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My Three Grandmothers |
 Giorlama
Ficara Giannetta, married to Vincenzo, my Mother's
Mother, from Oppido Mamertina, Calabria, Italy
I grew up next door to my 'Grandma Giannetta'. She
worked in the packing houses of Fresno, California
at the time. All the women in those days worked hard
and yet found time to tend their gardens, she's from
whom I gained an interest in sewing & cooking. She
always had a cake and homemade Anisette for
company...and I knew her secret hiding place for
cookies. I love you, Grandma...I know you're in
Heaven making biscotti for everyone. |
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 My 'Nani',
Caterina Fotia Ficara Ripepi, my Mother's
Grandmother, from Oppido Mamertina, Calabria,
Italia.
My Great-Grandmother lived with my Grandma next door
to me and my family . They were a pair for sure.
Nani liked to be quiet and Grandma liked to be in
motion at all times. My Nani crocheted with thread
and loved to watch soap operas. I remember going to
visit after school when I was young. One day I sat
next to her and asked, "What are you doing, Nani?".
She said, "Waiting". "Waiting for what?" She raised
her eyes upward and said, "I think He forgot me." I
wanted Him to forget her, but He remembered. I miss
her toothless grin, her belly shaking as she
giggled, her old hands and the soft skin on her
elbows. (I miss the delicious rabbit she cooked with
polenta, too:) |
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 My
Father's Mother, Antonina Sortino Mortillaro, was
born,
baptized, & married in the same church in
Villafranca Sicula, Sicilia, Italia as her husband,
Calogero (Charles, the masculine form of Carol).
They had three of their 10 children in this little
town before they immigrated to the USA through New
Orleans. (By the way, their first child born in the
US, Giuseppina, was born on the 4th of July!) After
having four children in Amite City, LA they followed
Old Country friends to Fresno, CA where my father
and the last two siblings were born before Calogero
died.
My Grandma Mortillaro spoke only a Sicilian dialect
...somehow we understood her...although mostly I
just stood in a corner and watched her in the
kitchen. Once I slipped into the bathroom to watch
her take down and re-comb her waist-length hair. She
just smiled at me.
She was a poor widow woman but the transients were
happily fed at her doorstep. She always prepared a
St. Joseph's Table on March 19th in Thanksgiving for
the safe return of four of her sons from WWII, and
served us 'Cuccia' on St. Lucy's Day, December 13th
in honor of Sicily's patroness.
My parish priest once said that the ultimate
expression of our lives would be to live it in
service of others. He made me think of my Grandma
Mortillaro. |
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I am very proud of my little place as I am a second generation Italian American.
My grandparents and some of my aunts and uncles immigrated from Italy in the early 1900's.
My maternal grandfather actually jumped a boat for America with a friend against his parents
wishes at the age of 17. After loosing 3 children before they were 5 years old and then
their only other son in World War I, Vincenzo's parents told him that if he left that they
would never speak to him again. He left anyway, knowing that he would possibly never see or
speak to any of his family again, but that leaving his beloved, although economically depressed
homeland, America was his only hope for a good life.
Vincenzo's parents had taken in their
missing-in-action son's wife and five children.
These children had lived with the Giannetta family
for several years.
A few years later Vincenzo's father gave money to a
ship's captain to take his oldest grandson to
America to find his son by the return addresses on
letters they had received. Domenico, however, never
made it to America, but was found as a stowaway and
sent to prison for a short time ending the search
for their only son, Vincenzo. They were never able
to find their Vincenzo, and died in sorrow for the
sad parting.
As it turned out in the early 70's, and 20 years
after my grandfather's death, my mother went to
Italy on a vacation with the intention of trying to
find her father's family. She was a little afraid of
contacting them considering the circumstances of his
departure.
When she found them, this same nephew who had been
sent to America to find my grandfather, surviving
aunts along with the new generations, were
overwhelmed with gladness.
The whole family in Italy had waited many years for
the day that they would be contacted. On my mother's
arrival, one elderly aunt took off her wedding ring
and gave it to my mother as a token of the family's
love for and connection to their lost American
family.
As a child my Italian family and their friends
lived, worked, and played in close contact with each
other. Every Friday night was spent at an aunt's or
uncle's home. Sunday nights were spent at my
paternal grandmother's Sicilian home with all my
cousins, aunt's, and uncle's. We shared our lives,
Holy Days and Holidays, the wonderful food and
memories with each other. When I had my own family I
instituted the "Cugino Party" -- gathering all of my
cousins together twice a year for what had been part
of our lives at least twice a week. Then my husband
and I with our three children moved to Jackson Hole,
partially as a positive response to mid-life crisis,
partly in search of a cleaner way of life for our
young children.
Because of these wonderful memories and my feeling
that 'outsiders' really had no idea of the true
culture and food of the Italians, I always wanted to
do something that would bring the real beauty of
this earthy people out. 'Accidentally', on a very
boring Sunday in December 1989, an Italian chef who
was looking for a job walked right into our motel
office. That's how Nani's happened. I never
consciously entertained ideas of opening a
restaurant -- it just happened, but this blessing
from God was truly the fulfillment of 'the desire of
my heart'.
I didn't mean to get 'corny' on you, but Nani's is
part of who I am in more ways than just a woman who
owns a restaurant. I hope that you find the time and
Nani's when you are in Jackson Hole. I believe that
you will enjoy a wonderful dinner and a relaxing
evening with us.
Sincerely,
Carol Ann Therese Mortillaro Parker |
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