The bombs’ reverberating thunder blended into hellish harmony with the fighter planes ripping the skies above. Crashes, blasts, and clenched-fist fear were the almost daily accompaniment to the rumblings of her family’s empty stomachs.
“I’d clutch Nonna Luisa’s skirts while we made the sign of the cross and waited for the din to subside…even in the midst of the bombings I would be anticipating…the pleasure that eating would bring. Nonna Luisa could transform even our plain stale bread into an elegant dish.”
