Nonna

I am sitting on the plane making a mercy dash home to say goodbye to my beloved Nonna. All I can think about is what if I don’t make it home in time to see her. Like Nonna, i've taken to God - begging him to let me get home in time to say goodbye and be at peace, just as he granted me the wish with Pa. Although like the mercy dash home to see Pa- this journey has been long and complex. Minus a bushfire, plus a long haul fight.

Half of me is disappointed I forgot my netbook so I can’t finish my graphic porn novel, anything to take my mind off the now would be desired. Every time I think, I cry, so since I’ve popped my sleeping pill, and its past midnight London time and i'm still wide awake and tear tired, I’ve decided to write.

My Nonna is the closest person to Mother Teresa you could find. I don’t think there are many people that go through life without anyone cursing them or talking behind their back, but Nonna has- apart from forgetting to say Thank-you to the deli ladies when demanding her meat be cut very thin, Nonna has been the kindest, closest person to a disciple to God I can think of. She treats everyone like equals and nurtures and nourishes her family, just as much as her vegie patch. When I was little she called me her little piccinina. And adopted a phrase from me- I would say to her when I was little- ‘Nonna, don’t worry, be happy.’  Now she says it often.  Her most famous phrase is ‘Pick a pung, or pung’ which translates to ‘Beg your pardon’ no one has ever had the heart to correct her as other than that her English is pretty accomplished.

My favourite story about Nonna is when I went to buy my car. I was looking at a Volkswagen Polo GTI; sexy, fast and two doors. I was on the phone to Nonna saying I had found a car as she was giving me money to put towards it. She was so pleased, but suggested I pay more for four doors. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that four doors were cheaper and just agreed. She is never wrong- did I mention that?

Her cooking was better than any Michelin restaurant. In fact, I still believe her stove was magic. It didn’t matter whether we had the recipe, it was never as good as Nonna’s and she could sew anything. Just recently I took my clothes to the poor people bin because they had holes and I couldn’t be bothered sewing them up. Nonna could sew and she could even make things back in the day, although it became more difficult as her eyesight got worse. She is very talented my Nonna.

Once I picked her up from the nursing home and took her out for lunch and I was wearing a dress which had a fine chicken print. Nonna pointed and mumbled something in Italian. I said Nonna they are chickens, thinking she couldn’t see what the print was of as she has one eye that points in the wrong direction since her stroke, and she goes, yeah I know, I was just saying, lots of chickens, lots of shit. It was a great joke, and honestly a rarity, one because Nonna never swore, and two because she told a joke and that hardly ever happened. She tried to swig the remaining wine from our day out and take it back to the nursing home; in fact I think I let her because I was like, what are they going to do to a 93 year old?

Sometimes when I’m down or questioning myself, I look around and see how many friends I have, how many truly close and wonderful friends I have and it makes me realise I’m a good person. Nonna has heaps of friends and people that call her Nonna. She always has visitors and stashes of chocolate to load off to me. One of her greatest traits is to roll up a couple of hundreds and hand it to me secretly, like she is going to get in trouble. Nonna you are 93 and survived a war- I’m sure it’s allowed.

At her 90^th birthday there was a large table of her closest friends and they were all having a ball. At one stage I asked them if they wanted anything. Beer they said. So I asked for two jugs of beer and the man at the bar said ‘heavy or light’ and I pondered the thought. Then I said ‘don’t think they have to drive anywhere, heavy is fine. ‘They polished them off too! I worry about her closest friends when she does pass. Alba is her best friend. They have both lost husbands many years ago and love each other like sisters do. Once when Nonna was ill, Alba even bathed Nonna, it didn’t worry her, that’s what sisters do, Alba said.     

I managed to steal 5 hours sleep and i’ve since woken, somewhat calm. I’m conscious to write everything in present tense. Every time I go to past, I wonder if she has passed as i’ve slept, I don’t think she will. Maybe its arrogance, but I almost think that as long as I get home to see Nonna, she will be at peace to let go. You see, her family is her all, Bianca and I are everything. Her every breath is for us, her every thought. She is like that with mum and dad too. The last two times i’ve spoken to Nonna she has said ‘you are too far away’, and it was like she was saying the end is nearing. I ended up in tears because I could tell something was wrong. I was upset last week, I worried Mum and dad were trying not to tell me everything so I rang Bianca in South America and ordered her to go back to Traralgon and report back. Bianca said ‘if you are coming to say goodbye, come now, as originally I thought – “I’m off with the girls this weekend, I’ll come home next weekend” Then I thought- I don’t really want to pay £800 for a funeral. I’d much rather pay and experience something priceless- the chance to say goodbye and be at peace. My colleague leant me his credit card this morning to pay for the ticket as I don’t get paid until Thursday. I booked a ticket at 1:30pm; my flight was at 10pm. I told him that he is like Jesus to me. And that I could never have imagined such generosity. I think I am lucky not only does he have a big heart; I think he thought if his children were in the same situation, he wanted the good karma in return. As soon as I told the girls, whom both have Nonna’s; that I wasn’t going away, they were both considerate and understood. Clearly, I’d much rather be at wineries with them than doing a mercy dash home. Then my friend Catarina dropped me at Heathrow and her daughter Amelie told me she was really going to miss me. It made something of my day that was so far disaster. Then my final goodwill gesture was at the airport. The French restaurant didn’t do affogatos. Then the lady serving me goes, hang on, I’ll get you an espresso and a scoop of vanilla ice cream, then I yelled out to her trail saying ‘oh and a shot of amaretto please’. I mixed it all together and had the most fabulous dessert. She also didn’t charge me for the ice-cream, but I think she got hers, with a nice gratuity.  

Nonna has remained fit throughout and has only in the last few weeks gone significantly downhill. I think she is frustrated her body fails her. Her mind is so stable. She enjoys long walks, which of late have ceased, and prior to leaving her beloved home, she often walked from her Home in Fairview Street to the nursing home to see my great Aunt Bett, even though Bett was one of the only people I ever heard Nonna say anything negative about, she still visited her. I think Bett once joked about Nonna being old before she married and it really offended her. Nonna was 28 when Nonno married her. She was older for those days because of the war. They were married the third time he laid eyes on her. Nonno's friend spoke of this beautiful lady that attended mass every Sunday. So Nonno, being wise himself, saw the opportunity, he hid in the bushes outside mass, peering through them to see Nonna. Yep, he liked what he saw, and because of the substantial geographic distance, on their third meeting they married.

Nonna had her first born Ugo, when Nonno was in Australia building a life for his new family. Nonno himself had been a prisoner of war, because of the Italian involvement in war, swapping sides presumably, his war camp was one of the last to be liberated. Once he was free it took him four years to walk home from Germany, his mate Bruno Pilot did the same walk. He was a prisoner under the Germans and the Russians, in total he lost nine years his life in prison at war. He spoke of walking through snow waist deep with only a blanket and spoon. He carved a violin in prison, and his proudest moment, was watching me play the violin. He sold the Violin for three bracelets of white gold. My mum wears them still. He loved my mum too. My Nonno was a good man; he once spoke of risking everything by cyphering the petrol for his motorbike so an opposition soldier could take his sick wife to hospital. Nonno was sponsored in 1950 to travel to Australia to start a new life from obliterated post war Italy. He boarded a ship, converted from cargo/ cattle, for passengers, he had a hard life.

Epping, Australia was called home, and once Nonno had enough money, he paid for Nonna and Ugo to travel to Australia to be with him. Nonna had a luxury ship, the Australia. Nonno would have nothing less.

Lino was born in 1953 and shortly the family moved to Traralgon. Here Nonna tended a home for grown men, for some reason 7 remains embedded in my mind. I think it was Nonno, Ugo, Dad, Attilio (her brother in law) and a couple of other Italian immigrant men. She fed them, clothed them, and looked after them. Uncle Attilio did Nonna's lawns up until recently, despite his own old age; he said nothing could ever repay Nonna for what she did for him. Nonna learnt English speaking to her neighbour. Her English is great, only slipping in to Italian when she is tired or sick. Its fine, I understand her.

My Nonno and Nonna lost Ugo when he was young. Dad was only 8 when Ugo died at 14. Nonno had yelled at Ugo in the morning and enroute to his workshop to see Nonno, he was hit off his bicycle and killed. The man who did it did not serve any time. Nonno regretted yelling at him until the end of his days. We lost Nonno at 72. I remember being told at primary school. I still remember him in his beloved vegie patch, the smell of his aftershave and a coffee being brewed for him, he used to yell at Nonna sometimes, which I never understood. Who could yell at someone like Nonna? She really is non- yell- at- able. But Nonna said that upon their meeting, Nonno informed her that since the war he had moments. And he said to leave him be if such a moment occurs. I couldn’t imagine.

It was when Nonno died that Nonna started wearing the most glorious aquamarine ring. I loved it, and she gave it to me. She said it was given to her by her first fiancé. I was quite intrigued and probed harder. She said, he went off to the war, and was sent home to Italy as all his brothers had died. Then one night he was in the garden at home in Italy with a cousin and a plane flew over and dropped bombs, he was hit by shrapnel and died.    

Yesterday marked 35 years of my parents being married. Some of my fav times have been spent with my grandparents. When I lost a tooth I would leave it out for the tooth fairy at home, get my $2 and take it round to Nonna’s to get $2 more. When I was sick I would ring Nonna ‘Nonna can I have some minestrone please?’ ‘Yes, Stella’. ‘Nonna I feel like gnocchi, I start work at 1, I’ll be there at 12,’ ‘no worries gioia’. And every Sunday we would have lunch at Nonna’s and she would ring in the morning to ask what shape pasta we wanted. Not to mention Nonna's take-away sugo service.  

My cousin had the unfortunate circumstance of burying his Nonno in close proximity to when we lost Pa, I told him I could never imagine and had no words to say. I suppose this is how it feels. I spent so long thinking how I would ever cope if anything happens to Nonna. Refusing to think that anything will. I know I will cope. Because she is at peace. All I want is to be granted that fairytale, the moment to say goodbye and tell her it’s ok to go, but don’t go far.

Every phone call Nonna goes to me ‘I think of you all the time.’ And then I go 'I know you do Nonna; I hope you are praying hard.' ’Nonna prays for you, Goia.’ And she sometimes says ‘I just wish you find a nice boy’ and I say ‘maybe pray harder.’ ‘Nonna, I love you’. And she replies with grit in her response as though she is saying it with all her heart- ‘I love you too Amore.’

 

Post script> I made it.

THE UNITED STATES OF AWESOME- PART 2) LIVIN' LAS VEGAS LOCA

I always have lyrics in my head for moments. I sing when I ride, I sing if someone says something that reminds me of a song. And this time I’ll take a song directly from my fav CD ‘Richard Mercers best of Love song Dedications’ that best describes my sister on her wedding day:

 

I’ve never seen you looking so lovely as you did tonight,
I've never seen you shine so bright, And when you turned to me and smiled, it took my breath away,
And I have never had such a feeling,
Such a feeling of complete and utter love, as I do tonight;

But I hardly know this beauty by my side;
I'll never forget the way you look tonight.

 

It's funny growing up with parents that are so ridiculously in love, that you couldn’t imagine them apart. I have always aspired to find it. Unfortunately for me I have only once been in that moment at the same time with someone and as usual he turned out to be a dick. I’ve been in that moment when they haven’t, or they’ve been in that moment when I haven’t, but only once has it been at the

same time- and when it is, it is magic. That’s how it is with Bianca and Andrew. Andrew is so good for her, he makes her tolerable when she is stressed, he looks after me like a big (in this case, Giraffe sized) brother and he makes her look even more beautiful (which is still not quite as beautiful as her younger sister.)

My arrival in Vegas was strange, I was almost nervous to see my family- a bizarre feeling really. I found Dad at the hotel first, and we soon caught up with the girls. I barely felt as though I’d arrived when I was reminded that tomorrow was the hen’s party. I thought id have time to rest!!! The first day was spent poolside, trying to compensate from my lack of vitamin D in London, I then went for a team buffet which basically was force feeding me different cuisines (my pet hate) to get my monies worth, followed by feeling instantly sick, turning green in colour, vomiting and leaving. I suppose my body will never get used to the food in America. I hate it. It doesn’t even taste good, usually fried or smothered in cheese- it’s the sort of food I crave hung over- even their salads are unhealthy and most things contain gluten- my fav enemy.

The hen’s party was a pool party at the MGM grand Wet republic. All us girls convened in my hotel from 10am and were in our Bungalow from 11:30- which was superb. The boys were at a tops optional pool party and we had some worried girls until Tatiana received a text from Dale around midday exclaiming that they were at a gay pool party. I’m unsure whether it was the truth or a strategic text to put their minds at ease. We danced to great tunes and lived off cocktails before leaving circa 6pm for Mexican dinner at 8pm.When we left for a seedy night club rather than head to Tao I decided to leave and walked back to the most isolated hotel in Las Vegas- the Trump.

 

After a crazy morning sorting out Greg & Katie’s room break-in at the Trump I went off and did my own train tour of the strip- starting at Mandalay and ending at Excalibur where I won back some of the money I owed the old man. I made it back to the hotel just in time to meet mum and dad and head to the 2810 Mansion. The mansion was exquisite- absolutely stunning, had a pool grotto, massive spa and to quote Anna Gallard:  
‘scary’ waterslide. I took custody of a pool lounge and settled in for the day, trying to avoid bridezilla who had taken over my sister’s body. Before we knew it, the wedding day was here- I woke up first, and commenced the set-up, setting up the decorations and making the beach guest seating. Pickup was at 2pm for photos so we were done up at noon and got to see Andrew and Dad’s reaction when they saw Bianca for the first time. Andrew had his fangs on show, his smile was so wide!

Just as we left the mansion to get the wedding photos done- we saw Chris Mead rolling in, looking battle worn, barefoot, shirt buttons torn open, looking as though he was straight from the hangover movie! (Maybe June next year we’ll be reconvening in Vegas welcoming all the children that were conceived that weekend).

 

The wedding was spot on. I woke up refreshed and surprisingly not hung over from the nights festivities prior, having been to the Irish pub to watch the world’s 2^nd most boring grand final ever- (second only to last years) I did what I did last year- went hard and went home… and passed out. After a brief encounter with Bridezilla in the morning, I managed to do a bit of decorating and organising before it was time to get ready.

 
The bride looked great, Lino had a sparkling eye when he first laid eyes on her and looked ridiculously sharp in his Hugo Boss suit. Lynny was sparkling in Blue. Tears welled when reminiscing about those that can’t be with us. I’m particularly missing my g- parents, those past and those present albeit not in attendance. Pa would’ve been so proud. The day before he died he was so out of it but so with it when we walked in- he saw Andrew and he goes ‘G’day Champ’ he loved talking footy with Andrew and even spilled his biggest regret to Andrew one night, having missed a goal in the dying minutes of a GF and his team lost by a point. As soon as I landed in Vegas and saw the machines I thought of Granny and even had a poke whilst waiting for my bags to come out. My grandparents travelled the world, a travel bug inherited through the generations. Mostly when I think about Nonna I remember the smell of food from her house- it will be weird not seeing her house when I go back. It’s weird because I don’t remember much about Nonno, but I can still smell his aftershave as if he were still here and his gold chains used to make a chink noise that I will never forget.

 The reception was even better, and first to get their gear off and jump in the spa was yours truly. After brief resurrection of Bridezilla (refusing alcohol on all the spa go-ers) order was quickly and sneakily restored when dear cousin Christian used his foresight to flog some vodka from the stash. A few drinks later and we all called it a night, resuming the following day for a BBQ and pool party.

Vegas was tame this time- only one big night of four- much different to my last appearance- where I had 44hours on with 4 hours sleep.. thankfully it was pre-blog and what happens in Vegas… stays in Vegas.

 

 

UNITED STATES OF AWESOME- PART 1) NEW YORK NEW YORK





I tried writing a novel before ‘He’s Just Not That in to You’ came out about girls, and how stupid they are- basically because I've spent so much of my life working with men I have some insight and have become somewhat of a man... anyway, somewhere between Heathrow and the United States of America my novel (which I started writing many years ago) became x rated; it was so steamy in fact I had to check over my shoulder to make sure that no one was watching what I was writing! So now my slowly getting there 5 pages long novel has become an x rated piece that is somewhere between triple x rated and the Christian Grey novel (that ironically, I hated). Once I complete it, perhaps I’ll name it ‘The United States of Awesome, by Zara Sunderland, my porn start pseudonym (which for those of you that remember from your school days is your first pet + first street name.)  So now that I’m firmly back on the British soil and whatever that virtual sexual cloud that was permeating my subconscious over the Indian Ocean was, has left, this blog will be a non x rated synopsis of my shenanigans in the United States of Awesome (PG).

So far my body has hated me since Budapest when I passed out, followed by my birthday which I spent so sick I wasn’t sure whether I would survive, so sick in fact I feared I would die at one stage, lonely in London... That was until the beautiful Catarina knocked at my door bearing gifts of rice and coconut water and I cried on her shoulder, haha. At one point Miss Sarah asked me what I wanted done with my body. I said cremated please- and I want two chair dedications- one in Holland Park and the other overlooking Bird Rock, Jan Juc- my favourite place in the world. Thankfully I was starting to come good, but that just meant I went out more, and unfortunately alcohol weakens the old immune system so between that and the obnoxiously bad food and coffee in the US of A, I now always feel sick, even now, having been home and eating well for the past week.

The night before my holiday I figured as I was only doing a half day at work the next day, so I may as well go out and party. That was probably up there with one of the worst decisions I made the whole trip, nearly up there with packing whilst drinking the night before which is never ideal (quote time I went to Torquay with no bathers, no pyjamas, just my steamer wet suit and my Portuguese poncho). Thursday night at the Rylston was huge, so huge we left, and went to the Durrell until that shut and we left and went to the Brown Cow. Somehow my alarm went off and I woke up starker’s with the taste of alcohol on my breath... Delicious. Work was a blithering blur, I had to be so ‘on’ though to get all the work I needed done, I was like girl on a mission when I got there- instantly sober, multi tasking the crap out of work and carefully handing over piles of my prepared work for my boss. I left work early on Friday and landed in New York late on a Friday evening, having spent the whole plane trip either writing my porno or trying to get the highest score on plane trivia. I kept getting second. But managed to fill almost the whole screen with my high scores... My ocd kept me awake through my sleeping tablet. So I decided again I should just drink. I only had about four vodka, fresh lime sodas (danke to the amazing air hostesses flogging me limes from first class), and was quite intoxicated on arrival. I met a Swedish lady named Ulla at immigration and we caught the train in to Manhattan enroute for the hostel I’d booked. When i arrived it was a disaster! It was fully booked so the owner (some guy that looked and acted exactly like Mr Chow from the hangover) said ‘great news for you, i've booked you in to a hotel’ which was another cab ride away and i'm sure was a brothel in the middle of China town (maybe a setting for my novel?), anyway I spent the whole night trying to book an Air Bnb for the next night, trying not to read the reviews about the place I was staying about people getting bed bugs, and trying my damn-est to sleep through all the banging going on!



With Steph

With The Brooklyn Bridge

Thankfully my saviour/ long loved wife Laura Salvatore’s replacement housemate Steph was in New York with her bro and sister in law. She felt awful and insisted I come over straight away for a shower (which I avoided in the brothel). I made it to her apartment in lower west side (which incidentally was on Perry Street/ Carrie from Sex in the City lived there) circa 9am and by this stage had spent in excess of 33 hours awake. A quick shower and we were off touring the sites of New York. After a typical American breakfast (i’m sure the place and staff were straight out of Seinfeld), and an awful, but massive cwofee, I was awake! So we walked miles.... across the Brooklyn Bridge, checking out the 9/11 memorial and some other sites around the meat packing district before making it home to her apartment mid afternoon, where she forced 2 hours of sleep on me (BEST chick EVER!). After waking from my massive sleep, we were at it again, trekking to Brooklyn for a night out on the town. A massive one that ended with her friend piking it for being ‘tired’ (yeah seriously?). We left Brooklyn for the main land and ended up getting a strip tease from the bar man after Steph tipped him $20. After convincing me to join tinder I was happy to have matched with one friend, an NBA player, Markel and not because I was interested, but because I thought ‘fuck it, he’ll be loaded.’

The following morning, enroute to breakfast I said to Steph how great I felt after 8 hours sleep. She said ‘when did you have 8 hours sleep?’ and I said, ‘last night, we got home around midnight.’ To which she responded with ‘we got home at 4am, the bar shut at 4am, and we left Brooklyn after midnight!!’ ....Whoops!! Time flies when you are clearly killing it. That day after breaky was not nearly as productive, I caved, and checked in to the air bnb with my hostess with the mostest Heather late arv. After the 6 flight walk up I had a good 30min relax before heading off again to catch up with one of the bestest, my mate Joshy Gill. Another night of drinking and great hospitality from his housemates, watching the San Fran Sea horses play some football I piked it at a relatively normal hour and headed back to the apartment. Finally I had a decent sleep and spent a full day watching the whole season of Real Housewives of Beverley Hills I was welcomed late afternoon by Heather asking me to come to Yoga with her. Did I mention hot Heather is a yoga teacher?

With Joshy Gill

The class was ran in a swanky New York studio and was nothing like the yoga experience I was used to. Instead of a flabby Indian teacher telling me to imagine my head is at one with the earth and to close my eyes and think of palm trees, this was a ripped guy, trying to explain the advanced yoga positions. I lost track when some of the class started balancing on their heads or manoeuvring their bodies in to unimaginable contortions. I spent a good 15 minutes trying not to fart or just admiring the hanging humans... you have no idea how hard an hour and a half of advanced yoga is after doing absolutely limited gym work for the last 5 months! Thankfully I survived and spent the remaining time in New York preparing for Vegas, trying to find a healthy meal that didn’t make me feel sick, or trying to find a decent coffee. After another massive final night this time with Conor from Lagos; it became clear I failed miserably at all of the tasks and boarded the plane early (giddy and seedy) for Vegas early the next morning. 

With Conor from Lagos