Juliet Grames and her newest book, ‘The Lost Boy of Santa Chionia’.Photo:Nina Subin; Alfred A. Knopf
Nina Subin; Alfred A. Knopf
When Nonna Maria adopted me as her new pseudo-granddaughter, I was in my own late nonna’s native Calabria, at the tip of the toe of the Italian boot, on a research trip through its fascinating Greek-speaking enclave. I was writing a novel set in this region during the Christmas season of 1960. Trekking through the December sun-soaked hillsides from village to thousand-year-old cobblestoned village, I would sit down with elders in their 80s and 90s, witnesses to the history I was trying to record.
Maria and Juliet Grames.courtesy of Juliet Grames
courtesy of Juliet Grames
She shared her memories, proverbs, poems and songs in her native Greco. We had only been chatting for a few hours when she suddenly reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “Do you still have your nonna?” she asked me. I had, in fact, lost my Italian grandmother one year earlier, when she was 98.
“Well, I am your nonna now,” Maria said, then added with charming humility, “if that’s all right.”
This precious friendship would bring me much solace over the panicked years of the pandemic we didn’t know was about to arrive — when my family would particularly cherish Maria’s hard-earned wisdom about surviving scarcity, finding joy in simplicity and connecting with others through spontaneous generosity.
Maria ladles chickpeas.courtesy of Juliet Grames
Alfred A. Knopf
Traditions are sacred because we make them sacred. Connecting with our heritage can bring us joy, but connecting with someone else’s heritage can be just as joyful, a gift to compliment our own precious traditions and brightening our commitment to them. We can choose to make new traditions sacred in the same way we can choose to make friends into family.
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source: people.com
