My Favorite Little Box

When we have children, it is a great blessing if our parents are around to be a part of their lives. If there is anyone on this planet who will love our kids as much as we do, it is surely most grandparents.

When I was growing up, my Grandma was probably the most loving person I knew. I had a Nana as well, and she was my mother's mother. I have seen families who tend to be closer with the maternal grandmother, but my Nana had 19 grandchildren. The five in my own house didn't fall into her "favorites" category. Which is NOT to say she didn't love us. She surely did. We just weren't as close with her as we were to Grandma.

Grandma had only the five kids in our family and two grandchildren from my dad's only sister. My aunt had moved across the country even before the birth of her second child, so Grandma didn't get to see them much. Therefore, for Grandma, the sun rose and set on my house.

I was the oldest granddaughter. It gave me a bond with her that holds close today, 23 years after she left us. She took my older brother and me to our first show at Radio City Music Hall, took us out to eat at The Lamps Of China in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, all when I was about 4 or 5 years old, and all by subway.

She took us to our first Yankees game when I was 7. We took the B train from her house in Bensonhurst and switched to the D train at DeKalb Avenue. That D train left us right at the doors of The House That Ruth Built.

She carried a plaid, vinyl, insulated bag full of heros she had made that morning. Peppers and eggs, veal and peppers, sausage and peppers...(must've been a sale on peppers)...and she had a separate bag with drinks. A hot bag and a cold bag. She held those bags the whole trip, but never let go of our hands. That memory is so vivid, I go back there in my mind every year when baseball season starts.

There were lots more trips to the stadium after that. I remember going on "bat day" and getting a Roy White baseball bat, only after my brother conned me out of the Bobby Murcer bat that was originally handed to me. Could you imagine the stadium giving out bats today? Thank God, those were simpler, less violent times. We were there once for an "Old Timers Day". I think it may have been 104 degrees that day. Grandma had to break down and buy us drinks when her supply in the insulated bag was gone. My love for The Yankees is fierce, and stems from those trips with Grandma. She made baseball a magical experience, even for a little girl in the early 70s. She often told us the story of being at Lou Gherig's last game. "There wasn't a dry eye in the stadium", she said.

Christmas time with Grandma was probably the greatest bonding experience in all my memories. We're Italian, so the big fish dinner on Christmas Eve was the tradition. Even as a young girl, she made me love scungili salad, fried shrimp, and those amazing blue claw crabs in the sauce. She prepared everything at her house, and cooked it at our house. We were all in the kitchen with her. The antipasto (and if you pronounced the "o", my father would slap you off the back of the head), was the job of the kids. We would tightly roll up the 3 pounds of salami and arrange them on a platter. We would open cans of olives, put the roasted peppers in a bowl, and arrange lettuce leaves and sliced tomatoes on another platter. When I got a little older, I would help her bread and fry the shrimp. She made sure to make enough so my brother and I would have leftovers to eat the next morning, cold out of the fridge. By the time the antipasto was finished, we were hardly hungry for anything else, so she would wait to boil the linguine. My mouth is watering right now just thinking about it. Those meals were some of the most incredible of my life, because they were made with pure love.

After our fish dinner, Grandma would hand us each a card with money in it. She couldn't get around to shop too much, and she knew we didn't have much to spend, so it was a big treat to have pocket money. Even when we were older, she always had that envelope and a Russell Stover chocolate Santa. And magic. My Grandma gave us Christmas magic.

When Grandma got older, she sat me down and gave me a collection of costume jewelry she used to wear, back in her party days. Some of it is quite exquisite. There was one piece that must've been a more recent addition. It was a necklace made of stainless steel links, and in the front was a locket full of a solid version of her perfume. Windsong.

🎶I can't seem to forget you. Your Windsong stays on my mind🎵

I have treasured those pieces. Even the ones I have never worn.

Grandma left us in 1992. She was 79 and I was 28. She only got to meet my oldest, but I know she watches over all my kids. Every spring, when a butterfly lands on my girl, I know my Grandma is with her.

One of my kids was going through my box of jewels. I can't remember which one, but maybe I don't want to remember. The necklace with Grandma's perfume was broken. All the links scattered across the floor and there was really no repairing it. So I collected up all the pieces and put them into a little box that my daughter had painted for me. It's a flower shaped box, and it was painted red and green for Christmas. She may have been 3 or 4 when she painted it. But much like my Grandma, I have cherished every gift from my kids, and that box seemed the perfect place to hold that treasure from my Grandma.

Whenever I am sad, or feeling alone, I open the little box, and the smell of Grandma reminds me I am never alone. I love my Grandma. And because of her, I love The Yankees and I love Christmas. And I love that little box.