Can't Buy Me Love (part 9 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Ma just ignored Aunt Demi.  This was something new.  Ma had always deferred to her sister-in-law.  Aunt Demi was older.  She was louder.  

    But Aunt Liz had asked Ma's - not Aunt Demi's - permission for me to type for her bowling club.  Aunt Liz was the new Aunt on the block.  If she played her cards right with Aunt Liz, Ma could be the bossy older sister-in-law.  That suited Ma just fine.           

    I don't know if Aunt Liz was impressed by the work we were going to put into our traditional Mother's Day feast or if she was afraid that Charlie would be expecting something similar for Father's Day.  She just smiled and said,  “Why, that’s quite a job.  Wouldn’t it be easier to join us at the Club Safari?”  

    Yeah.  The Club Safari.  Great idea.  Barbara and I turned and nodded like a pair of donkeys at Ma, hoping she’d give us a break.  

    No luck.

    “No.  They’ll make what I said.  Exactly.” 

    Liz looked at Ma with greater respect.  The family honor was saved.  Ma shot us, her stunned daughters, a warning glance. 

    Ma had finished preparing a light snack for the men.  “There.  It’s ready.  Demi, you can take it out to them.  Tina, help me clear the table, now.  Barbara, take Aunt Liz to your room and show her the picture you’re making.” 

  

    Barbara and I did as we were told, all the while praying that Ma wouldn’t come up with any more traditional ideas before Aunt Liz and Uncle Charlie left. 

    Something really changed in our family that Easter.  Easter had always been a major holiday in our family.  Everyone was cleaned up, dressed up and on best behavior.  Not this year.  This year Easter had turned into just another day compared to the wonder that our first American Mother's Day was going to be.

    Barbara and I were terrified.

Can't Buy Me Love (part 8 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Oh, yeah.  The wheels were turning.  Ma had that look.  That look that said, "You have your ways.  Fine.  But, we are going to do this my way.  As always."      

    Ma sat next to Aunt Liz and explained, “No.  We will have our traditional Mother's Day Brunch.  We have our own holiday food, of course.  But, we will add some of the new things, too, like you said we should have."  She gave a quick look at Aunt Demi.  "Like Americans have.” 

    Aunt Demi snorted and muttered, “Sure.  And I’ll dance naked on the table.” 

    Ma glared at Aunt Demi.  Unimpressed, Aunt Demi glared right back at her.  Aunt Liz looked like she was getting really curious about her new in-laws and their customs.  Ma turned her attention back to Aunt Liz and smiled.  “Yes.  They will make our traditional food and a few of the things you said we should have.  We will have...  What you said..."  

    I could see that Ma was pausing, not for dramatic effect, but because she was trying to remember what Aunt Liz had said that she and her mother were going to eat at Club Safari.  Finally, she remembered.  "We will also have French muffins, English toast, chicken, eggs and liver.  And they’ll roast a baby lamb over the charcoals.  That's our tradition.”  

    

    Aunt Liz looked slightly confused.  There was something just a bit off about the American part of the menu.  Barbara and I were stunned.  What happened to the bacon and eggs?

    Aunt Demi smiled.  She saw the mistake in Ma's plan.  Aunt Demi nodded and said,  “I’d like to see you get this baby lamb in May.”

    Too late Ma remembered that Aunt Liz had said that Mother's Day was more than a month away.  Dimitri wouldn't be selling lambs in May.  Ma wasn't about to admit she'd made a mistake in front of Charlie's new wife.  She knew in-laws never forget.  Ma just turned to Aunt Demi and said, “Demi, We have to eat, right?  It’s Spring in May.  The weather will be nice for a barbecue.  We’ll have a lamb.  And the other stuff.”

    Aunt Demi stared at Ma.  Finally, she spoke.  “Are you crazy?”

Can't Buy Me Love (part 7 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Aunt Liz must have decided to ignore Aunt Demi's question and her furious crocheting, along with Barbara's and my looks of confusion.  Aunt Liz just sat back and smiled.  She was reassured by Ma's announcement that we took part in the great American tradition of Mother's Day.  

    I guess Aunt Liz was hoping that maybe, aside from the overuse of garlic, just maybe Maltese weren’t really that different.  Maybe she hadn't gotten in over her head when she had thrown caution to the winds and married Ma's brother Charlie.  Maybe there was hope that when she had children, her own Mother's Days were going to be celebrated in the good old American way.

    Sure, why not.  There was talk of men going to the moon, too.

    Aunt Liz jumped into helping Barbara and me improve our traditional Mother's Day brunch menu.  “Breakfast in bed is always a nice start.  Bacon and eggs with orange juice and coffee.  Barbara, you're such a big girl.  I'm sure you and your Pop can manage that.  Tina, I have a nice pancake recipe.  It has sliced bananas in it.  Won't that be fun to make?”

  

    We beamed.  Barbara nudged me.  Some fried eggs and bacon, pancakes, orange juice and coffee.  Sure, we could manage that.  

    Ma wasn't so sure that we could handle pouring the juice, even with Pop's help.  She usually chased everybody, including Pop, out of the kitchen.  But now she was stuck with allowing us to make her a special Mother's Day breakfast.  She couldn’t do a thing to stop us.  She couldn’t even yell at us for making a mess.  

    We were talking about staging an official American Mother’s Day.  Ma was stuck with us being nice to her.  Letting us take over the kitchen on Mother's Day was like a new law.  Well, Ma had picked up a few tricks during her years in America.  Laws didn't worry her.

    Every law had a loophole, right?

Can't Buy Me Love (part 6 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Every family has its traditions.  And, unfortunately, we had ours.

    For as far back as Barbara and I could remember, on Mother’s Day, as on every other Sunday when the weather was nice, Pop took us for a walk to Chisolm's Park.  There we would walk around the shore and look at planes arrive and take off from La Guardia Airport, which was across the bay.  After we got bored with that, we went down the slides a few times.  Maybe a few turns on the swings if we felt energetic.  

    We would then walk to the little storefront ice cream stand which was across the street from the park and Pop would buy us ice creams.  Then back to the park to eat our ice creams and watch a few more airplanes.  After that we walked home to a light supper.  

    While Ma did the dishes, Pop would nap on the couch before Ed Sullivan came on the television.  That’s what we did every Sunday when the weather was nice.  To Pop and Ma, that was good enough.  Since we didn't know any better, we thought it was a fine way to spend a Sunday afternoon, too.   

    Every Sunday until now.

    Aunt Demi was big on hanging onto tradition and took upon herself the job of keeping us from getting any ideas from Ma’s new sister-in-law.  “Liz, you should know, Peter is not like Charlie.  My brother Peter is a busy man.  He doesn’t have time for this American garbage.”  Satisfied that she had restored order to our lives, Aunt Demi went back to her crocheting.

    Ma and Pop always tried to behave like good American citizens.  But, they still thought like Maltese.  In Malta, a family’s honor was sacred.  Ma sensed that as good Americans, we had to celebrate Mother's Day.  So, to save our family’s honor, Ma said the only thing she believed was proper to say.  “They’re going to make me a Mother’s Day Brunch.  That’s our tradition.”

    Stunned, Aunt Demi dropped her crocheting.  “Since when?”

Can't Buy Me Love (part 5 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Aunt Liz was having an awfully good time giving my kid sister the third degree.  She should've been a cop.

    Noticing Ma giving her 'The Look' and confused by getting an adult's attention, Barbara whimpered, “I’m making something at school, Aunt Liz.  It’s a secret.”  Barbara wasn't going to say anything else.  She knew she was in trouble already.  

    Like I said, Aunt Liz should've been a cop.  She gave Barbara another squeeze and kept hammering away at her.  “Yes, Princess, I’m sure it's very nice.  But, of course, you’re going to do something extra, extra special.”

    Thinking she had an answer that couldn't get her into any further trouble, Barbara relaxed and added, “I’m gonna wrap it, too.  I’m drawing big roses all over a piece of looseleaf.   Red ones and pink ones and-”   

    Aunt Liz didn’t want to hear about roses on looseleaf.  She wanted to make sure we were doing Mother's Day right.  I had to admire her technique.  Aunt Liz gave Barbara a quick peck and squeeze before she went back to her cross examination.
    “I could eat you up.  But you kids and your Pop are going to do something together to show your Ma how much you love her.”  

    “Something with Pop?”  

    “Yes, Sweetie, something with your Pop.”  Barbara knew Pop wasn’t going to do any such thing.  He never had and he never would.  Barbara just smiled and backed away, slowly.

    Thinking Barbara was just being shy, Liz turned to me and said, “And Tina, Sweetie, you’ll have more money to get something extra nice for your Ma this Mother’s Day.” 

    Knowing the kind of reaction I was going to get, I didn't plan to waste any money.  “I’m making something, Aunt Liz.  It’s a surprise,” I muttered.

    Ignoring our lack of enthusiasm, Liz continued, “That’s lovely.  Sweetheart, of course, you’re also doing something extra with your Pop?” 

    Yeah, right.  That would be the day.  

Can't Buy Me Love (part 4 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Ma gave me one of her 'Don't Lie to Me' looks.  I gave her one of my super innocent 'What, Who Me?' looks.  Satisfied that she was still in charge, Ma went back to being the good Maltese hostess.  She just wanted to clear the table in peace and bring another damn holiday to an end.  Without a major blowup.  

    This was turning into a really nice Easter.  I was going to be able to earn money to go to the Beatles concert and marry George Harrison.  Ma was happy with the idea that Mother’s Day was a holiday with no extra cooking.  That was enough for her.  But Aunt Liz wouldn’t let her get off so easily. 

    “Annie, you do know about Mother’s Day, don’t you?  In May?”

    “Sure, sure.  Mother’s Day.  Special.  In May,”  Ma said as she carried the loaded tray to the kitchen.

    Not missing a stitch, Aunt Demi muttered, “Hmmph...  We came to this country.  We have to pay taxes.  Alright.  We don’t have to have more holidays.”

    Ignoring Aunt Demi, Aunt Liz decided to make sure we were celebrating holidays like real Americans.  She thought she'd get the truth from my kid sister.  

    “Barbara, Sweetie, you’re too little to treat your Mom to a fabulous Mother’s Day Brunch at the Club Safari.  But, of course, you’ll do something extra special to show your Mom how much you love her.”

    “I’m making something at school, Aunt Liz.  It’s a secret,”  Barbara announced proudly.

    Yeah, Barbara was still a kid.  She didn’t realize that Ma would react to her gift the same way as she did the year before.  With total indifference.

    “Oh, you can tell me,” Liz said and gave Barbara a hug.   

    When Ma returned and saw Liz questioning Barbara, she was terrified. 

Can't Buy Me Love (part 3 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    This was something new.  Parenting was Ma and Pop's duet.  Ma wasn’t expecting Liz, her new sister-in-law, to join their act and make it a trio.  Aunt Liz continued with my job interview.    

    “Can you type, Sweetie?”  

    “Sure, Aunt Liz.” 

    Annoyed that I actually had a skill, Ma scrambled for something to end my blossoming typist career.  “Tina, you have homework.  You don’t have time to waste.” 

    I was determined to become a typist.  “Ma, ple - ease?”

    Liz added what she thought was the deal maker.  “It’s real work experience.”

    Aunt Demi wasn't impressed with my career choice.  Crocheting furiously, she muttered, “She’s going to earn money to waste it.  Netta, you want her to do that?”

    Ma quickly glared at Aunt Demi.  Now it was becoming a quartet?  Annoyed at yet another relative involving herself in what Ma considered to be strictly her own business, Ma glanced at her new sister-in-law.  Then she looked at me and said, “Hmm...  When you see how hard it is to earn money, maybe you won’t be so eager to waste it.  Alright.” 

    I couldn't believe how well this was working out.  “Thanks, Ma.  When do I start, Aunt Liz?”

    “This week.  Sweetie, after you buy that ticket, be sure to put what’s left in the bank.”  Ma nodded.  Aunt Liz smiled at Ma.  Returning to me, Aunt Liz said, “We’ll expect you to do a neat job.  We have to be able to count on you.  You have to do the work every week.”   

    I was willing to clean Aunt Liz's house.  Heck, I would wax the bowling alley.  “I will.”

    Ma reasserted her authority.  “Don’t forget your homework.”

    “I won’t.” 

Can't Buy Me Love (part 2 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Yeah, right.  As if I didn’t know what that meant.  

    My parents had it down to a regular routine.  Pop knew that we children were his wife’s responsibility.  When he was being asked to give a second opinion on any child rearing matters, Pop knew he was expected to say "No".  A "Yes" answer from Pop was a definite no-no.  Ma knew that.  Pop knew that.  And I sure knew that.    

    Their ‘Ask your Pop’ routine had kept me from other forbidden American pleasures, such as peanut butter and bubble gum.  But this was important.  I had a plan.  

    Desperate for Nadia to straighten my hair and save me from spinsterhood by getting me married to George Harrison, I forged ahead.  “Uncle Des gave Nadia money for her ticket.  I’ll need-”

    Ma cut me short.  “We don’t have money to waste.”

    I went to plan B.  “Can I do some chores, earn some extra?”

    Ma looked at me as if I had beetles crawling on my head.  “You expect me to pay you for helping in your own home?  You saw those...  bugs on Ed Sullivan.  You don’t need to go.”

    Thinking that a lack of money was the actual problem, Liz tried to help.  “That reminds me...  If it’s alright with you, Annie...  We need to hire someone to type our bowling league’s scores.  We can pay Tina.” 

Can't Buy Me Love (part 1 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    When I carried a chair into the kitchen, Ma asked, “Who was on the phone?”  

    “Nadia,” I mumbled.  As if she didn't know.

    Ma sighed.  “You two will be deaf.”  Ma followed me to the dining room to see if there were any nuts left for the men to eat.

    I didn't just have nuts on my mind.  “Ma, this is important.  The Beatles-”

    “What?  We have bugs?”

    “No, Ma.  THE BEATLES."  God, sometimes she could be so dense.  I spoke slowly, "We saw them on Ed Sullivan.” 

    Aunt Demi snorted.  “Again this Ed Sullivan.”  

    Ma said, “We see a lot on Ed Sullivan...  How does that guy keep six dishes spinning at the same time?”

    I tried to keep Ma on topic.  “The Beatles are going to sing in Shea Stadium.”

    Ma didn’t understand.  “During a baseball game?”

    “No, Ma.  It’ll just be them singing.  That's not important.  Can I go with Nadia?”   

    Aunt Demi didn't like the sound of this.  She didn't think much of her brother Demi's wife or her whole nationality.  Aunt Demi had been in Malta during the Big One, and she still held a grudge against Italians.  She was crocheting real fast.  “Is Des or that wop... er... woman taking her?”

    I tried to impress Aunt Demi with Nadia's and my new found maturity.  “No.  Just the two of us.”

    Aunt Demi was shocked.  “Girls going out without a parent?  Hmmph.”

    Ma saw we were heading for trouble.  She took the easy way out.  “Ask your Pop.” 

Holidays Mean Trouble (part 9 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Ma wasn't the only one who ignored the new holidays.

       

    Aunt Demi believed the Maltese calendar had enough holy days and holidays.  She would not allow Mother’s Day to be observed in her house.  When her children brought gifts, she ignored them.  She just thought her children were trying to get her into a good mood before they asked her for something.  

    Following Aunt Demi’s example, Ma was always suspicious when we brought home our creations.

    “Sure, sure.  Mother’s Day, of course, special sure...  We’ll see,” Ma grabbed the coffee pot and retreated to the kitchen.

    Aunt Demi huffed and worked on her crocheting.  After a few minutes, she muttered, “Who needs this...  Mother’s Day?  We have enough work to do with all the feastdays the church stuck us with.  You trying to kill this woman with holidays?  Netta, you’re not doing anything for this garbage, are you?”

    Ma left the safety of the kitchen and returned to the war front.  Hoping to avoid a fight between her sisters-in-law, Ma tried to change the subject.  “Madonna.  Where does the time go?  Peter, Charlie and Vinnie have been playing bocci for an hour.  They’ll  be hungry.”  

    While Liz copied a recipe, Ma went to the kitchen to prepare a snack for the men.  “Tina!  Get off that phone and put these chairs away!”

Holidays Mean Trouble (part 8 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    “A holiday and you won’t be eating here,”  Ma repeated softly while she cleared the table. 

    Ma breathed a sigh of relief as she carried the plates to the kitchen.  Liz had just told her, in front of everybody, that there was going to be a holiday and that she would be eating all she wanted someplace else.  What this had to do with mothers was still a mystery to Ma.  

    But, to be honest, it didn't matter.  Liz would be eating somewhere else.  Someone else would have to feed Liz.  Someone else would have to clean up after Liz. 

    Mother’s Day was not a special day for my Ma.  They really didn’t celebrate it in Malta.  For the first five years she had lived in America she saw it on the calendar.  She regarded it in the same way in which she regarded Hanukkah or Chinese New Year’s.  It was just one of those things that other people celebrated in America.  She hoped the folks who celebrated it enjoyed it.  But she firmly believed that she didn't have to do anything about it just because it was on the calendar. 

    Liz was going to eat holiday food somewhere else.

    Suddenly Ma saw the value, the absolute need, for American holidays.  

    When Ma returned, she decided she wanted to circle the date of this wonderful holiday which she could basically ignore, kitchenwise.  “Hmm...  Liz...  Liz...”  Aunt Liz stopped chewing and smiled at Ma.  “This Mother’s Day Brunch.  When is it?”  

    Liz swallowed.  “Why, on Mother’s Day, of course.”  

    Liz searched through the bowl for another nut, then paused before crushing a Brazil nut.  Suddenly she realized something about her new in-law.  She decided she needed to be absolutely clear for Ma's benefit.  “The second Sunday in May.  You’re joking, right?  I couldn’t believe it when Charlie said Maltese don’t have Mother’s Day.”

    Liz put down her Brazil nut.  “You DO know you’re supposed to do something, don’t you?  You ARE doing something special for Mother’s Day, aren’t you?”

Holidays Mean Trouble (part 7 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Liz told Ma, “Annie, the lamb you made today was very good.”  Aunt Demi snorted.  Ma looked nervous.  Demi's snorting meant more than a sinus condition.

    Wanting to score a few more points with her new husband's sister, Aunt Liz smiled and explained the finer points of American haute cuisine.  “My family always had baked ham for Easter.  Without garlic.  Baked ham is traditional in America.  It’s easier, Annie.”  Aunt Demi snorted again.

    Ma winced.  She knew Liz didn’t mean any harm.  ‘Annie’ was a proper American name.  Ma’s name, Annetta, was Maltese for Anne.  She knew Americans often added ‘ie’ to the end of the beginning part of friends’ names.  Her friend Deborah had asked her to call her ‘Debbie’.

    But, in Malta, family and close friends used the last part of names.  Ma was used to being called ‘Netta’.  She didn’t want to cause a problem for her brother Charlie.  She just wished his wife would call her ‘Netta’.   

  

    Aunt Demi took upon herself the heavy responsibility of explaining the finer points of Maltese haute cuisine.  “Easier is not the point of a holiday.  Hmmph.  For a holiday you kill yourself making something that’s too much trouble.  Like the kannoli I made for today.  Then everybody knows they have to eat a lot of it, whether they want to or not.  Eh...  Then you know you had a holiday.”  

    Liz considered this bit of Maltese culture and cracked another walnut.  Satisfied that she had done her job as the family matriarch, Demi went back to her crocheting.  

    Then Liz made her big announcement.  “Annie, your brother Charlie’s such a sweetheart!  He’s taking my Mom and me out to Club Safari for a Mother’s Day Brunch.  Annie, why don’t you come with us?”

    “What’s a brunch?”  Ma knew that Liz loved to talk about food almost as much as she loved to eat it.

    “Why, a brunch is a magnificent spread of scrambled eggs, chicken livers, Eggs Benedict, sausages, golden French toast, English muffins and an iced fresh fruit tray.”  Liz’s eyes grew moist.  “There’ll be a crumb-topped Smithfield ham to be savored in thin, thin slices with hot buttered biscuits and corn bread.”

    Aunt Demi was not impressed.  “Waste of money to eat out.  What kind of people eat food that a stranger cooked?”

    Liz was deep in Mother's Day Brunchland.  In an ecstatic daze, she continued, “We can help ourselves to everything and eat all we want.”  Then she added what was to her the cherry on her Mother’s Day celebration cake.  

    “We’ll be there all day.”

Holidays Mean Trouble (part 6 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    It got quiet.  Aunt Demi then decided a few comments on Ma’s cooking were necessary.  Just to liven things up.  

    “Netta, I have to say.  Food here doesn’t taste the same like food at home.  My Mama had a recipe for fenek bit-tewm.  Oh, the taste.  Ask my brother.  Maybe he still remembers how it’s supposed to taste.” 

   

    Cut to the quick, Ma ran to fetch her cookbook muttering,  “What’re you talking about?  I made her fenek bit-tewm last month.  You and Liz were here.”   

    Ma flipped through the battered and stained notebook.  Finally she found the recipe and showed it to Aunt Demi.  

    Aunt Demi scanned the page.  “This is her recipe?” 

    “Sure.  Exact.”  Aunt Demi examined the ingredients. “You didn’t scrimp?  Twelve cloves?”

    “I can count.”

    Aunt Demi shut the book and set it down.  “You made fenek.  Fine.  But you didn’t put enough garlic in it.”  

    Liz picked up the cookbook, flipped through it and asked, “Was that the rabbit stew with a lot of garlic?”  

    Aunt Demi sighed.  “Liz, for you, that was a lot of garlic.  The recipe is called fenek bit-tewm.  BIT-TEWM.  With garlic.  Hmmph...  I couldn’t taste the garlic.”

    Ma smiled and said, “Isn’t it funny.  I didn’t have any leftovers.  Demi, correct me if I’m wrong, but you had three helpings.”

    Aunt Demi muttered, “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” and went back to her crocheting.

    Softly Ma said, “Maybe there’s something wrong with your mouth.”  

    Aunt Demi heard her.  “Hmmph.  I taste fine.  The fenek didn’t.” 

Holidays Mean Trouble (part 5 - by Margaret Ullrich)

    Ma had had enough of Mrs. Kekelia getting chummy with members of her family.  She started hustling Mrs. Kekelia to the door.  “I’m sure your family is wondering what’s keeping you.  Thank you for Tina’s...  treat.  You should start cooking for your company now.”  
  

    Shaking Ma off, Mrs. Kekelia turned to me.  “Tina, you come mit us.  Haf such plans.  Take family und see everyting.  Tina, you like see show?”
    Would I!  But, before I could say anything, Ma said, “Tina will be busy” and went back to hustling Mrs. Kekelia away from the table.


    When they got to the door, Mrs. Kekelia had an inspiration.  “You not know ven...”
    “And you don’t know what we’ll be doing in May.  We’re busy.”  And with that, Ma slammed the door on Mrs. Kekelia.  I went to the living room to enjoy the rest of my strudel.


    Aunt Demi looked up from her crocheting and said, “Netta, it was a good idea for you to make the Easter dinner this year.  I have to save my strength.  I’m going to have my time in hell with my sister-in-law.” 
    Liz grabbed a cashew and asked, “Which sister-in-law is that?”
    Aunt Demi dismissed Liz.  “What does it matter to you?  You never met her.”


    Ma grabbed an opportunity to sit.  “Demi, refresh my memory.  Which one is coming?”
    Aunt Demi sighed.  “Eh.  Who else would give me this trouble?  You know,”  Aunt Demi cupped her hand around her nose.  Ma had a good memory.
    “Stella?”


    Aunt Demi gave a huge sigh.  “With her husband and three boys.  Hmmph.  I have to scrub the house top to bottom.”
    Liz loved company, even when it wasn't hers.  “There’s so much to see...  They’ll have a great time!” 


    Aunt Demi gave Liz a withering, ‘you simple-minded child’ look, sighed and explained, “They’re coming to see family, not to have a great time.”

Holidays Mean Trouble (part 4 - by Margaret Ullrich)

Liz was stunned. “You’re joking, right? The costumes, the dancing, the music. You should’ve seen it. Charlie wanted to buy tickets for Peter, you and the kids to come to the show with us. You really should see a live Broadway show once in a while.” Turning to Mrs. Kekelia, Liz continued, “We tried to talk them into coming.”

Mrs. Kekelia nodded, “Tsk. I know. Ich bin ein New Yorker. I see all shows. Dey see notting, go no vere.”
Liz said, “Ain’t that the truth.”
Ma went back to her eternal excuse. “We were working.”
Mrs. Schultz wasn't impressed with Ma's priorities. “Tsk. Alvays mit vorking.”


Aunt Demi didn’t want this talk of Broadway shows to lead her brother Peter and his family into going into Manhattan. Who knew where that could lead? Demi announced, “They saw enough.”


Ma got worried when she saw that Demi had put down her crocheting. She didn't want a real old fashioned fight this Easter. Demi was getting on in years, but she did have her crocheting hook. She could still draw blood. Ma didn't know how she could explain that to Liz. Watching Demi, Ma said, “Grazie but I told my brother to save his money. We saw the best parts. That was enough.”


Liz was really warming up to Mrs. Kekelia. Crushing another nut, Liz told her, “Your family will have a great time. There’s so much to see.”
Nodding, Mrs. Kekelia agreed. “Yah. You und Charlie come mit us. I get tickets. More people, more fun.”
Liz beamed. “We’d love to.”


Aunt Demi huffed and went back to her crocheting.


Glancing at Ma, Mrs. Kekelia smiled and continued, “Und I cook all best recipes. No garlic. You come. I make plenty.” Mrs. Kekelia smiled broadly and patted her stomach. “Ven haf company, I alvays haf extra.”

Holidays Mean Trouble (part 3 - by Margaret Ullrich)

Ma glared at Liz, then turned to Mrs. Kekelia and smiled. Proudly, Ma said, “I’d offer you some lamb, but my family ate it all.”
Mrs. Kekelia, shocked at our food shortage, said, “Vat? You don’t cook extra for company? Is not polite to ration. Is not var time.”
Shaken, Ma said, “When you have a good recipe, they eat every bite.”

Mrs. Kekelia wasn't impressed. “Ven haf company, haf extra. Tsk. Foreign ways. Tsk. Haf letter from sister in Dussseldorf. Come mit family in May. I cook all her favorites und make plenty.”
Ma muttered, “How nice for your sister. You should start cooking now. Thank you for Tina’s . . . treat.”

Ignoring Ma, Mrs. Kekelia turned to me, “Tina, you come, eat, too. I haf plans. Take sister, see everyting. I show her everyting. Tina, you like see?”

Ma didn’t mind Mrs. Kekelia taking care of me while she was at work. But now Mrs. Kekelia was trying to mother me on Ma’s time. Ma wanted to reestablish her position as my official mother. “Tina will be busy.”
Mrs. Kekelia said, “You not know when...”
“And you don't know what my family will be doing,” Ma cut her off.


Not realizing what she was stepping into, Liz said, “It’s too bad My Fair Lady isn’t running anymore.”
Mrs. Kekelia said, “Yah. Vee see.”
Warming up to Ma's tenant, Liz said, “Charlie and I did, too.” Then she sang, “All I want is a room somewhere.”
Realizing that Ma had at least one civilized relative, Mrs. Kekelia sang along, “is room somevere."

Ma hummed the tune, then said, “We saw that on Ed Sullivan.”
“Sweetheart, you didn’t see the whole thing,” Liz said.
Ma muttered, “Sullivan shows the best parts. Who needs to see the whole thing?”


Demi nodded and agreed with Ma.

Holidays Mean Trouble (part 2 - by Margaret Ullrich)

It was Mrs. Kekelia, my parents’ tenant. Mr. and Mrs. Kekelia lived in the four-room apartment above the storefront part of our house. They’d been living there when Pop had bought the house, and my parents had decided to let them stay.

My parents needed every dollar, so they decided they didn’t need to use their apartment for extra space. When we moved into our four-room apartment, my parents slept in one bedroom, while Charlie and I slept in the other. After Charlie married, my sister Barbara and baby Angelo were moved from our parents’ bedroom to my bedroom.


Mrs Kekelia was a sturdy German woman in her early sixties. She loved to cook. When my parents bought the house, Ma asked Mrs. Kekelia to babysit me while she worked at Lily Tulip. It was convenient and my parents needed Ma’s salary to pay the mortgage.

Aunt Demi didn’t like my being exposed to American or German customs. But since my parents were our family’s pioneers in College Point, they didn’t have anyone else to help them.

Mrs Kekelia gave me a small package. “I come mit little Easter treat for mein little lebkuchen.”
I gave Mrs Kekelia a big hug. Demi stiffened when she saw me hug a non-relative. Ignoring Aunt Demi, I accepted Mrs. Kekelia's gift and said, “Danke... Thank you.” I unwrapped and bit the strudel.

Ma said, “Liz, you remember our tenant, Mrs. Kekelia.”
Sniffing the air, Mrs. Kekelia said, “I stay minute. Vas ist smell? Rabbit? Haf goot German recipe - hasenpfeffer. Rabbit stew. Tina like. You need -”
Ma said, “We had lamb.”

Liz belched and said, “I can still taste the garlic.”
Mrs. Kekelia understood. “Ach. Dat smell. Who can tell? Lamb, rabbit...”
Liz continued, “They put garlic or curry in everything.”

Stung by Liz’s apparent disapproval, Ma said, “I have a very nice Maltese recipe - fenek bit-tewm hu bil-Imbid. Rabbit stew. My family prefers it.”

Liz said, “That has garlic, too. My family always has baked ham for Easter. No garlic. Ham’s traditional in America.”

Holidays Mean Trouble (part 1 - by Margaret Ullrich)

A few days after Nadia and I decided to work together, Ma hosted our family’s Easter dinner. She had invited her brother Charlie and Pop’s sister Demi, along with their spouses.

That was more than enough holiday stress for anyone to handle.

Aunt Demi, Pop’s eldest sister, was a solid middle-aged matriarch who believed that it was her duty to make sure everyone behaved properly in the good, old-fashioned, decent Maltese way. She had her priorities: Maltese Culture, her family, Maltese food and God. She was determined to make sure her siblings and their families followed her example.

Clinging to Maltese traditions, as she remembered them from the forties, was Aunt Demi's cross to bear in New York City in 1964. It was a heavy cross. But she wasn’t about to put it down just to please a relative, especially a young American one. Sitting opposite my new Aunt Liz, Aunt Demi was crocheting lace and watching Liz eat . . . and eat.

Ma’s new sister-in-law, Liz, was a plump, blue-eyed, blond American. After they’d met at a bowling alley, Charlie had said that Liz was perfect, like a special order bowling ball. Pop said that, compared to a bowling ball, Liz wasn’t too fat. Charlie agreed and beamed.

Since Liz, at age twenty-four, was only ten years older than I was, Aunt Demi regarded Liz as just another child who needed training in Maltese wifely arts. Demi explained to Liz that her job as ‘A Holiday Guest in a Maltese Home’ was to sit and be served, not to help the hostess.

‘The Proper Maltese Hostess’ naturally had everything under control and would be mortally offended at any offer of help. So, after dinner, while the men were outside playing bocci, Liz stayed seated and finished off the mixed nuts.

Ma, a hardworking thirty-seven year old woman, was a tired Maltese Hostess But she soldiered on, cleaning up the mess from another holiday dinner she had hosted single handedly.

Ma wasn’t too thrilled about Maltese Tradition. She could’ve used some help folding the spare wood chairs and clearing the table. She also couldn’t believe how much Liz could eat.

Over the crunching of the nuts, we heard a knock at the door.

Do You Want to Know a Secret (part 6 - by Margaret Ullrich)

I tossed my head. It was useless. The curls would never go away and I’d never belong anywhere. I hadn’t asked to come to America, I hadn’t asked to move to College Point and I really hadn’t asked for straight hair to be in style. I exploded. “I hate being different. In school the nuns are all Irish. If I act Maltese, they say I’m shy. At home, if I speak up like Sister said, Ma says I’m fresh.”
“See? It’s a sign. Move back.”
“And where would I live?”

We both knew that while her Dad might give her money for a concert ticket, he wasn’t about to permanently take in another mouth to feed. We had to live with our parents’ choices.
Nadia said, “Yeah, I guess you’re stuck there. Look. Smarten up. In school, act Irish. At home, act Maltese.”
“But which is me?”
“Whadaya mean? Yer a Maltese who acts Irish like an American. Yer lucky. Yer just one thing. I got family in Sicily and Malta. Mom’s folks call me A-rab and Dad’s call me Wop. I gotta tell ya, when we studied ’bout the last war, I didn’t know who ta root for.”
“Don't tell Aunt Demi that.”
We laughed. It had never occured to me that, thanks to Uncle Des’ choices, Nadia had problems fitting in, too. We were in the same boat. We’d sink or swim together. Nadia asked, “So how’re ya gonna get the ticket money?”
“I don’t know. Don’t worry. I’ll get it.”

Life for a teenager in 1964 could be full of problems. But Nadia and I were going to work together. It was time for our parents to learn to live with our decisions.

Do You Want to Know a Secret (part 5 - by Margaret Ullrich)

After the Second World War, Aunt Demi followed her brothers Des, Spiro and Tony to America. She had sent letters to Pop and their sisters, Carmela and Helen, telling them to come, too. It was Aunt Demi’s fault that we were now one big happy family. Aunt Demi had opinions on everything. I decided to remind Nadia of one of Demi’s opinions.

“Your Dad didn’t check with Aunt Demi when he got married here. Aunt Demi still calls your Mom a Wop.” I was sorry as soon as I said it. Aunt Betty was my favorite Aunt. It was a low blow. Nadia muttered, “Ah, she don’t mean it. My Mom says family should stick together.”

“My Ma says we don’t have to live on top of each other.”


Sticking together didn’t mean the same thing to our mothers. Aunt Betty had lived the American dream. She had her privacy in a cozy four room home for her own little family. I had been born on Pop’s parents’ farm in Malta on the same day our single Aunt Helen and Aunt Carmela, along with her husband and daughter, had left for America. My parents were also supposed to leave with them, but Ma wasn’t interested in giving birth on the high seas. Then, when I was three months old, Pop, Ma and I followed them to America.

Our first American home was a two bedroom apartment we shared with Pop’s brother, Uncle Tony, Aunt Kate and their two daughters. Pop worked in Des’ deli with his brothers. For two years I shared my cousin Linda’s crib. Aunt Kate wasn’t thrilled with sharing her home with in-laws she had never met. Ma wasn’t happy being there, either. A year after we arrived, Uncle Charlie, Ma’s younger brother, joined us. A year later, Aunt Kate gave birth to cousin Stevie. It was getting a little crowded. The crowding, along with receiving a quarter of the deli’s weekly net income and unsold cold cuts, inspired Pop to move to College Point.

Pop bought a duplex with a storefront. He thought he could run a business at night and work at a factory in the daytime. Pop, Ma and Uncle Charlie went to work at Lily Tulip, a paper cup manufacturer. I was left in the care of our German tenant, Mrs. Kekelia. After we left for College Point, Aunt Rita was furious when she saw Aunt Kate wearing a fur coat. Uncle Spiro accused Uncle Tony of taking more than his fair share of the profits. At the time, Uncle Tony was the only uncle who knew how to drive a car. He started a small taxi business and moved his family upstate. He and his family were only mentioned in whispers.

Nadia didn’t say anything further about our living arrangements. My curls and temper were cooling. Wanting to make peace, I lay my head on the ironing board, like a dog assuming an inferior position, and asked, “Can you iron some more?”
Nadia smiled. “Sure. Ya wanna look right when ya meet George. Ya know, ya really need stuff.” She ironed in silence a few minutes, then said, “I’d justa soon not leave Corona. I’d justa soon stay with what I know. Ya know? Everybody in Corona’s Italian.”
“Everybody except half our relatives . . . and you. We don’t belong here, either.” Nadia kept ironing, but she was quiet. The silence got to me. “Can we stop? My neck’s sore again.”