Fortunata’s Year of Weddings

My Sicilian grandmother Fortunata (“good fortune”) lived on an isolated farm and every outing was an event, particularly weddings.

Naturally, she was interested in her grandchildren, particularly those four granddaughters. Born in 1901, Grammy wanted her girls to find good men and settle down.

My three female cousins had no trouble attracting members of the opposite sex and they charmed my grandmother with their traits.

Barbara was a perky girl with curly dark hair and a delightful smile.

Joan was more matter-of-fact and precise, a baton twirler in a dazzling costume who also mastered the handcrafts my grandmother loved.

Robin was the charming baby of the quartet who lived not far away and adored Grammy’s cooking.

And then there was me, number three.

Gawky and tall

Tall, gawky, horn-rimmed glasses on my nose and braces on my teeth, I towered above Fortunata.

I could sew, but a crochet hook was beyond my ability. I prefered books, history and dreaming. She smiled politely and wrung her hands about the non-existant swains.

“Don’t worry about me, Grammy.” I finally said. “I’ll be the last one married and I’m perfectly happy about that.”

She shook her head and crocheted me a tablecloth, anyway.

You can imagine the shock, however, the Thanksgiving of my senior year in college when I announced my engagement. My cousins were not married; what was I doing stealing all the nuptial thunder?

Grammy was thrilled.

You must graduate from college before matrimony

My mother ingrained in me at a young age that I could not get married until I graduated from college. I actually thought it was a law in California until I entered high school and started meeting non-college-graduate married couples. For that reason, we planned our wedding for the following October after my graduation and my fiancee’s commissioning as a naval officer.

Shortly after Christmas, Barbara went to Las Vegas and got married. The family celebrated and Grammy gloated: two granddaughters married in one year, what joy!

A month or so later, my Aunt Arly called Mom. “When is Michelle getting married?”

“October 8.”

“Wonderful!  Robin is engaged and they’re planning their wedding for September 10!”

My chagrinned mother called with the news. “She’s getting married before you!”

“Great,” I said. “I’ll be able to go to her wedding.” We were moving to Florida right after ours.

“True,” Mom agreed. “But you don’t feel like she’s stealing your thunder?”

Thunder? Since family members no coubt considered it a miracle the bookworm had found a husband, thunder wasn’t a concern to me!

Three granddaughters getting married! God had been good to Fortunata!

More great news!

And better news, Barbara was expecting a baby! How could life be any more rich?

Aunt Rosie called Mom a few weeks later. “When is Michelle getting married?”

“October 8.”

“How about Robin, do you know when she’s getting married?”

Suspicious, Mom answered slowly. “September 10, why?”

“This will be perfect. Joan is getting married September 24!”

And so it was that we spent an entire summer having showers: one baby and three wedding. Grammy’s crochet hook and knitting needles went into overdrive.

The mothers and Joan discussed fabrics, receptions and where to get a good deal.

Every other week for a month, we gathered to celebrate first Robin’s marriage to Rick, Joan’s to Bob, and finally mine to Robert.

When I noticed Robin wearing a pair of pantaloons at her wedding, I inquired into them. They had been Grammy’s.

You’re supposed to wear something borrowed, right? That’s Grammy and me laughing at the top.

I got the last word, though, when I kissed my Sicilian grandmother and said. “I told you I’d be the last one married.”

Happy anniversary to Robert, with a nod to Barbara, Robin and in memory of Joan, Mom, Rosie, Arly and, of course, Fortunata.