As many of you know I spent holidays and summers in the New Orleans area. When there, we would often go out “to the country” on Sundays which is where my Grandma and Grandpa were from. Small towns not on the map. I remember my Grandmother’s childhood home when it didn’t have running water, we would have to walk out to the outhouse, shudder. On the upside, to drink water, we would have to go to the spring to get it. There is nothing better than that spring water, cold and pure, we’d get out of a bucket and drink out of those swanky aluminum cups. I don’t think my great-Grandma knew those aluminum cups were super cool, they were just functional.
Going to see my Grandpa’s mother was always a treat too. She was born in Sicily and was puzzled why at the age of 15 I didn’t know how to sew. At 15 she apparently was handed fabric and expected to sew a dress. She was also expected to be married soon afterward. We’d always visit on Sundays knowing she’d be cooking meatballs and “gravy”. That’s how I knew spaghetti sauce growing up. It was called red gravy, and it was delicious. The other great thing about visiting on a Sunday was you never knew who else would show up to visit. My grandpa was one of 12 kids and most were still in the area and had large families of their own – true Italian Catholics.
Some Sundays it could be just our group with Grandma Noto. But some Sundays 20 people would show up. Great aunts and uncles, second and third cousins that I wouldn’t be able to figure out with a flow chart. Lots of Josephs, Joes, Little Joes, Big Joes and Joeys. But no matter how many people showed up for Sunday supper, there would always be enough chairs and food. My mom and I refer to this as the miracle of the red gravy. There was always plenty to go around. As people showed up a card table would be set up, chairs pulled around, more pasta would cook, the red gravy would flow, and Grandma Noto would just wave her hand in the air yelling “manga, manga!” to her large and loud family. I sometimes wonder if it was Grandma Noto’s genes that gave me my love of entertaining and having friends and family around. Though I don’t think I could ever make red gravy as good as hers.
Grandma Noto died many many years ago but I still have the Sunday miracles – only now its champagne. No matter if 4 of us gather for brunch or 10, it seems we’ve never run out of champagne on Santa Elena. Only now the card tables have been replaced by swanky sofas. Planned gatherings and impromptu visits alike, there is always room and enough champagne to go around. Of course in addition to being the miracle of Glenbrook Valley, it can also be the curse come Monday morning.
Oh and we still have the swanky aluminum cups that used to serve me cool, fresh spring water. Now they are collector’s items.
I love this, Shannon. I read it often, but have never told you how much I enjoy it. We are so fortunate when we have those Sunday miracles. Thank you.