Grandma was a rice ball. The real Italian kind. Small. Round. Hearty. A crisped-to-perfection edge with a surprisingly luscious inner blend – saucy meat (with emphasis on saucy. And meaty), sweet gooey cheese, and just a smattering of those annoying little peas.
They don’t make rice balls the way they used to. They never will again. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. It’s the rice balls of today that make the memory of those we loved so dearly and can never have again, that much more precious in our very heavy hearts.
Debbie: was talking to yr mom yesterday and she mentioned your eulogy to yr grandma. looked it up and low and behold… the rice balls… that was exactly what I remembered so loveingly about Rose. She was so dear to me as a child, taught me so much, was such a great role model. Theresa and I spent the BEST AFTERNOONS with her learning all sorts of crafts. This is so vivid in my mind. I loved her, I love your mom and I thank you so much for your tenacity in ‘finding me’. luv, gladys
I’m so glad you stopped by here, and I’m thrilled to have been part of reconnecting you and my mom.
I so love how you remember my grandmother… and her rice balls. lol. That she had such an impact on your life just helps reinforce in my mind the wonder that was her. It’s heartwarming to know she’s remembered so tenderly not just by her immediate family but also by people she touched throughout her life.