BUCCELLA, Elisabetta 'Elisa' - (June 6-1931 - September 8, 2021) - Elisabetta Buccella, who rode life’s joys and sorrows with grace, poise, and a simple calmness, died earlier this week at the age of 90.
With family beside her and Italian music playing on Spotify, she peacefully left this life and entered the next, to be reunited with her late husband and two of her sons.
She leaves her two surviving sons Alfredo (Tina), Bruno (Angie), 10 grandchildren, and 23 great-grandchildren.
Elisabetta, known to most as Elisa, and affectionally as Nonna Lisa, was the youngest of three children, born in 1931 to Antonietta and Camilo Cetrano in Abruzzo, Italy. When she was 26, she left Italy for Canada to meet Mario, a friend of the family with whom she had been writing, so that the two could be married. The couple went on to have four sons: Alfredo, Bruno, Paolo, and Giovanni, known as Johnny.
Elisa spent her late 20s and her 30s tending to scraped knees, mending ripped pants, and keeping the household well-fed, which was no small feat considering the family lived under the same roof as her parents-in-law and their other children.
Elisa was a firm but fair mother who valued good manners and habits. She approached the chaos and noise in the household, none of which rattled her, with a straightforward demeanor. If a child missed dinner, she pointed to the fridge. If beds were unmade, she would close the door to the bedroom with child inside and walk away.
As her sons grew into adulthood, Sundays were reserved for hosting them, along with wives or girlfriends, and then children, where a hearty lunch usually lingered well into the evening. Sitting atop simple linen, Nonna’s table offered charcuterie, homemade pasta, pizza, and wine, followed by a few rounds of Scopa, espresso, and homemade cookies.
In 1989, her husband passed away, followed shortly afterward by Johnny, her youngest son, who left behind a wife and newborn daughter. Some 14 years later, her son Paolo would also pass away, leaving his two teenaged girls.
It was after Johnny’s death that Gina, a family matriarch, introduced her to a small community in Clearwater, Florida. Elisa took to Florida living and went on to spend more than twenty winters there, beginning her days with fresh-pressed orange juice, followed by socializing and sunbathing by the pool, and after supper, a stroll through the neighbourhood, followed by more socializing. She enjoyed buffets, picnics, and potlucks, whether on St. Patrick’s Day, Valentine’s Day, or a Tuesday.
Saturday mornings were sacred, reserved for yard sales, which meant Saturday afternoons were for redecorating her home with her “new” knick-knacks. No matter the object, her starting bid was 25 cents, and because of her charm and irresistible blue eyes, she usually made out like a bandit.
She would get to know Ernesto, who became her companion not only in Florida, but year-round in their brick bungalow in Woodbridge. Over the years, Ernesto, who made wine in his garage and stored it in two-litre 7-Up bottles, would become part of the landscape, until he wasn’t. After some time, the relationship had run its course and Elisa left, charting a new course at the age of 84.
Elisabetta was not fussy. She delighted in being in the kitchen with her hands dusted in flour as she rolled out fresh pasta, formed gnocchi, and baked biscotti and pizzelle, her love of which was passed down to her daughters-in-law and granddaughters, the same as it had been passed down to her. She enjoyed a good party but wasn’t afraid to speak up when she was bored and ready to leave, even if she had only just arrived.
Elisa did enjoy some finer things and always had her nails painted and wore hot pink lipstick. Shortly after she died, the long-term care home’s recreational therapist entered the room and painted her nails in a Ferrari red, as she would have wanted.
With the memory of an elephant, Elisabetta was a gifted and theatrical storyteller. Her punch lines were often coupled with a slap on the table and a rhetorical question that started with “dimello tu,” which means “you tell me.” As she slowed down, the gregariousness of her body language diminished, but she never lost the twinkle in her eye.
That twinkle was like the flame on a candle in a storm that is battered by the wind and the rain, emerging from the other side as it was before. And because of this, she brought warmth and comfort to those around her, who will take inspiration from her now that she is gone.
Arrangements and livestream funeral details are entrusted with Scott funeral home, Woodbridge chapel.
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