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Author<\/h2>\nJames Vescovi<\/p>\n
James Vescovi\u2019s essays about his eccentric grandparents have appeared in The New York Times, Creative Nonfiction, Alimentum Journal: The Literature of Food, Newsday, Gazetta Italiana, and are now collected in Eat Now; Talk Later: 52 True Tales of Family, Feasting, and the American Dream (March 2014). His fiction and essays been published in venues such as Midwestern Gothic, The New York Observer, the Georgetown Review, Calliope, and Natural Bridge. He teaches at high school English and lives in New York.<\/p>\n
Eat Now; Talk Later: 52 True Tales of Family, Feasting and the American Experience is a memoir containing stories about the author\u2019s grandparents in the years he and his father cared for them.\u00a0The stories can be read before bed, on a lunch hour, or waiting in line. They can even be shared with friends who complain they have enough to read. Together they ask the question, \u201cHow do you make modern life run smoothly for grandparents who grew up when oxen were used for plowing, children left school after third grade to tend chickens, and polenta was eaten twice per day?\u201d<\/p>\n
This is not the usual immigrant-made-good tale. Tony and Desolina Vescovi were born on farms where life hadn\u2019t much changed for hundreds of years. When they came to America, they passed through a time-tunnel that brought them face to face with the 20th century, and they found themselves puzzled by banking, supermarkets, college degrees, voice mail, airplane travel, and the nuclear family. The tales in this collection chronicling their lives are poignant, hilarious, and bittersweet.<\/p>\n
You can get more info and read an excerpt and view photos and recipes at http:\/\/www.eatnowtalklater.com\/<\/p>\n
Eat Now; Talk Later is also a book about storytelling\u2014and was written to encourage readers to collect their own stories.<\/p>\n
I once took a New York City cab whose driver grew up with my mother. My father once gave a ride to an elderly woman while on business in Italy, only to discover that 60 years earlier, she\u2019d been one of his father\u2019s girlfriends.<\/p>\n
People ask me, \u201cWhere does your family find these stories?<\/p>\n
My response is: We don\u2019t come up with them. We simply keep our eyes open in the same way a radar detects approaching planes.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s nothing special about this \u201cradar\u201d of ours. It isn\u2019t a gift from the gods. Truth is, all humans have this radar system if they simply turned it on.<\/p>\n
In our day-to-day existence, conversations, images, street scenes, and other information come at us all the time. For example, you observe the strange morning coffee routine of a work colleague, or overhear a conversation between a mother and her 3-year-old son at a supermarket. Yet how do we pluck out a good story amongst all that visual and audio white noise?<\/p>\n
It\u2019s easier than you think and you can find out why here: http:\/\/guiltlessreading.blogspot.com\/2014\/04\/guest-post-dont-believe-youre-born.html<\/p>\n
ENdEI<\/p>\n
My wife and I chose our son\u2019s name, Luca, from a book of Italian names. It was very much unlike the American names our first-generation parents had given our siblings and us\u2014James, Anne, Mark, or Jane.<\/p>\n
I thought my grandparents, immigrant peasants who came to America in 1929, would be thrilled. I was wrong.<\/p>\n
\u201cLuca?\u201d my grandmother, Desolina, asked. \u201cIl suo nome \u00e8 Luca?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cS\u00ed,” replied, beaming.<\/p>\n
She looked at me as if we\u2019d named him Benito (Mussolini).<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s an Italian name,\u201d I said in defense.<\/p>\n
She snapped her wrist, as if to flick the name from the apartment.<\/p>\n
\u201cMi piace George!\u201d my grandfather hollered from a couch, where he’d gone for a siesta after lunch. \u201cI like George.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cUn bel nome.\u201d said Desolina, \u201cA beautiful name.\u201d<\/p>\n
Were they kidding? These old folks came from families who gave their children beautiful, exotic names: Bartolomeo, Dirce, and Scholastica.<\/p>\n
\u201cAllora, si chiama Luca,\u201d I said, with finality.<\/p>\n
Desolina shook hear head, as if there was plenty of time to change the birth certificate. “Luca \u00e8 un nome stupido,” she said.<\/p>\n
Now I was angry. I asked her, peevishly, \u201cWhat would you name him?\u201d<\/p>\n
She took a pen and napkin, wrote, and passed it to me.<\/p>\n
It said \u201cENdEI.\u201d<\/p>\n
I read it several times. I couldn\u2019t figure out what she\u2019d written.<\/p>\n
Like many girls, Desolina was pulled from school after third grade. Not only couldn’t she spell, but wrote with a mix of capital- and lower-case letters that reminded me of ransom notes cut from magazines.<\/p>\n
\u201cEndee?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cENdEI!\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSi, Endei,\u201d my grandfather, Tony, said. He looked at us sideways, his head on a pillow. \u201cVery good name.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEndee?\u201d I asked. \u201cNo capisco.\u201d<\/p>\n
Desolina grabbed the napkin and underlined the word a few times, as if that would help, and passed it back.<\/p>\n
\u201cENdEI!\u201d she cried. In disgust, she tossed the pen at a plastic banana in the fruit bowl.<\/p>\n
I shrugged.<\/p>\n
Then my grandfather spoke with an inflection that helped me understand. \u201cAN-Dei.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAndy?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cSi!\u201d they shouted.<\/p>\n
\u201cAndy…\u201d I sighed.<\/p>\n
\u201cENdEI,\u201d Desolina said.<\/p>\n
\u201cUn bel nome,\u201d Tony advised.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t like Andy,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right, then, George,\u201d Desolina said.<\/p>\n
I shook my head. \u201cLuca is the boy\u2019s name. Finito.\u201d<\/p>\n
I left the kitchen table to cool off. I was really irritated.<\/p>\n
I might’ve known the name would be a problem. Luca’s older sister’s name is Alma. Tony and Desolina never got this straight. They kept calling her \u201cElma,\u201d which is my mother\u2019s name. They couldn\u2019t comprehend how we could\u2019ve chosen a name so close to \u201cElma\u201d without naming Alma \u201cElma\u201d.<\/p>\n
As for Luca, though Desolina adored him, she never took to his name. Either she refused to accept it or, at the age of 91, with her shaky memory, kept forgetting it. Until the day she died she referred to him as \u201cIl Boy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome sta Il Boy? How is the boy doing?\u201d or \u201cE molto intelligente, questo Boy.\u201d<\/p>\n
http:\/\/www.eatnowtalklater.com<\/a><\/p>\nBest place to buy your book<\/h2>\n