Baked Ziti Night

One of my favorite things when I was young was Baked Ziti Night at my grandparent's house. All of my aunts and uncles would be there, and the few cousins from that side of the family.

My grandmother would make this huge pan of baked ziti.

When it was done we would all be gathered around my grandmother, waiting with our pristine white pasta dishes for that luscious scoop of pasta and cheese and sauce. Gram would give us each a big cheesy spoonful and a sprinkling of parmesan cheese. My mouth waters just thinking about it.

I’d always looked forward to those gatherings... the congregation of our extended family, reconnecting with each other, sharing stories and laughter and baked ziti. And on those nights when absolutely everyone showed up, and I had to sit at the "kids table," I didn't even mind. It was that good.

Those family get-togethers didn't happen as much in my teenage years. Even less after I went off to college.

Eventually my grandmother started to loose her grip on things mentally, and making those big dinners became too much for her. A few of us would gather for Pizza Night on Wednesdays, but it wasn’t the same as having the whole gang together.

After my grandmother passed away, we made it Chinese Food Night because my grandfather was tired of pizza. Sometimes I would cook something up for us homemade, especially when it was just my grandfather, my daughter and me, but of course it could never rival the baked ziti with the sauce of tomatoes from Gram’s garden.

After my grandfather passed away, my aunts and uncles had to clean out the old house on 4th Street. There was a huge dumpster out in the front yard, and my aunt E was pitching everything in there she could get her hands on.

I don't think anything really has any sentimental value to her. She likes nice new things. Old things are garbage.

So there I was, salvaging some of the things that reminded me of my grandparents. There was the Bunny Cup, a little purple plastic cup with a bunny on it. As kids, after riding our bikes up and down the dead-end street, or playing catch in the back yard, we would race to the cabinet to get the Bunny Cup. It was an honor of distinction to be the one sipping your cream soda from it.

There were a few boxes of papers that I decided to keep too. Since my grandfather was blind, these boxes made no sense. There would be store receipts from 1986 mixed in with oil bills from 1972, mixed in with newspapers clippings of Elvis and the moon landing, mixed in with recipes my grandmother used. One box even contained my grandfather's army yearbook and old newspapers from when he was stationed in North Africa in 1945. My aunt would have surely thrown these away. I took them home and sorted through everything.

You know what else I saved from the dumpster? The baked ziti dishes. There were only 3 left, with a few chips along the rims, and a few cracks in the glaze. And since three doesn't make a complete set, oh yeah, my aunt was throwing them out. But I saved them, along with all those fond memories of when we were all together.

And besides, there's one dish for each of us: my husband and my daughter and me. So really, three does make a complete set.