The Black Scarf: Goal #2

For Christmas, my Nona (Italian for "Grandma") knitted me a black scarf.

The scarf holds much more meaning to me, of course, than just some black yarn tied together, or weaved - however that's done.
I never did stop to wonder how she became such a wonderful seamstress. My grandma had to learn to knit from somewhere didn't she? In fact, she has been an exceptional seamstress since before I can remember. I have picture of my sisters and I in Easter dresses she sewed for us.
It was a cold day in December, my Twenty Fourth birthday actually, a day I planned to sulk away at the thought of my youth slipping away from me, that I instead sat down with my grandmother, and slipped into hours of conversation that I will remember for the rest of my life.



There are moments in life when everything around you seems to fall apart, as I previously demonstrated in my first blog, and there are moments when everything stands still and you are absorbed completely in the beauty of the moment. The only thing I felt absorbed in at this moment was myself.
I sat in a quiet, still room listening to my Nona lose herself in memories of her brother, and best friend. Two people who had tragically passed away nearly a year ago. Tears glazed her aged, and wrinkling eyes as I found myself in tears of my own shame. I give myself panic attacks when my double cappuccino with one pump of vanilla isn't made right while the woman in front of me was still suffering the loss of not only a brother - but over seventy years of shared memories. A sadness I am no where near able to understand.
It was then that I realized; life is too short to worry about the petty things. The grades, the right school, the cute guy, the best job. Hell, I'm the black sheep right? So, I started asking her questions....

Her thick, spanish accent began to speed up with excitement, even slipping into full spanish to which I had to kindly remind her: I did not speak a word of.
"You are a disgrace" she sweetly informed me,
Thanks Nona, my next goal will now be to learn Spanish.

After a longer conversation with my Nona, I realized; this woman has a lot to say. So, I began my second, more spontaneous, goal. And yes, this was at the suggestion of George the wise...
I turned on my computer, turned it into a recording device, and said "tell me everything".

Welcome to story time with Nona, get ready for a history lesson.


"Tell me about your mother" I began with.
Through hours of conversation, giggles, and several photo albums I never even knew existed.... this is what I came to discover.

Now, I knew my Nona came from Peru, and was raised there... but our family in fact began in Spain.
Once upon a time there lived a man name Manuel Aguirre. He left spain on a ship .... not just any ship .... a Pirate Ship.

"Wait..... what?" I believe was my response as my Nona burst into fits of giggles and laughter.

Turns out, to my dismay, he was not in fact a pirate, there is no pirate blood in my family, he was beaten by the pirates, and cleaned the decks. Hence his decision to jump ship and run away in Peru.
In Peru he met a beautiful woman named Clara Mena, and they had four children; Alfonzo, Clara, Anna Luvinda - her mother, and Juan.

We continued to flip through photos when she suddenly ran like an excited little girl to pull a few framed pictures off of the wall. Upon returning she pointed out a rather finely dressed woman with her hair elegantly slung back.

"This is Barbara, my father Francisco's mother" she leaned closer to me with a mischievous smile "She was a Madame" she whispered.
"Uhm... What's a Madame" I replied feeling left out of an inside joke
"She ran a whore house"
"............oh..... right"

After the more scandalous, and adventurous stories we moved on through the photo album until we reached a photo of her mother, Anna Luvinda. She was absolutely beautiful. The picture was in sepia tones, her dark hair fell in waves just above her shoulders as she stared serenely out into the distance.


Anna Luvinda was a mother she would never know, she died six months pregnant with her fourth child, when my Nona was only two years old. It was several years later after her death that her father Francisco Altuna married Anna Luvinda's sister, my Nona's Aunt Clara who raised her as a mother. It was Clara who taught my Nona how to sew...
My Nona, her two sibling, and three step sibling grew up on a farm in PIta Peru while their father Francisco worked at a cotton factory in Sullana.
My Nona was nineteen when she met a studly, young Italian man doing construction work on the roadside who liked to call himself "Joe Hawk". (This was going to be his movie star name when Hollywood discovered him).
They were married in 1954, a while later my father was born, several months after that they moved to New York. Which is where they stayed for Nine and a half years until their move to the great city of Glendale.

Now, this is, of course, a long story short. I could probably write a book containing the rest of the history of all of my family, and the beautiful insanity of Vitello. I'm sure it would be the next hit series on HBO, and win numerous Golden Globes.
But, This is not a book, it is a blog.

In all seriousness though; my goal in this journey back in time with my Nona turned into a journey of self discovery. Now, I had toyed with the idea of blogging about some great discovery I was going to make about myself, something of course deep and philosophical that would get me recognition with, say, Barbara Walters. ... I did not expect that discovery to be self centeredness.

Life is too short to not know where you come from. It is written into our souls, our family, our ancestors have passed along traits we are stuck with whether we like it or not. It is only meant to be appreciated.
I looked through the aged, and wilting old photos of my ancestors and even saw traces of my aunts, and of my sisters, and wondered which of their traits each of us may posses. I looked at the beautiful picture of Anna Luvinda, my great, great grandmother, who sat serenely in this picture staring off into the distance, and wondered; what was going through her mind at this moment?
I could have never known any of this. I could have stomped off angrily that my cappuccino did not taste right, and never known the depth of my background, and only a very small part of my background. Which makes me wonder; How much can we learn from our elders, and our elders elders if we just slow down a minute, and not focus on ourselves ....

for just a minute?

For Christmas, my Nona knitted me a black scarf. I love this black scarf, it holds history to me. It holds memories of story times I never really got before with my Nona. I look at this scarf and I feel more confident in the path life put me on right now. It seems I need to be constantly reminded of this, but this is my new reminder that; it is ok to slow down and breathe life in sometimes. It is ok to take life one step at a time, and I am not a failure because I cannot pass a math class to get into a University.
If I am seventy years old and all I have are stories similar to: "my grandfather escaped a pirate ship", or "my father's mother-in-law was a scandalous, Madame" to tell my grandchildren .... if I grow old to be just like my grandmother .... I will be more than alright with that.


Until next month,
- Pepper

"Time makes you bolder, children get older, and I'm getting older too" - Stevie Nicks.