Earlier this year my Grandma Frizi passed away. It wasn't until her memorial that I began to understand how little I knew her. To me she had always been the big, boisterous, baking grandma who made a mean peach cobbler and made sure there was steamed broccoli on the table just for me.
As it turns out she sang opera when she was younger--they played a song she recorded for Mesiah in her youth that literally moved most if not all in the room to tears. She also was a poet. Fritzi wrote the kind of poetry that, like her peach cobler, stirs the soul if not the heart.
My cousin and his wife were kind enough to compile a booklet of some of her poetry and recipes for all of us (a daunting task, I'm sure) for Christmas. So here is a tidbit for you.
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