I REMEMBER NANA'S RECIPES - CHAPTER 1

I remember Nana’s recipes!


CHAPTER 1

This has been such a unique journey for me and usually

when you take an expedition there is a road map and goals.

I do not recall any road map or goal setting. The only goal

I can recall was my Mother constantly saying “I

pray to the good Lord that some day he will send you a

wonderful man to take care of you.” Well I am getting

ahead of my story. Let’s go back to the beginning of the

journey.

I was born in Utica, New York on September 22, 1941.

I always said that I arrived on the scene first then Pearl

Harbor. I was named Jacqueline Eileen (a.k.a.

“Jackie”) My family name was Marasco. This was the

beginning of my non-traditional ways. I should have been

named Rose Mary, Angela, Mary Rose as Jacqueline Eileen did

not fit the given name for an Italian American female.

My mother loved that name and for many years I did not care

for this name until Jacqueline Kennedy came onto the scene

and I recognized the beauty of the name.


Especially when Mrs. Kennedy went to Paris and the

Parisians were screaming “Zack – ee.”

My mother’s name was Isabelle Jeannette Scalise.

a.k.a. “Belle”) Marasco. She was born in Utica, New York.

My father’s name was, Joseph Anthony Marasco. (a.k.a.

“Joe”) He was born in Italy and settled in Utica with his

parents when he was six years old.

As a young girl, I just felt that life had dealt me a

bad deck of cards. When I was seven years old, my father

was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He was thirty-nine

years old when he died. My mother was a widow at thirty-

four. I am an only child. After the death of my father,

my mother’s and my life emotionally and financially turned

upside down. My father’s death changed the course of our

lives. The impact that it had on me losing the most

important male role model at that stage of my life made

a lasting impression on me.

The era was the ‘50s. Single parenting was out; no

one had heard of a latchkey kid. The scene was supposed to

be “Life with Father,” “Make Room for Day,” “Father Knows

Best.” Daddy earns the money; Mom stays home to take care

of the kids. My mother, with her creative mind, wanted to

earn income and stay at home to raise me.

She did something that at the time horrified me but for

which today I have great admiration.


It is indicative of the woman activist she was and where I

got my feminist roots. We lived in a highly residential

neighborhood in Utica, New York. She wanted to put a

grocery store on the enclosed porch of our home to sell

milk, eggs, bread, coffee, and a variety of sundry items

because directly across the street from the house was the

first wave of garden apartments being constructed. Well

with very little capital and good credit, she started her

neighborhood store and it worked. This was probably the

first woman owned home-based business of its kind. There

was cash flow and a good business model. This went on for

almost three years. Then the neighbors started to get

nervous. They feared, “Today a grocery store, tomorrow a

shopping mall.” All of a sudden there were numerous zoning

board meetings and finally legal violations, and a city

judge ordered her to cease and desist – a $50 fine or 30

days in the Utica jail. My Mother took the position that

if a male judge would send a widow to jail who wants to

support her daughter, then she would refuse to pay the fine

and go off to the city jail. That is exactly what

happened. To make matters worse my grandmother and

grandfather on my father’s side lived directly across the

street from the Utica City Jail.


My Mother’s stand caused havoc between her

family and my father’s family.

The afternoon that she was admitted to the jail, my family

brought me over to see her at the jail to try to convince

her to come home. I was crying hysterically. The jail

“keeper” brought my mother to a visiting area and there was

the screen between the two of us just similar to what one

would see in the movies and I was crying “Mother please

come home.” She looked at me sternly and was very

articulate and showed no emotion and said: “Jackie, I want

you to go home with Grandma and Grandpa – you do not

realize today what I am doing but someday you will.” I

followed her orders and went home with my grandparents.

There were several $50 bills flying around to get her out

of jail. Finally, the next day she agreed to have the fine

paid and was released. Shortly, thereafter, we moved to

Rochester, New York. It seems that my Mother was just too

assertive and aggressive for the Utica, New York turf and

her family encouraged her to get a change of scenery. The

truth is her family felt my Mother was just too hot for Utica.







We left our home and most of our personal possessions

including my precious Cat, Tipper, who I left with my

Mother’s sister, Aunt Nicky. We packed our Nash Rambler

with the most important items such as our round, black and

white screen television and drove to

Rochester as she had three sisters living there. They

were more like step-sisters than sisters. They were

very self-centered and nasty women. They never helped my

mother. Why were they like this? They were beautiful

women and bright but the traditional role they

chose made them feel unfulfilled. They felt trapped

They resented my mother’s courage.

The rest of our personal possessions where either stored

in the unattached garage in the back of the house in Utica

or remained in the house for many years untouched with dust

accumulating. It was not until the 80’s when some of my

cousins on my father’s side of the family brought much of

the furniture from Utica to Rochester and I had several

pieces reupholstered and still in the 21st Century

have them in my home.

When my mother left Utica she was dejected and a new

personality emerged – low - profile – non-activist but

today I applaud and praise her for the courageous stand she

took.
This incident was never discussed by my family.

It was a dark, deep secret and my Mother was

considered to be the black sheep of the family.

My Mother died June 5 1991. She never remarried but

in 1990 she went into an adult assisted living home. This

is where she meets a man around her age, seventy-seven, and

she fell in love. I had the honor to share with my mother

her joys of falling in love. This was not a mother and

daughter dialogue, but two women engaged in profound

conversation about the opposite sex. It was wonderful. Of

course, the gentleman was more aggressive and wanted to

have sex with my Mother. He assumed the value of their

relationship was to achieve closeness while my mother wanted

to share in emotional talk. He wanted to take her away

for a weekend. I would encourage her to go but she would

always say to me: “Jackie, if I saw a man’s penis, I would

have a heart attack.” Thus, as far as I knew, the

relationship never went beyond hugging and kissing.

At this stage of my mother’s life, she turned over all

authority to me. This was very unique for me. The roles

changed drastically. Any decisions to be made relative to

her health care were totally left to me. I have no

regrets taking care of my mother.


She took care of me for the first eighteen years and I was

responsible for her for the next thirty-two years.

Some how – some way – I was able to live two lives. The

life my mother wanted me to live and the life I wanted. So

We both won.

At my mother’s memorial service, I gave the eulogy and

this was the first time my mother’s 24 hour experience in

jail was ever revealed. I needed to let my community know

what a unique and wonderful woman my mother was.

A few days after the Memorial Service I went to the

adult care home to get her personal possessions and I found

a brown envelope with my Mother’s handwriting entitled,

“Belle’s Recipes”. I never knew she recorded these recipes.

As I continue with the story I will insert my

Mother’s great recipes in her own handwriting or

typewritten by my Mother on a manual typewriter. These are

the recipes of life and of good home cooking.













THIS IS THE BROWN ENVELOPE I FOUND THE RECIPES