Lulu- This image really makes me smile: “I remember my Nonna heating some day-old bread and sprinkling it with water, salt, and a drizzle of good olive oil as a snack for her grandchildren. Then, when her figs were ripe, she’d cut several and put them on the plate with the bread; their sensual, dark red interior was as sweet as sugar.” Nothing so comforting as nonna’s bread. Thank you for sharing this.
looks like heaven and I'm glad it took you back to the simple things. i hope we can value our community and heritage and keep it alive. looks like you are!
This brought back so many wonderful memories. I grew up in the sixties in a tight knit working class neighborhood in NJ. Almost every Sunday, my dad would make "a big breakfast," setting out platters of pastries and breads from the local bakeries, fresh fruit and vegetables, oatmeal, smoked fish, cheeses, and beverages for any and all who wanted to stop by. The front door of our tiny rowhouse was always open, all were welcome, and people drifted in and out all day. These are some of the happiest memories of my childhood, and now that I am an adult, I wonder how my parents did it -- we were struggling to make it into the middle class (my dad was a glazier, and my mom was a secretary), but I thought we were rich (and we were, in oh-so-many ways)!
Lola, I can’t tell you how much I love your post. Such a great Environment to grow up.
my father‘s luncheonette was in a working class neighborhood with the most delightful gathering of ragtag customers, who were the salt of the Earth. I can’t tell you how much I loved those day.
What a lovely story. So much of it reminded me of growing up in a village in rural England. Food was locally produced, we had local shops not supermarkets and although we lived away from relatives we visited them or they visited us most weekends. Thank you for your memories and for bringing back mine. Love the picture Lulu
Lulu- This image really makes me smile: “I remember my Nonna heating some day-old bread and sprinkling it with water, salt, and a drizzle of good olive oil as a snack for her grandchildren. Then, when her figs were ripe, she’d cut several and put them on the plate with the bread; their sensual, dark red interior was as sweet as sugar.” Nothing so comforting as nonna’s bread. Thank you for sharing this.
They were beautiful memories. I’m delighted they made you smile. Thank you for commenting.
looks like heaven and I'm glad it took you back to the simple things. i hope we can value our community and heritage and keep it alive. looks like you are!
This brought back so many wonderful memories. I grew up in the sixties in a tight knit working class neighborhood in NJ. Almost every Sunday, my dad would make "a big breakfast," setting out platters of pastries and breads from the local bakeries, fresh fruit and vegetables, oatmeal, smoked fish, cheeses, and beverages for any and all who wanted to stop by. The front door of our tiny rowhouse was always open, all were welcome, and people drifted in and out all day. These are some of the happiest memories of my childhood, and now that I am an adult, I wonder how my parents did it -- we were struggling to make it into the middle class (my dad was a glazier, and my mom was a secretary), but I thought we were rich (and we were, in oh-so-many ways)!
Lola, I can’t tell you how much I love your post. Such a great Environment to grow up.
my father‘s luncheonette was in a working class neighborhood with the most delightful gathering of ragtag customers, who were the salt of the Earth. I can’t tell you how much I loved those day.
Thank you for sharing this story❣️
What a lovely story. So much of it reminded me of growing up in a village in rural England. Food was locally produced, we had local shops not supermarkets and although we lived away from relatives we visited them or they visited us most weekends. Thank you for your memories and for bringing back mine. Love the picture Lulu
I Loved reading this Graham, we are fortunate to have these beautiful memories.
Yours in rural England and mine in the city.
Thank you for posting.
Jo, I really miss those great peopleand grandma's house. We are so lucky that we’ve been brought up by a family with strong, smart women.
How I remember what you just wrote. Great memories
Thank you, I really enjoyed writing it. Some wonderful memories.