Spiders in the pasta and other challenging family traditions

The tiny red spiders that took up residence in the pasta machine while it was stored in my grandparent’s cellar didn’t bother Grandma much. She seemed to look upon them as an unexpected protein bonus.

She always made pasta from scratch in a hand-turned machine that looked like a meat grinder. It lived in the cellar of their Oregon ranch and over the months it was unused it seemed to collect those little red spiders. They didn’t affect the flavor of the spaghetti a great deal but I didn’t want to eat them.

“The cooking kills them. You’ll hurt Grandma’s feelings.’” my mother hissed. “They won’t hurt you.”

I was unconvinced.

My grandfather made his own wine from grapes imported from his hometown in Southern Italy. The spiders seemed to keep away from it.

There were many traditions. Grandpa took to bed with sympathy pains whenever Grandma was in labor. Since she had 12 children and there was only one adult bed, it was a race to see who would get there first. It did make things a little awkward for the doctor.

Well, you know, every family has their little ways but that can account for some strain that seems inevitable at the holidays.

Holiday traditions are both a treasure and a source of turmoil. David Brooks wrote in The New York Times that at least 27 percent of Americans are estranged from a member of their own family, and research indicates that about 40 percent of Americans have experienced estrangement. In a family as big as ours, it’s not surprising that there’s always somebody who isn’t talking to somebody — but that’s a tradition, too.

So it was natural that after Grandma’s pasta, I’d decide to make pasta fresh for special occasions, too. Only mine would be perfect, I resolved, creating those cherished, one-of-a-kind memories for my children.

We didn’t have a machine so I just kneaded the dough, let it rest, and then cut it into free-form shapes which suited me very well. The trouble was that it seemed to bother my husband (Sir) if the noodles weren’t a perfect length, width and depth, which they never were. Sir was an engineer. He worried about these things and if it took a slide rule and calipers to make them perfect, well then it did. It seemed to take a lot of coffee too.

I understand engineers don’t even use slide rules any more. (I saw a vintage slide rule advertised online for $50.) Then how do they make pasta?

It was the work of at least an hour to measure twice and cut once. But once he was finished, the noodles were perfect and drying on a wooden rack that doubled for baby diapers.

Spring was filled with tradition. New clothes for church, followed by the ceremonial Easter Egg Hunt. One year it rained, so we hid the eggs indoors. In about three weeks, we had to throw out everything in my daughter’s closet to get rid of the smell of a desiccated egg that had been forgotten in the toe of an Easter shoe. Ah, tradition!

My oldest offspring asked me to be sure to mention pickleball — even though it wasn’t even invented when she was growing up. But since pickleball is now the official State Sport and she and her spouse are both medalists, it definitely qualifies as a new tradition.

Still, it’s hard for parents to find that what seemed to be a cherished custom caused hard feelings.

My method has been that when I find that there is a grievance, I drop everything right where I am to remind me to come back and solve the problem. That’s fine if there’s just one grievance. Right now, I have three boxes of Christmas decorations — from three different years — sitting on the dining room table. Whenever I see them sitting there, I am reminded that I still have work to do making things right. Trouble is, If there’s one more word of dissension, I won’t be able to eat at my own table.

My mother and I once had a serious difference. I don’t even remember what we fought about, but we didn’t speak for weeks. Italian, you know. Her solution came in a battered box holding an artificial bird, clearly a reject from a florist display. Bedraggled would have been a kind description.

Her note was brief and to the point. “This is a Dove of Peace,” she wrote. “Can’t we move ahead?”

Yes. Yes, we could.

Everybody should be issued a Dove of Peace, and perhaps a pickleball paddle. Let’s move ahead.

Where to find Dorothy in April

• 9 a.m. April 4 and 18: Zoom Coffee Chat (and Change the World) — a fast hour of guests, resources, ideas and fun. April 4 features Rodeo Photographer Molly Morrow and the SparkleHeart Players.
• 2 p.m. April 7: The Zoom Book Doctors. Guest experts tell you how to bring your book from idea to launch. This month Allen Klein on how to find the stories you need.

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