In this weather - spring streaked gray sky tempered by new-green shoots - I can't stop thinking of afternoons spent visiting my great-grandmother with my mother and baby sister. Anna lived in a highrise by the highway, near St Patrick's in Bridgport. Her small apartment was well-appointed and smelled distinctly of the elderly. She always had a liter of 7 Up on her lace-covered kitchen table when we went for lunch.
My mom was more relaxed here than she was with her mother, Josephine. We would listen to the very old lady tell stories about her life while eating a frittata or Danish butter cookies from a purple tin. Somtimes I would wander out into the hallway, wondering about the other octegenarians, living out their last days all together alone. I worried about dying, then went back into Nonni's for another glass of lemon lime soda.
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