Grandma November 2018
At the University of Colorado Boulder dorms, my roommate was David Roscover. His father was of German descent and his mom Italian. He used to get care packages of quaresimali, pizzelles, jars of marinara, and nut rolls from his Grandma Fasula which he shared with all of us. This would have been wonderful by itself but we also had a cadre of Jewish fellows in our hall that celebrated different holidays and got packages with matzo ball soup, knishes, kreplachs and more. These delicacies were passed around too.
I couldn’t afford to go home to San Diego for Thanksgiving so David took me to Pueblo, Colorado to meet his family. We arrived on Wednesday night and found ourselves in a cloud of delicious fragrances at Grandma Fasula’s kitchen table. At 18 years of age we were thrilled with the presentation of a 2 pound plate of spaghetti and two huge meatballs covered in grated fresh Parmesan cheese. We ate it all.
Then came grandma. She said, “Boys, you wann some mo?” We said, “No, grandma, we’re full.” Grandma, “Now boys, tamarrow is Thanksgiving. You got to stretch out and get ready. Here. You drink some Pepsi. It make you burp and you eat some mo.” She brought exactly the same plate back again and stood over us until we finished it all.
The next day was indeed Thanksgiving. When the family got home from mass at 11:00 the next morning, we sat down to the table. There was a television set at each corner, tuned in to four different football games. With the adults in the dining room, the children were relegated to the kitchen. There were cases of Pepsi, and cases of wine, and every known protein on the planet that once walked on two or four legs. We did not get up from the table until 8:00 p.m.
Grandma was right, we needed to stretch out.
Happy Thanksgiving my dear friends.
Bob
A Guy Named Bob 