Grandma
Like all grandmas, Grandma was a tiny woman - god knows why all grandmas shrink in size, and naturally she did too. She had small hands that had never rested for too long, skinny arms that had held too much, and even skinnier legs that had taken her almost everywhere. Her eyes were icy blue, sharp and lively, and even towards the end, as they filled more and more with water and sand, they would cut through any bullshit and find the truth.
Her body carried 90 years of war, of poverty and sickness, of cancer and loss, held together only by the strength of her character. She believed in family, in service, in independence, and in practical wisdom. She was not kind with her words - if anything, she preferred silence and a fiery look to communicate her approval or disagreement - but she was generous with her doing, giving the little she had to her children and nephews and offering acts of service through delicious meals, knitted sweaters, or clothes alterations.
She used to speak Italian filled with dialectal words which would always make our day - learning these words and repeating verbal conjugations in Bresciano (the thick dialect of her hometown Brescia) was a delight and a comical exercise for me and my sister. When that happen, grandma would have a whimsical look, undecided if taking our attempts as mockery or compliment.
She preferred the background to the spotlight - leaving the latter to the bubbliest members of the family - and she despised being photographed at any occasion. The only time I was able to steal a quick photo from her, as we were walking to a bar for an afternoon spritz, she gave me a dismayed look, quite obviously disapproving my doing. I wonder if she did indeed mind it, or if deep down she liked and welcomed the playfulness and carefree attitude of us kids - something kids now embody freely and easily and adults take for granted, but grandmas know they had to fight for.
Her body carried 90 years of war, of poverty and sickness, of cancer and loss, held together only by the strength of her character. She believed in family, in service, in independence, and in practical wisdom. She was not kind with her words - if anything, she preferred silence and a fiery look to communicate her approval or disagreement - but she was generous with her doing, giving the little she had to her children and nephews and offering acts of service through delicious meals, knitted sweaters, or clothes alterations.
She used to speak Italian filled with dialectal words which would always make our day - learning these words and repeating verbal conjugations in Bresciano (the thick dialect of her hometown Brescia) was a delight and a comical exercise for me and my sister. When that happen, grandma would have a whimsical look, undecided if taking our attempts as mockery or compliment.
She preferred the background to the spotlight - leaving the latter to the bubbliest members of the family - and she despised being photographed at any occasion. The only time I was able to steal a quick photo from her, as we were walking to a bar for an afternoon spritz, she gave me a dismayed look, quite obviously disapproving my doing. I wonder if she did indeed mind it, or if deep down she liked and welcomed the playfulness and carefree attitude of us kids - something kids now embody freely and easily and adults take for granted, but grandmas know they had to fight for.
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