The "happily ever after" didn't pan out, and the 38 year journey is one I wouldn't care to repeat, but the result of the union brought me more joy than words could ever express.  I don't want to come off sounding like the whole time being married was bad, because it wasn't. There were wonderful, happy moments of being new parents, watching them walk, talk and graduate high schools and colleges. Being young didn't factor into the divorce at all.  We were both very mature for our tender ages, but we started with nothing, grew into adults together, and then each  had different ideas of the definition of "happiness" was for that "ever after."

The time period during the divorce seemed endless, stressful, hateful, and utterly bitter-tasting.  I never thought I would make that same commitment again - ever.  Or as Taylor Swift said, "Never, ever, ever, ever."  However, a special individual dropped in my lap when I wasn't looking.  I was not especially thrilled at the timing, but I knew in my heart, that I would "never, ever, ever, ever" find a guy who would treat me like he did and make me feel how I waited a lifetime to feel - as though I was his #1.

This August, we are getting married.  After being together for 10 years, we have now decided to "make it legal."  Last week, we got our marriage license, yesterday, we picked out wedding bands.  We are getting closer and closer to the big day.  When the jeweler asked what we would like to have engraved on the rings, I knew immediately what I wanted mine to say -"#1."  With his wry sense of humor, my guy said, "I guess I'll  just have to be #2,: but of course, he ended up the same as me, since we both are each other's #1. 

For whoever reads this entry, I wish you the same feeling I was so fortunate to finally achieve - to find the person who makes you feel as if you are the most important thing in the universe to them.  It's a great feeling.