Once upon a time, there were so many Italian relatives in my family that every table, chair and corner was occupied in my Nonna’s large kitchen. Every Christmas Eve, my grandparents’ house was bustling with laughter and sweet homemade wine poured from my grandfather’s own hand. I grew up in the late 1950s, enjoying my father’s seven siblings and families that congregated on Talman Street every holiday.

Many of you will relate to this phenomenon: of people and places we loved in the past, yet somehow disappeared through the passage of time. As we aged, the memory of them never faded but grew stronger. We have found a way to keep them alive by telling their stories.