Love, Family, and History in a One-Quart Jar

Memory  /  Postcards
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In my garage, I have flats and flats of empty one-quart jars. How much can each hold? The answer isn’t so obvious. I’ll tell you what I mean.

When I was a little girl, Saturdays we made sauce. My grandmother, Louise Anita Pistoresi, wore a housecoat and slippers. I climbed up the step stool beside her. I did as I was told. It took all day.

As long as I can remember, there was the sauce, and the sauce was always the same, like a bedtime story is always the same. Because an Italian sauce is a story – it tells where you come from. It tells who you are. Louise Pistoresi’s sauce told of Lucca Italy, of Ellis Island, of the Depression, of grit, of family.

This sauce tells a story. Family history in a jar.

Now, this is my sauce. Let me tell you about working mothers, about not enough time, about blended family. Let me tell you about a Saturday, how it takes all day, and the step stool I have. Let me invite you to sit, to eat, and to enjoy.

 




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