My sweet Mary’s mother, Catina Zippo, passed away this month. She was 93 years old, and I have known her for the past 40+ years. Tina, as we called her, was born and raised in the Bronx. As is true of many native New Yorkers—including my Mary—she never learned to drive, but she had her husband Lou to drive her around most of her adult life. She loved the Bronx she grew up in and the Bronx of today. If she could have, I am sure she would have lived her entire life there.
When Mary and I first got together, she lived five minutes away from us in the Wakefield area. We spent many dinners there with Tina and Lou and other members of the Zippo/Meloni clans. I learned to appreciate northern Italian cuisine at their dinner table, especially polenta, which was always prepared in a special copper pot and required continual stirring with a wooden spoon. Mary has memories of countless sore arms from taking her turn at stirring the pot as a young girl. But by the time I was on the scene, the stirring was done by a tiny electric motor which moved the wooden spoon in circles through the bubbling corn meal. The pot, however, was the same one Mary had labored over.
Eventually, as Lou and Tina aged, it was realized that they could use some family help, so they sold their home in the Bronx and moved in with Mary’s sister Carol and her family in Bethel, Conn. It was soon discovered that Lou had Parkinson’s disease and needed to be cared for in a rehab center. Tina found her way to the center via senior transportation to visit Lou almost every day. We would come out once a month or so, to visit with them both. Tina seemed to be friends with the senior bus driver and the various nurses and some of the other patients, but after Lou passed away, she mostly stayed at home. When she traveled or went out, it was with her family.
When Carol and Freddy retired, they moved to Cape Cod permanently. Tina had mixed feelings about living in Connecticut, but Cape Cod was a favorite family vacation spot for years, so she loved being there. I am sure, however, there were still times when she missed the Bronx. Over the years we would receive requests to bring with us some grated Parmigiana Reggiano from our local Italian deli when we came to visit. It’s hard to find authentic Italian ingredients in the Cape.
It is apparent to me now that Tina’s life centered almost exclusively around her family. There was nothing more she enjoyed or needed than time with them. In fact, she went on vacations with as many children, grandchildren and great grandchildren as she could gather. Mary and I went with her and Lou to Bermuda along with Mary's sisters and their families. Then after Lou passed away, she led a large trip to Italy where they all stayed together at a villa. Mary and I were unable to attend that trip, but the next one was the most incredible of all.
Tina, now in her 90s, wanted to recreate that trip to Italy, this time going to Provence. She wanted everyone to come, so she treated everyone to their plane fare and the cost of renting the Villa. There were 18 of us all staying together in an incredible house. Each morning we would gather at breakfast, then head out on our own for the day before returning for dinner, where most nights a private chef had been hired to make a traditional Provencal meal for all of us. We also spent a couple of days traveling together as a group to a wine tasting and to sight-see. It was one of the most memorable trips of my life.
Tina’s feelings about photographs were further proof of her love of family. At any event, She always wanted at least one picture of everyone there. She wanted to look at the photo and see all of us together. Tina could be difficult to get along with sometimes, she was opinionated and stubborn, but you always knew that while she might be angry with you, she always loved you and would forgive you, even if you were only marginally a family member, such as me. If I were to interview people for the role of mother-in-law, Tina would be impossible to beat.
It is difficult to imagine going to Cape Cod and not seeing Tina there. I’m sure the pain will lessen over time, but much as I still remember my mother’s peanut butter cookies and cherry pies, I will always remember dinner with Lou and Tina, pouring the polenta out of that copper pot onto a wooden board and cutting it into portions with a string. Loud and joyful meals with a glass of wine in hand in the Bronx, Connecticut, Cape Cod and Provence. Thanks, Tina, for all the meals and the memories.
