GRANDMA'S SQUEEZE BOX
It was as familiar to me as the aroma of her Sunday sauce simmering on the stove, and just as predictable - the daily, melodic sound of Grandma's music filtering through the house. Tattered, worn sheet music, brown with age, rested on her music stand, evidence of its daily use.
Grandma practiced her melodious Italian tunes at least an hour each day. On quiet summer days, the harmonious tones of her accordion serenade could be heard coming from her upstairs window. And, on hot August nights, before air-conditioning came along, as we sat on front porch stair stoops and lawn swings, hoping to catch a northerly breeze, we were entertained by the romantic sounds of Grandma's accordion wafting through the neighborhood with her rendition of O Sole Mio .
Grandma, like many Italian immigrants came to this country without a job , money or prospects. In fact the only thing she brought with her was her ability to play the concertina. Grandma's music helped her express the mixed emotions she couldn't describe in the language of her new country - the overwhelming joy of living in a new and prosperous land and the deep abiding sorrow of leaving her home and family behind.
Grandma's wise and wily ways...... Grandma had learned to play the accordion from her husband, Grandpa Antonio, who was an aficionado of the concertina. In his later years Grandpa Antonio spent many Saturday nights playing his concertina in the cafes and bistros of the town until the wee hours of the morning.
Grandma, wanting her aging husband to retire and stay home on Saturday nights, begged him to give up his professional career and spend more time at home. But Grandpa, who loved the night life, refused. What followed, has become a family legend: .....One Saturday night, after Grandpa Antonio had gone to sleep, Grandma took her sharpest hat pin to the bellows of his accordion, poking a hole in the instrument's air bellows. Each Saturday night, thereafter, she poked a hole in the accordion's bellows.
The tiny pin pricks were invisible to the naked eye, but the air that escaped through them made it more and more dificult for her husband to play the instrument. As the weeks went past and the holes accumulated, Grandpa Antonio returned home each night more tired than the night before.
He attributed his inability to play his concertina to his old age. Never before had his arms ached so much from the strain of pushing and pulling on the bellows; never before had playing his concertina felt like such an exhausting chore.
Finally, six months later, his arms aching, he decided his wife was right, he was getting too old for the late night music circuit and, to Grandma's profound delight and satisfaction, her husband announced he was retiring from the Saturday night music scene. Grandma's wise but surreptitious act had proved successful.
Her Saturday nights were never lonely again. Like most kids who grew up in an Italian American household, the sight of an accordion or concertina around the house was a familiar one. I can remember the thrill of pushing and pulling on the powerful folding bellows of Grandma's accordion, struggling to poke out a tune.
Grandma and Grandpa's accordions were never far from their sides though they played them less often in their final years. After Grandma came to live with us, her nightly serenades on the concertina became ritual.
Though she's gone now, there are times, on hot August nights, when northerly breezes blow, that I believe I hear the distant echoing strains of O Sole Mio gently wafting through the neighborhood, a kindly reminder of Grandma, her beloved sqeeze-box, family togetherness and days gone by.
10631 Vinedale Street, Sun Valley, CA 91352 - Phone (818) 767-3413 - Fax: (818) 767-1410
