An adoring tribute. Your standard-issue Italian nonna is equally at home in church or the kitchen. She prays for you, and for all the right reasons: your incurably casual church attendance, your tattoos, your indecent language. She wants you to get married, but how is that going to happen when you won’t settle down? Come Sunday dinner, though, which is not to be missed for any reason short of death, she’s standing over your shoulder with a third ladleful of pasta, telling you to eat because you’re too skinny.
I read this, and love that you love them. But a big part of me can't help thinking that I'm glad my people were German-Norwegian-Anglo/Saxon. (Not that any of that ever made my life better, mind you.)
I read this, and love that you love them. But a big part of me can't help thinking that I'm glad my people were German-Norwegian-Anglo/Saxon. (Not that any of that ever made my life better, mind you.)