What's Important

After another day at the office and replays of some of those human trials and tribulations that can ride shotgun all the way home and into the night, some self-defense mechanisms kicked in. My eyelids grew heavy; just one last iPhone review, and I’d call it a day and a night.

And, social media isn’t my first option for perspective; last night, it was literally the last. A photo and a few words let me know I’d lost a friend.

I began reflecting on images of friends, family, opportunity and gratitude; all made clear courtesy of the stuff of lasting memories.

Around ten years ago, my Aunt Clara (born while Archduke Franz Ferdinand still had a pulse) and I were Thanksgiving guests of my all-time fav restaurateuers and family; we’d never celebrated a holiday on the road, away from our own 90% Sicilian home. But home is where you find it…when you’re lucky.

Back in 1999, the first time I walked through the door at Pasadena’s La Fornaretta, I guess I was really looking for something I somehow knew I needed. Several friends had urged me to give the place a try. I’d been visiting my mom, who was alternating time spent at Huntington Memorial Hospital and a convalescent facility across the street. Our beautiful little family had been reduced to Mom and me. We’d spent Sundays together, sharing Mom’s homemade sugo sauce, for most of the past 20-years.

Until that first La Fornaretta Sunday, I’d never walked into a restaurant without a date; just wasn’t that comfortable in my own skin or confident enough to pull off such a simple pleasure. Just inside the door, Cesare greeted me with open arms as if I were a guest in his home; his confidence and joy of life were obvious on “Hello.” My mom died only a few months later.

So, Sundays with Cesare and family in Pasadena became special and non-negotiable, right up until the Di Lorenzos moved up north to Newcastle. A little more than ten years ago, I wrote, “The Di Lorenzos have created something beautiful and original in La Fornaretta; and without their generosity, I can’t imagine what Mondays would look like.”

I spent every evening at the restaurant during the final Pasadena week and enjoyed three shifts with two different dates during the last full night; even carried a bar stool out (it remains in treatment room #2.) One of our restrooms is labeled, Vespasiani, just like La Fornaretta’s. Obviously, I wanted to keep some of the magic Cesare had created. I also wanted to retain a visible connection to a friendship I valued.

In return for a second home, great food, and friendship and generosity that undoubtedly compensated for the almost 20-years of therapy I never had, I was privileged to serve Cesare and family as patients in my dental practice. And even after Cesare and La Fornaretta left Pasadena, I’d fly north to hang out, hike, shoot hoops with the boys, eat 3-4 times at the new restaurant and fly home via Southwest, armed with a couple of pizzas and a stash of meatballs.

When I finally visited Sicily, my guide to mom’s family hometown, Piana deglis Albanesi, was wife Suzanna’s dad, Giovanni. When Cesare’s son, Gianbi, was married in Positano, I attended the most amazing wedding ever and hung out with Cesare, who had a Negroni waiting for me 5-minutes after I checked into the Villa Franca hotel.

Cesare always embodied what it looked like to appreciate the joy and beauty of being alive; and even with his passing, his example will live on.

As I was driving home from Thanksgiving with the Di Lorenzos, my Aunt Clara couldn’t get over how much at home she had felt on a special Thursday. All I could do was smile and agree.

And even after reading some sad news last night, I can only smile at my good fortune to have had a friend like Cesare.