There Goes Another Bianco

All four of these men share the same first and last name.

A little over a week ago, before Christmas, Paul's grandfather died. He was very old, in his eighties, and had suffered a massive stroke about 6 years ago. He has been pretty much out of it since then, and has had more strokes in the meantime. He has really declined in the past few months, and finally, without much fanfare, he slipped away.

I already described my experience visiting Paul's grandmother the day after his death in a previous post. And though dropping my underwear and getting walked in on while peeing is certainly memorable, those experiences don't compare at all to the wake and funeral I attended this past Monday and Tuesday.

Paul comes from a very large, Catholic, Italian family. His grandmother is one of 11 children, and his grandfather was one of 7, I think. There are many cousins and uncles and close friends whom I've never met before. There are even some people in Italy and some elderly types here in the U.S. who don't speak English. Whenever I've asked how many people are in Paul's family, he gives a perpetually evolving answer. I've never understood this -- my family consists of 5 people total.

Paul's grandmother decided she wanted a very traditional set of ceremonies to honor the death of her husband. At the wake, she stood next to the casket, alongside her two sons (Paul's father and uncle), their wives, their children (her grand-children) and their spouses (I'm one of them). We stood there to greet the people who arrived to express their condolences. It seemed strange that I would receive people, considering I barely knew Grandpop Bianco, but alas, I am (or will be) part of the patriarchy, so be it, I suppose. People arrived in tears, hugging each other. One woman, who also appeared to have been a victim of stroke, passed silently in a wheelchair holding mass cards to her chest. But most just introduced themselves, kissed my cheek, hugged me, and said, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Everything was quite normal until more than an hour passed.

I said to Paul, "God, a lot of people have come through here."

"Grandmom says we haven't even half yet."

After THREE MORE HOURS of hand-shaking, cheek-kissing, hugging, smiling, saying, "Hello, nice to meet you," "Thank you for coming," "I'm with Paul," etc., my patience was really starting wear thin. It was terribly hot, I was dehydrated, I was famished, and I was becoming claustraphobic and feeling greasy from the sheer volume of people passing through.

When the last person finally moved through our greeting line, one of the funeral directors announced to us that nearly 1000 people had come to pay their respects. 1000 people! Can you even imagine such a thing? My friend Heather says I'm bound to get sick after all that.

Now, not all of these people were Biancos. Many were friends, business aquaintances, neighbors. I guess that's what happens when you come from a large family who has run a business in the region for three generations. I was stunned.

~

The next day, the day of the funeral, was also overwhelming. We met at the funeral home early in the morning to greet people who couldn't make the wake the night before -- who else could there have been? -- and to get ready for the trip to the church. Closing the casket was pretty emotional -- I felt very sad for Paul's family, and especially his grandmother. They had been married for 62 years, after all.

After everyone pulled themselves together, we climbed into the limousines, and heade to the church, which was kind of funny -- the church was only just across the street from the funeral home.

The mass was quite nice. I am not religious, but I was raised Catholic. For a long time, I rejected my Catholicism, and protested whenever I was forced to set foot in a church. I would refuse to take part in the service, I would refuse to pray, I would refuse Communion. But now, I realize there's no point in trying to make a point. So, I took part in the service and actually found the experience meaningful -- but that's a subject for another post.

After the mass, we piled into the limo and took the long route through Springfield, PA on the way to the cemetery. Apparently, it's traditional to drive by the deceased's home. So we did that. Many of the neighbors were outside. Some of them made the sign of the cross when we passed. It seemed like traveling back in time.

We arrived at the gravesite. Paul's grandfather was to be buried in a large, marble mausoleum. Many of his ancestors had been buried there. Paul's mother told me that if I married Paul and took his name, I could be buried there, too. I told her I wasn't going to concern myself with such matters just yet.

The inside of the mausoleum was rather interesting: The coffins are stored in marble drawers, with the inhabitants names and life-spans engraved on their faces. There was also a marble carving of the Virgin Mary, adorned with red roses and red carnations, as well as photographs from Paul's grandfather's life. The outside of the mausoleum was also surrounded by flowers. It really was beautiful, in a Catholic kind of way. It was a beautiful day, too.

The experience was completely surreal. I'll never forget it. Leave it to the Biancos to pull off something extravagant, but meaningful.

It's a strange place to be coming from where I've been.

Flickr!

(I plan to put this action figure on my mantle.)

I finally got my new camera! This morning I set up a flickr account, so hopefully, I'll add to it often.

Here are pictures from Christmas Eve dinner at Paul's parents' house:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/41908604@N00/sets/1654376/

Happy Holidays

I Am An Ass

Paul and I spent Wednesday at his grandmother's house in Springfield, PA. Paul's grandfather died on Tuesday, so we and much of his extended Italian family dropped in to pay our respects. When we arrived at the door, she burst into tears, and after a quick hug, she pulled back, dry-eyed, and said, "You want coffee? Sandwiches? How 'bout some cake? Paul likes cake, right Paul?" and she's off to the kitchen to whip something up.


But first she took our coats. we went to the kitchen to catch up with the other guests; Paul's sister, Paul's cousins, his aunts, uncles, etc.

A few minutes later, Paul's grandmother comes in, holding something in her hand and says, "What the hell is this?"

It takes a few moments for me to realize that she is holding a wadded-up pair of my underwear. "Give me that!" I said, stuffing the underwear into my purse. "Oh," I said, realizing how this must have happened: "We just did a ton of laundry before we got here. Static cling is to blame."

Paul's grandmother looked at me as if I were a complete ass. Everyone else just laughed. I drank my coffee and kept quiet. I wondered if she thought we had been doing it in the car just before we arrived.

Ten minutes later, I went to the bathroom. The door had no locks, so I moved the trashcan in front of the door, hoping it would serve as a sufficient barrier. Sure enough, just as I sat down to pee, Paul's uncle came barging in, holding a stack of bath towels.

"Hey, oh... hey... I'm in here!" I said.

He just stood there dumbly, looking at me.

"Get out!" I said.

"Um...of course," he said, laughing.

And instead of being a gentleman and going back to his business discreetly, I heard him bellowing to his sons in the kitchen, "I just walked in on Paul's girl going to the bathroom! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"

I returned to the kitchen, and everyone was smirking at me. I said, "Today's just not my day, I guess." Everyone laughed and slapped their knees like they'd never heard anything so funny.

Oh well. I don't mind being the butt of a joke, no pun intended. I suppose I'm glad I could bring a bit of good cheer to a grieving family during the holidays.

Another Kitten!

I am getting a digital camera for Christmas. I hope I will have plenty of pictures to post come new year. For now, pictures of KITTENS (!!!) will have to suffice.