HAPPY BIRTHDAY NANA!

June 6 is my Grandmother’s birthday.  Lucy Laganella.  Anyone who was anyone knew her as Nana.  Nana came from Foggia, Italy with her family on the heels of her two older brothers.  Here, she learned the language and the customs of the United States.  The Pope may not realize that she was/is a saint, having married my Grandfather Louis, raising two sons and my Mom.  All children went to NYU and graduated with honors. 

Nana was a gentlewoman, a lady.  Beautiful, creative, witty, smart, patient, sensitive, calm, peaceful. There was absolutely never a problem, conflict, issue that she couldn’t soothe, solve with her grace.  Nana called me “Dolly Dear”.  All conversations, directions, were prefaced with, “Dolly Dear, Ladies don’t…” or “Dolly Dear, Ladies do…”  I am here to tell you that “Ladies don’t” more than “Ladies do”.  Nana took me to Mass, Novena, lunch, shopping, vacationed with us, snuggled, held me and made all things right, always!  Nana was my best friend, my confidante.  I was blessed to have her well into my adulthood

.

Louie was a family man and thought that he was just about the smartest human on the face of the earth.  Louie was cheap. Lucy made him think that he was the boss of all bosses, but…Nana had a quiet dignity by which she could ignite quite a blast of humor!  One day, she told Grandpa, “Louie, iffa you keep money in the basement, the mice will a eat it.”  Grandpa’s response, “Ah, go on!  Whatta you know? There are a no mice in a basement!”  So, Grandpa, on his way downtown, sang (tenor) and went shopping one day. Nana had a blender.  Into the blender, she placed a few single dollar bills.  Just a few.  That blender made confetti in no time!  She went down into the basement, moved a loose brick from the unfinished wall and removed a huge pile of cash.  She placed confetti where the cash had been.  “Dolly Dear, let’s go upstairs and have some nice tea.”  We always had tea in the afternoon…

We heard singing in the alley (tenor) as Grandpa returned from shopping.  We then heard the Litany of the Saints cursed in Italian bellowing through the air followed by, “Them goddamma mice!  They eatta alla my money!”  Nana giggled.  Actually, before Grandpa got upstairs, she laughed so hard that she wiped a tear from her eye! 

Nana would keep any secret that I shared…anything! She would also keep any indiscretion to herself as well!  In February of my Freshman year at William Paterson University, my father had to have surgery.  He had a Volkswagen Beetle with a shift that would be in the way in the driveway.  So, before he went into the hospital, he moved the car onto our back patio.  He told me to start the engine daily to keep the battery working, but to not move the car.  So, from the first day that he was at the General Hospital, my mother went along to fret, my Grandparents came to stay with us (my sister is ten years younger than I and no self-respecting Italian would leave children home alone for any length of time. (A child is defined as any unmarried individual regardless of age living in a home)  I went outside, started the Bug, decided to take a ride and found myself in the car sideways straddling three stairs to the porch.  “Dolly Dear!”  Nana came out of the house.  “Whatta you do? You not supposed to move the car!”  “Nan, just help me lift it off the steps.  I’ve seen the guys at school pick up these things 1,000 times!”  We just couldn’t swing it, so, I put the car in reverse and splintered our old wooden picnic table!  I tried a forward gear and smashed into cedar shake on the back of the house!  “Dolly Dear!  You’re not such a good driver!” That was quite a statement from the woman who always assured me, “Dolly Dear, you never do anything wrong!”  That summer, the house was painted.  In order that my Father didn’t see the colossal damage on the back of the house, I tried to volunteer to paint after using that part of the house for target practice getting in touch with my inner Native American (bow and arrows).  

At dinner for my twenty-sixth birthday, my Father and I sat across from each other.  My Mom and Grandmother sat across from each other.  My sister sat between Nana and myself.  Grandpa was in the living room catching a headline on the news.  The conversation took this turn:  My Dad said, “You know, you always think that you’re pretty smart and that I’m a dunce, but, I know more than you think!  I know exactly what goes on around here.  Always did.” That was directed in gest to me, but, I was up for the challenge and couldn’t resist ,”Oh, yeah Dad? Really?  Did you ever know about the Volkswagen?”  My Grandmother quickly put her fingers to her lips, looked at me as if I were crazy and exclaimed, “Oh no!  What are you doing?  Why?”  Dad said, “What?”  I proceeded to tell the story of the Volkswagen as I have typed to you!  He looked at my Mom, “Hey, Ang, what do you know about that?”  Mom quickly said that she had no idea what I was talking about and did he want more coffee with his cake?  He looked at Nana, “You know anything about this?”  Nana developed a language barrier and commented to me in Italian that she finished sewing my new “lovely” as she called it.

My Mom and Grandmother sewed my wardrobe for West Point weekends for years that I dated a Cadet.

Nana could look at any knitted outfit, or any "off the rack" outfit and duplicate the stitches or the entire ensemble.

Nana was my best critic when I doing free-lance art work.

Nana was my partner in crime, my grounding force, my common sense and my conscience.

Nana loved me as no one has ever before, nor ever will.

Nana had my back, saved me from myself.  We laughed, cried, played, loved.

On the evening of Nana’s last Christmas, I drove Grandpa and Nana home.  I held onto her so tightly and didn’t want to let her go.  She said, “Dolly Dear, I won’t always be here, you know.”  I wouldn’t hear of that under any circumstances.  NEVER!

The last movie we watched together was the original THE GHOST AND MRS. MUIR.  Nana, that Saturday, had a back ache.  Later, she was admitted to the hospital with a heart attack.  She was failing.  I was furious that the doctor wouldn’t let me in to help!  I knew that if I held on to her and pulled, not letting go, she would stay with me!  Hold on to me Nana and don’t leave!

I have the ring that Grandpa gave Nana when they went out on their first date (chaperoned). I have the pearl ring that she gave to me when I made my First Holy Communion.  I will give it to Tess for hers.

I still have her Japanese Geisha china.  The last nightgown and robe that Nana sewed for me is hanging on my closet door. I smell the Chantilly that she wore.

  She channels her patience and love through me when I care for my own grandchildren.  I hold up my hands to her when I have to sew something way over my head.  My prayer book is close to me, as hers was next to her chair. 

I can only aspire to be a teeny-weeny bit of what Nana was/is. 

Happy Birthday Nana.  You are my heart and soul!