The Kitchen is Closed: The (Rejected) Obituary for my Grandmother

Most journalists start their careers, ironically, by writing obituaries. I started in the "toy department" (sports) and avoided that task. When my grandmother passed away yesterday, my mother made the mistake of asking me, Mark Vasto, to write the obituary. I consulted editors from around the country, studied famous obituaries and did a lot of soul searching. How do I encapsulate the life of the matriarch  of our family? The love of my life? It could be so easy to just write her off as a "homemaker" but she was so much more to us. And it's not like anyone else is ever going to write her life story, so what follows is her obituary, as written by me, as totally REJECTED by my mother and sister. Oh well...what can you do? Salud.


THE KITCHEN IS CLOSED


Virginia Rossi Tamburello, the doting matriarch of a family that included 10 brothers and sisters, two daughters, four grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, passed away Tuesday, January 3, 2012 of natural causes. She was 94.

Virginia was born in Newark, New Jersey on April 11, 1917; only a few days after the country declared war against Germany in WWI. Despite the ensuing Great Depression, Virginia and her family lived a good life and their hard working father even managed to secure a summer home on the Jersey Shore in Long Branch. Throughout her life she never strayed too far from the beach.

She met Michael Tamburello at a dance while on a date “with another fella.” Michael fell in love at first sight and asked her to dance. Virginia spurned his repeated requests but eventually Michael’s persistence paid off and she agreed to the dance. She did not like the way Michael danced, describing his moves on the dance floor as “jerky.” Michael managed to score a date with her and soon enough, but not without a great deal of charm and convincing, he won her heart. She became his adoring, loyal, lifelong companion.


The two gave birth to a daughter, the angelic Elizabeth, before moving to North Arlington, New Jersey. Nine years later they gave birth to a second child, the angelesque Marlene. Throughout their childhood Virginia was the consummate “homemaker,” taking care of them while planning around Michael’s long hours on the night shift at the American Can Company. When he retired, the two settled into the village at Silver Ridge Park West in Toms River, New Jersey. They were active in the Men's and Lady's Club and the Glee Club.

It was there that Virginia flourished. Content to play second fiddle to Michael’s outsized personality, she nevertheless established herself as the backbone of the family, primarily through her incredible feats at the stove. Rare was the time somebody walked into her kitchen and didn’t smell something cooking, and her home, always kept “spotless,” was a perennial gathering spot for family members. Virginia happily obliged every request in her canary yellow kitchen, but she was also adamant when it came time to say, “the kitchen is closed.”

Her husband Michael and all of her siblings except for Arnold Rossi precede Virginia in death. Her daughters Elizabeth Vasto and Marlene Berry survive her, as well as her grandchildren Mark Vasto and Erica Schulke, and her great-grandchildren Michael Rocco Schulke, Joe Lewis Vasto and James Salvatore Schulke.

Sadly, her recipes do not succeed her, as nobody was able to figure out exactly how she made her incomparable sauce and salads. When asked she would laugh and respond with a phrase that probably best summarizes her life: “you just gotta feel it.”
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Normally this is where the funeral arrangement information goes, but it probably isn't something immediately actionable by Luminary readers. In lieu of flowers, I suggest you wet the knife before cutting your cake. 


Also...whoever controls it...just know that I'm delivering the eulogy. Only the hand of God can keep me off that altar. Call security, but know that I'm a Knight of Columbus. Good luck facing down my sword or trying to pierce my chain mail armor. 


And I'm taking the feinting couch home with me, even if I have to drag it through the TSA checkpoint.