When Grandma Came to Live with Us (3 by Margaret Ullrich)

     Grandma was a prisoner.  She refused to go to a store with a list to give to the clerk as other immigrant Grandmas did.  She refused to go to the store with anyone.  She refused to go for medical checkups.  Church was a quicky half hour weekly Mass, instead of the social hub of a group of friends with whom she could gossip.   

  

     Four years after Grandma arrived Charlie got married to an American girl.  Liz tried to get on Grandma's good side.  She couldn't find it.  Grandma didn't attend their wedding.  She never visited Charlie in his home.  She also didn't attend her new granddaughter's christening or any other family occasion outside our home.  No first communions, confirmations, graduations or weddings, including mine.

     Over the years Grandma began to understand what we said in English, but she refused to learn how to speak it.  She also refused to speak in Maltese with Pop's siblings.  She reasoned that if it hadn't been for them, Ma and Charlie would have stayed in Malta.  Grandma couldn't read the papers or magazines.  She didn't understand most of what was said on television or the radio, although she did enjoy watching wrestling.  Grandma's whole social circle shrank to the five of us.  

     Ma kept in touch with her family in Malta by having their letters sent to Pop's brother.  Ma needed to vent and she felt it wasn't disloyal to tell her siblings what life was like since their mother had moved in with us.  Who else would've understood?  

     As the years went by, Ma told me bits and pieces about Grandma's decision to live with us.  When Grandma was in her late fifties she decided she wanted to live with her daughter.  Aunt Stella was single and had her own business as a seamstress.  Stella said two women in the same kitchen would only make trouble.  Then Grandma approached her son.  Uncle Joe and his wife had two little boys.  They didn't think it was a good idea for Grandma to move in with them.

  

     Grandma wrote to Ma saying that her ungrateful children had abandoned her.  Grandma now wanted to move in with us.  Ma tried to explain that we had six people in four rooms with one bathroom.  Ma mentioned other problems a new immigrant would face.  Americans spoke English, not Maltese.  All her friends were in Malta.  She wouldn't know her way around.  It would be hard for an elderly woman to get used to everything, including the weather, being so different.  Wouldn't Grandma be more comfortable staying where she was?  Did she need more money? 

     Grandma then reminded Ma about all she had done for her family.  Was Ma an ungrateful child, too?  Ma started crying.  Pop said Grandma could move in with us.  After all, he said, she's sixty.  How much longer could she live anyway?  

     After Grandma had lived with us ten years, Pop feared that she was going to outlive him.

     One morning, when Grandma was eighty, she decided to clean the windows.  Feeling a little tired, she lay down and had three major strokes.  Ma had her rushed to the hospital but, outside of prolonging her life for a month, little could be done and Grandma died.  Ma phoned.  She wanted me to come for the funeral. 

     Ma had decided to give Grandma a traditional Maltese wake.  By the time I arrived Grandma was on display in the funeral home.  Her casket and the floral displays dominated the large room which was filled with dozens of chairs.  We five had to sit with the body for three nights to greet the other mourners.  Pop's side of the family came, said a prayer at the casket, said a few words to Ma, then left.  Charlie, Liz and their daughter came, said a prayer at the casket, said a few words to Ma, then left.  Most of the time it was just the five of us sitting and staring at the empty chairs.  I don't know who Ma was expecting. 

     Some people say the road to hell is paved with good intentions.  Pop wanted to be near his siblings and to provide a better future for his family.  Ma wanted to help her brother and invited him to live with us.  She couldn't refuse Grandma when she wanted to move in, too.  I had wanted to have my Grandma live near us.  But, I wonder what she would've been like if we had stayed in Malta, if I had known her on her own turf.  I don't think I could say I ever really knew her when she lived in our home.  She made the rules she wanted to live by.  We followed her wishes.  It was hellish.  

     And it was all done with the best of intentions.

When Grandma Came to Live with Us (2 by Margaret Ullrich)

     The first change came the next day.  Grandma refused to sit and eat with us.  She said she was used to eating what food was left after 'The Family' had eaten.  She just stood by the kitchen cabinet, as she said she'd done in the houses where she'd worked.  In those houses there were dining rooms.  Since we ate in the kitchen it was hard not to notice Grandma standing in the corner.  Ma started crying again.  After the rest of us had eaten, Ma took her plate to stand and eat with Grandma.  After a few days, Pop got mad, cursed in two languages and threw a dish of spaghetti.  Ma continued to eat with Grandma.

     The next change affected Sunday Mass.  We usually went to the 10:00 o'clock High Mass.  It was quite a show: the choir sang lots of songs, the incense was heavy and all the candles were lit.  The mix of songs, smells and smoke was almost as good as a rock concert.  Grandma didn't speak English.  She didn't want to risk meeting anyone who might want to talk to her.  The least popular Mass was at 5:00 am.  It was attended by the nuns and people who had odd work shifts.  Ma and Grandma started going to it, too.   

     Another problem was Ma's shopping.  We lived in Queens.  Years earlier my Aunts had introduced Ma to doorbuster sales in Manhattan.  It was a bit of excitement, taking the bus to Flushing, then taking two trains to get to 14th Street.  Ma loved getting to Klein's department store before the doors opened, being carried along by a huge crowd of people, then diving into the tables loaded with the doorbusters.  

     One of my earliest memories is of returning from a sale.  I was on an aisle seat in the train, barely able to see over a huge clove-studded ham that was as big as I was and was sitting on my lap.  I remember feeling woozie from the smell.  Grandma decided that going into the city was a waste of time.  She didn't want to be left alone for a whole day.  And what if the phone rang while Ma was out?  Ma agreed doorbusters weren't worth the risk of a phonecall.

     The weather was another problem.  Malta is near Italy.  Grandma expected certain weather at certain times of the year.  She did not expect snow.  Her first New York snowfall frightened her so much she threw her apron over her head, ran to the closet and started praying the rosary.  Ma couldn't change the weather.

     Grandma had her pride and wanted to work to earn her keep.  She insisted on doing the cooking, saying that Ma never did know how to cook.  Cooking was Grandma's field of expertise, if you only wanted to eat Maltese food.  Over the years Grandma managed to work off some of her anger by chopping vegetables and muttering names, like Nixon.  

     Grandma also took charge of the cleaning.  She said things like vacuum cleaners were just for lazy Americans.  She also did the laundry.  She ignored the care labels, insisting hot water was necessary to get things clean.  Ma wanted her to feel at home so she let Grandma take over our house.  It wasn't enough.

     In Malta Grandma had been an independent woman.  She was in her own country.  She spoke the language and knew her way around.  She had family, friends and activities in her town and in her parish.  She did her own shopping.  She went for regular medical care.  Her income was supplemented by cash from her four children.  Her son took care of house maintenance chores.  She could come and go as she pleased.  

     It was very different from the life she led with us.

When Grandma Came to Live with Us (1 by Margaret Ullrich)

Yesterday an elderly woman announced "This is my home," and refused to move to a safer area, even though she is in danger from the flood.  

Being a senior citizen, I can sympathize with how attached she is to a home she has lived in for a long time.

Recently 'reuniting families' has become an election issue.

It really does sound like a wonderful idea.

I lived through a family reunification.  It was over a half century ago.  It was done with the best of intentions.  I had thought my situation was unique.  But, living in the north end of Winnipeg, a very diverse area, I've learned I didn't have a particularly unique experience.  Other families are struggling with homesick elderly relatives in the 21st century.

I wonder how much experience politicians have had with elderly immigrant relatives...

    

     My parents and I had emigrated from Malta when I was an infant.  Most of Pop's relatives had emigrated before we did.  Ma's brother Charlie was living with us.  But we still had family in Malta, including Pop's parents, Ma's sister, their brother and their mother.  

     I had seen my friends' Grandmas handing out treats and toys.  My cousins' Grandma had included me in family parties and had helped me make the transition from Befana to Santa Claus when I was five.  But I wanted my own Grandma, too.

     Ma had told me that her father had died when she was four.  Her mother had been expecting Charlie.  There wasn't any pension so she had to clean people's houses.  Ma and her older sister, Stella, had to care for the two boys.  Stella became a seamstress to earn money for the family.  School was a luxury.  Then the war happened.  Their home was hit by a bomb and destroyed.  Luckily the children had hidden under the table.  Their neighbors had dug them out by the time Grandma returned from work.  Grandma, an amazing hero, was strong and brave and could handle anything.  She had kept her family together through it all.

  

     Then, when I was eight, Ma told me that Grandma would be coming to live with us in a few weeks.  Ma said we were going to have to make a few changes, but it was going to be just fine.  The two cribs for my brother and sister would stay in my parents' bedroom.  Grandma and I would share a twin bed in Uncle Charlie's room. 

  

     Ma cried when Charlie phoned from the airport to tell us Grandma had arrived.  Ma reminded me to never mention in front of Grandma the names of any of her family in Malta.  I had thought it was because Grandma would get sad about not seeing her children or my cousins.  Well, I reasoned, it was about time I had a chance to see her, too.  Grandma was also my Godmother, so I thought we'd really have a great time together. 

     When my sixty-year-old Grandma entered I was disappointed.  She didn't hug anyone.  She said the house was small.  Ma kept saying things would be alright, that we would make a few changes.

Would Santa Ever Find Me? (part 6 - by Margaret Ullrich)

After Mass, when we were leaving the church, I saw a pale cloud in the sky. It looked long and thin, with a sort of bump on one end. For a moment I thought it looked like Santa and his sleigh with eight tiny reindeer.

I kept looking at that cloud. It seemed to follow us from St. Leo’s to Uncle Des’ house, where we had panettone.

When we left, the cloud was still in the sky. I watched it from the car. The cloud followed us from Corona to College Point.


I had never noticed clouds before. Did clouds always follow people from one town to another? Was it really a cloud? Sister had told us that Santa had millions of helpers. They were tiny people called elves. Could that cloud have been an elf picking up the letter from La Befana?


Christmas morning, Pop was eating breakfast while Ma was cleaning Barbara. Ma sent me to the basement to get some dry diapers that were hanging by the furnace.


Being a big sister wasn’t much fun. I pulled down two diapers.


Then I noticed some lumps by the furnace. I thought some clothes had fallen off the line. I walked toward the furnace to pick them up. I hoped they hadn’t gotten dirty. Ma was tired and wouldn’t want to wash them again.


But the lumps weren’t clothes.


They were boxes.

They were wrapped.

They were presents!

They were for me!!


Santa had found me.


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Would Santa Ever Find Me? (part 5 - by Margaret Ullrich)

The lebkuchen , zimtsterne, springerle, pfeffernuesse, pfefferkuchen and jam-filled spitzbuben settled like a leaden weight in my stomach. It was all just too much change for a five-year-old to cope with in one year: a new sister, Kindergarten and now Santa Claus. Would the changes never end?


In Kindergarten we learned about God the Father, about how we should pray to Him and tell Him what we needed. I didn’t need another Father. I figured if my Pop was always so busy working, this Father who took care of everything and everybody in the whole wide world would really never have time for me.

I heard my classmates talk about how their Grandmas were always able to fix things in their homes. Both my Grandmas were in Malta.


I needed a Grandma.


The next time we went to Corona, Nonni diNoto saw that something was troubling me. She asked me to help her in the kitchen. There she asked me what was wrong. I told her about Santa Claus and explained that he was in charge of Christmas in College Point. I didn’t know if La Befana would be allowed to visit me there anymore. Nonni listened patiently as I explained how Christmas was handled in College Point.

She repeated the main points. “Santa Claus. A letter.”
I nodded.
“I fix. I write Befana. She give Santa. No hard feelings. Christmas come.”


I had my doubts. Nonni had never been to College Point. Maybe nobody ever had to change from La Befana to Santa Claus. Maybe Christmas was lost forever, like some of the packages we'd never gotten from Malta.


On Christmas Eve we again gathered in Corona at Uncle Des and Aunt Betty’s home. We had the Christmas Eve dinner. Then we went to St. Leo’s for the Midnight Mass. Everything was familiar. Latin and Italian.


Why couldn’t we have stayed there?


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Would Santa Ever Find Me? (part 4 - by Margaret Ullrich)

My friends’ homes had interesting sights and smells, too. On the tables there were bunte tallers: dishes filled with nuts, candies, cookies and fruit. The stoves had bubbling pots filled with bratwursts and potatoes.


My friend Elise invited me to supper. She told me to smear the bratwurst with the spicy mustard. The green beans and carrots were familiar. The bread was dark. I was used to Italian bread and Maltese hobtz. But after I put butter on the rye bread I had to admit it was good, too. I’d had mashed potatoes before, but I’d never had hot potato salad. I was curious about how Elise’s Mom made the potato salad. It was sweet, spicy and tart. Elise’s Mom smiled and blushed when I told her it was so good. “Ach, it’s only potatoes.”


After Thanksgiving, Sister brought a box of kringeln to class. The kringeln were almond studded sugar cookies which had been twisted into figure eights. We helped her hang them on our classroom Christmas tree. It was beautiful and the cookies smelled wonderful. We all oohed and aahed. Then everyone sang a song, O Christmas Tree. I just smiled and silently moved my mouth.

Then Sister told us to gather around her. She was going to read us a story, The Visit from St. Nicholas. Sister showed us the pictures in the large thin book. They were drawings of Santa Claus and his eight tiny reindeer. Sister said Santa was a “right jolly old elf.”

My friends were delighted. I was confused. I had never heard any of this before. There wasn’t any mention of La Befana.

Santa was supposed to slide down every house’s chimney and land in a fireplace. We didn’t have a fireplace. We had a huge, oil-burning furnace in the basement. Ma hung our stockings, along with all the other wet laundry, on a clothesline near the furnace. The furnace made awful noises and had fire in it. If Santa landed in it he’d fry like a strufoli. That would end Christmas forever. I didn’t think Santa would take such a risk for a total stranger.


Oh, boy... I was in big trouble. The lovely cookies felt like a giant rock in my stomach.


Sister talked about Santa checking his list of good little girls and boys. Santa had a list? I knew we were on the Registered Aliens’ list. Every January a man on the television reminded Ma to fill out green cards so that the American Government would know where we were. If we didn’t fill out the cards we’d be in big trouble. We could either be sent to jail or back to Malta.

How could I get on Santa’s list? Could Santa get my name from the Registered Aliens’ list? Did I need to fill out another card?


The afternoon went from bad to worse. Sister told us we could put our letters to Santa in the special mailbox in the classroom. A letter? What language did Santa speak - English or German? He’d never heard from me. I wasn’t on his list. What could I say? “Hi, you don’t know me, but I’d like some toys.”

I’d never written a letter to La Befana. She just gave me toys. When we had moved to College Point, Ma had to fill change of address forms. Was there a change of address form for Santa? Could La Befana still visit me? Did Mr. Santa Claus want to shoot La Befana because she had come to College Point?


Oh, boy... I was in big trouble.


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Would Santa Ever Find Me? (part 3 - by Margaret Ullrich)

After Barbara was born we didn’t have time to go to Corona very often. It was easier to walk to the local church, St. Fidelis, instead of driving to Corona to go to St. Leo’s. Even though Pop didn’t have to commute every day, he didn’t have any time to waste. He was working a lot of overtime.


I missed seeing the rest of my family.


That September I started Kindergarten in St. Fidelis School. Some of the good Sisters had wanted to travel and meet exotic heathens in far away places.

Well, one Sister almost got her wish. I was the first Maltese child she’d ever seen. College Point had been settled by German and Irish families. It was time for me to learn about America through their eyes.


By mid-October my classmates started bringing samples of their mothers’ holiday baking to school. They told me their attics were filled with apple slices which had been strung like beads on a white thread and hung to dry in their attics. Their mothers also had pillow cases filled with cookies hanging from nails in the attic. My friends said their mothers did this so that the cookies would be aged and perfect by Christmas.

I loved the idea of an attic packed with bags filled with cookies. I had never been in an attic. Our house had a store front, but we didn’t use the attic. Nobody I’d known in Corona used their attics, either.


Some of my classmates brought in samples of their mothers’ cookies, the cookies that didn't have to age. I brought some biscotti. My friends were polite and ate the dry, double-baked bread. Then we ate the pfefferkuchen, spitzbuben, sweet honey lebkuchen, and almond pfeffernuesse. My favorites were zimtsterne, cinnamon stars decorated with almonds, and spitzbuben, sandwiched cookies with jam peeking through three holes in the top cinnamon cookie. My friends called them little rogues.


Anise was a popular holiday spice in College Point. It was used in the springerle and the peppernuts. When I told Ma about anise, she said she used it, too, but she didn’t use as much in her cookies.

Pop said, “If you like the taste of anise so much, you’d probably like to drink anisette.”

Ma didn’t think that was a very funny thing to say. I knew about the anisette liqueur. Sometimes Uncle Des put some in his coffee when it was really cold outside. He said it helped him feel warmer. But, when I asked him for a taste, he said it wasn’t for little girls.


There were also special holiday rewards. When I helped Sister put away the puzzles, she gave me a small marzipan pig, wrapped in cellophane.

I’d never seen a marzipan pig before. Neither had my Ma. When I brought the marzipan pig home, Ma put it in the china cabinet. I was sad when it started to get moldy. We didn’t know I was supposed to eat it.


As Christmas approached, the windows of the German bakeries were filled with the most beautiful cookies I’d ever seen. They were in all kinds of shapes: stars, angels, animals and wreaths. They were decorated with coconut, jam, icing and tiny silver balls. There were also holiday breads: glistening loaves of gugelhupf, a sweet bread filled with raisins and almonds, and fatschenkinder, small loaves that looked like babies wrapped in swaddling clothes.

The stollen reminded me of panettone. They both were rich butter breads, filled with raisins, almonds and citron. I was amazed at what German bakers could do with bread. I thought a German Christmas was beautiful and delicious.


I planned to eat German and Italian holiday food every Christmas for the rest of my life.


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Would Santa Ever Find Me? (part 2 - by Margaret Ullrich)

The Christmas Eve dinner was a feast. Fish was traditional. Eel for the parents, bluefish for the children. There was also soup, chicken, pasta and vegetables, followed by ricotta pie, anise biscotti, pizzelle and cuccidati cookies, strufoli, creamy roasted chestnuts and torrone candy.

My favorite was the huge strufoli, a golden mound of tiny doughnut balls covered with honey and multi-colored sprinkles. Nadia’s favorite was the prune cuccidati. Aunt Betty’s Cuccidati were filled cookies that reminded me of fig newtons. Aunt Betty filled the cookies with a mix of prunes, raisins, dates, citron, ground almonds and cinnamon. Aunt Betty also made cuccidati using apricots or dates instead of prunes.


After dinner we played games while our parents talked. Then it was time to walk to St. Leo’s for the Midnight Mass. After Mass we returned to Uncle Des’ for hot chocolate and panettone. Nonni’s panettone was a wonderfully rich bread made with butter, raisins, almonds and citron.


Then Nonni would tell us to look at the manger scene for the surprise. The blessed Bambino, Baby Jesus, had suddenly appeared!


Christmas Eve was a wonderful night. But the big day for us children was January sixth - Epiphany, Old Christmas. The night before we had hung our socks and gone to sleep expecting La Befana to fill them with treats and toys. In the old days, Nonni told us, the children would place their shoes on the fireplace hearth for La Befana. But in America we didn’t have a fireplace. Nonni said she liked using the socks since they were cleaner than our shoes.


We knew all about La Befana, a little old lady who had been sweeping her house when the Wise Men suddenly knocked on her door. They had been looking for Baby Jesus and had stopped to ask La Befana for directions. They then invited La Befana to join them. The old woman refused, saying she had work to do. Later that night a shepherd passed by and invited La Befana to come to Bethlehem, but she again said no.

Later that night, when it was dark, a great light and angels appeared in the sky. La Befana realized that the Wise Men weren’t kidding about somebody special being born that night. Broom in hand, La Befana tried to catch up with the Wise Men. She never found them, Bethlehem or Baby Jesus. Every year she searches for Baby Jesus and leaves presents for good little boys and girls.


La Befana took wonderful care of me for four years.


Then, when I was five years old, I was hit with a megadose of change: I got a new baby sister, I started going to school and I got Santa Claus.


A few months before I started school, it was time for my sister to be born. While Ma was in the hospital I stayed with Aunt Betty, Uncle Des and Nadia. It was nice living in Corona again. A few days after Ma went to the hospital, Nonni diNoto took me to the local five and dime. She gave me a quarter.

“Buy for sister.”

I didn’t have any idea what a baby sister would want. I liked watching westerns on television, so I grabbed a toy gun.

“No. Buy rattle.”

A rattle? That sounded boring, but I bought a pink plastic rattle.


In those days children were not allowed to visit anyone in the hospital. When Aunt Betty visited Ma, she gave the rattle to my new sister. I waited outside the hospital and waved to the window of Ma’s room.

When Aunt Betty returned she had a gift from my new sister for me: three fancy pieces of chocolate. Well, wasn’t that nice of my new sister, Barbara. Not as nice as a toy gun, but I thought that maybe that was all Barbara could get from where she’d been.


Maybe having a baby sister wasn’t going to be too bad.


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Would Santa Ever Find Me? (part 1 - by Margaret Ullrich)

At times I really envied my cousin Nadia’s family's rooted past. By the time I was five I’d had enough changes to last a lifetime.


My folks had to learn a lot of new things after they had come to America. For example, in Malta Christmas was celebrated without Christmas trees. Tree shopping was something very new for my parents. But, after their first two American Christmases, Ma was comfortable enough to get her usual real bargains.

We would go to the parking lot where the trees had magically appeared, like the ground beef at the A & P. There we’d browse until we’d found a tree we liked. Ma would quickly switch our chosen tree’s price tag with that of a cheaper tree which no one liked. Then we’d carry the chosen tree to the clerk, who gave us the fish eye as he noticed the fullness of such a ‘good find’. Then he’d sigh and take Ma’s money. The whole deal would be done in ten minutes.

Another American Christmas had begun for us.


In Corona Christmas was a festive season. It began with the first Sunday of Advent, was packed with feastdays of special saints such as St. Barbara on December fourth, and ended on January sixth with a visit from La Befana.

December twenty-fourth was an all-day family affair. At lunchtime we visited Aunt Demi. She was the eldest sister. It was a sign of respect. The visit there was always short. Aunt Demi never let us forget how much she had slaved over the holiday. She had a talent for inducing guilt with a weary ‘Do you know how long I slaved over this dish’ look. Everyone understood. The Aunts knew how many platters of cookies Aunt Demi had in the pantry. We all knew that she was determined to unload every one them.


Maltese desserts are simple: fresh fruit and cheese with an occasional cookie. One Maltese cookie, the biskuttini tar rahal, could be described as hardened library paste with a hint of lemon and a dash of rock hard royal icing. A variation on the biskuttini cuts the sugar by half and replaces the royal icing with a sprinkling of sesame seeds. Both cookies are wonderful teething rings.

Another favorite is the biscotti. The big thrill with a biscotti is seeing how much milk it can suck up before breaking in half and falling into your glass. It’s like eating the sinking Titanic. For the holidays, we borrowed recipes from the Sicilians and made kannoli tar-rikotta (ricotta in a fried pastry tube) or a qassata (a sponge cake covered with vanilla custard).


For our main Christmas Eve festivities, we gathered at Uncle Des and Aunt Betty’s home. A whole corner of their living room was filled with Nonni DiNoto’s manger scene. St. Francis would’ve loved what Nonni DiNoto had done with his presepio idea.

Nonni DiNoto’s daughter Betty had married Pop’s brother Des. Then, two years after we had arrived in America, Nonni's son Salvatore had married Pop’s sister Helen. So, Nonni was a double Grandma in their families.

Since all my grandparents were in Malta, Nonni treated me as a grandchild, too.


Nonni’s manger scene was not just a simple shed with Mary, Joseph, three kings and one shepherd standing around Baby Jesus. Nonni had a complete village with houses, shrubbery, trees, hills, paths, ponds and animals. There were people walking around just minding their own business and doing real things. Some of the figures were really old and we couldn’t play with them.

But each year Nonni added something new: an old woman carrying a basket of eggs, a farmer carrying a head of cabbage, a man carrying a bundle of wood for a fire to keep the baby warm. There were rich people, too, walking through Nonni's Bethlehem and looking very important.


Nonni’s manger scene was better than any Manhattan Fifth Avenue store's window display.


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