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[quote=Anonymous][quote=Anonymous]Maria[/quote]

You had waited for eons for the new Italian Store to open in Arlington's Westover Village.   It wasn't really the reason you bought that cute colonial in Lacey Forest, but when you heard that the store was going in, your heart sang.  You are a Connecticut girl, and not rich Greenwich, but working class out of Bridgeport.    Your paternal Nonna came to your duplex every Sunday after mass to make gravy, gnocchi and whatever type of ravioli your Poppa wanted that week.  Your three brothers and two male cousins wanted nothing to do with Nonna because they said she smelled funny (which she did) because she drank absinthe to relieve her arthritis.

Your Momma was a choir director and was never home on Sunday.  She worked at three different churches, including the new Unitarian church where your poppa and uncles did the brick work -- and the plumbing on the side.  The Unitarians didn't care who did the work, just as long as it was open before their big rally on Earth Day.

This was just as well as your Momma and Nonna did not see eye to eye. Actually not many people saw eye to eye with Nonna but you were a firm believer in Judy Blume books and wanted everyone to like you.  So from the age of 8 you tried to help Nonna on Sunday. She was bossy and would give you the evil eye if you didn't peel the skins from the hot tomatoes correctly or let any flour fall on the floor.  But you learned how to make a mean tomato gravy that got you every boyfriend you ever had, including your DH.  Despite Nonna's telling you that you had small tits and would never find a man with your skinny butt, you were married exactly three years from the day you served homemade pappardelle to your DH--- who is from Greenwich.

Flash forward four more years, and you are both nicely settled in well paying jobs, living a good life in Arlington and pregnant with your first child.  The night the Westover Italian Store opened your husband walked your nine months pregnant self into the store and two minutes later, you received a call from your Poppa saying Nonna had died.  You couldn't cry, you couldn't do anything as you stood in a puddle and realized your water had broken.  Your DH got you to nearby Virginia Hospital Center where your baby was born the next morning.  How could you not name her after your Nonna -- Maria -- so you did.[/quote]

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