The Story of Cecil and "Frusco" part 3

My grandfather desired his home to be not only run along the Orthodox Judaism way, but he appreciated cleanliness. He didn't want people to smoke in his house. Frusco--Manfredi Rubino-being a cigar smoker, smoked on the front porch. After he finished his cigar he would place the remaining cigar stub in funny places. Because the house was made of brick, he used to place them between the bricks of the wall of the porch. Frusco saw his brother-in-law as too tightly controlled and this brought out the devil in him. Frusco liked to play with the children and sometimes this got out of hand. Once he shoved me into a closet but it didn't upset me because I loved this crazy Italian so much. It was hard to understand him when he talked because of his accent but this didn't bother me either.

Cecil had a slight, small breasted body. She often informed us that she wore no bra because her breasts were not big and there was no need to control them. One of the best things about Cecil was her fashion sense. She wore capes, high boots, colorful dresses. Neither Frusco nor Cecil bathed very much. They thought Americans were obsessive about cleanliness; to live, you got a little sweaty and what was so bad about that?

My father was her nephew, as was Irvin, his younger brother. When Cecil and Frusco came to visit, the brothers were uncomfortable with their aunt's and uncle's loud voices, strong and salty opinions, their lifestyle, and their effect on the rest of the family. As the days went by--Cecil and Frusco usually stayed for a week--the younger adults of the family grew more and more worn down by the chaos. By the end of the week, the Pittsburgh-practical way living felt as if it was
slipping away. Tempers were frayed. It was at this point that I was practically dancing with joy over the the chaotic craziness that Cecil and Frusco brought with them. It wasn't that I didnt love my parents, my uncle, and his wife Martha and their children. I just liked watching whole thing.

In 1963 my grandparents decided to take me to the World's Fair which was in New York. The best part of the visit was seeing Cecil and Frusco. The happiest memory of that trip, and one of the happiest memories I have, is the brief time I spent with Cecil, without my grandparents around. She took me to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She showed me the sculpture and some of the paintings and she said to me: "I think you're like me. You're creative, just like me."
Who could ever forget such a moment? As it turned out I married an Italian who is a lot like Manfredi Rubino and the three of us--our son Michael, Peter (my husband), and myself--all are in engrossed in some form of creativity.

Cecil and Frusco have long since passed from this world, but I can never think of them as dead. They're still alive, at least within me.