t was on a sweltering day in July, 2000 on the occasion of "The Feast of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel" in Brooklyn, New York (the childhood home of my mother and her family) when I noted the command, "Uaglió, a spal!" (pronounced "Wal-Yo, ah sbahl"--- "young men, on your shoulders!"). These words, signaling the lift of the Giglio, echoed the inflections of my Napolitano ancestors. The imperative mingled with aromas of brasciole (a kind of sausage), opened clams on the half shell, zeppoles, and a host of other Italian delicacies. What is a "Giglio" and what does it have to do with food? Where Italians are concerned, everything has to do with culinary indulgence. Failure to eat is the most egregious omission, at once an act of self-deprivation and transgression of etiquette.

The iconic ten-thousand pound Giglio

Like Italian food, the Giglio is the ultimate expression of culture, a monument to tradition. It is, in fact, a tower --- a five-story structure, weighing about ten-thousand pounds. One-hundred-twenty-five empowered faithful commit to the task of lifting or "dancing" the Giglio, literally carrying the tradition of their fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers on their shoulders. The men proudly take their place in a hierarchy, from entry-level "Lifter" to "Lieutenant" who, after several years of lifting, takes charge of a thirty- to forty-member crew and passes along instructions from the "Capo" or "Head Lifter." The title of "Apprentice" goes to those who aspire to and demonstrate the potential of becoming "Capo." The word "Giglio" means "lily," signifying the ancient tribute-symbol to San Paolino of Nola, a priest whose selflessness and sacrifice for his townspeople earned him widespread praise. After he was taken into captivity by the Huns and released in the fifth century A.D., lilies were offered in his honor. The tradition continued after his death and, eventually, evolved into the carrying of these flowers on poles. Then, in the seventeenth century, celebratory music was added, along with decorative art on paper Mache spires.

Centuries later, the lively rhythm of the Giglio (with its noted twelve-piece band) continuously set my grandmother's feet to dancing. Ever a devotee, even at age ninety, she looked up in awe, no doubt recollecting her father Rafaele's contributions to the Feast, his hand in the tower's construction, and his lyrical compositions for the occasion. "I've been coming here every year since I was two years old, in my mother's arms," my grandmother declared to my mother and me.

The author's grandmother, Maria (right) and her dear friend, Amelia (left) in 1983. The lady in green is unknown.

Though I had been to the Feast before, that particular July celebration was different --- perhaps because my grandmother decided that she would conduct the Giglio. For a time, she disappeared into the crowd. Given her penchant for exploration and adventure, we thought nothing of her absence. After a while, however, we became concerned and, somehow, made our way through the throng of celebrants to look for her. From my vantage point, the statue of San Paolino seemed to smile, in all of its glory, atop the Giglio. Suddenly, we saw her, Marie Tromba Mazzarese, nanogenarian, standing in the middle of North Eighth Street, in front of Our Lady of Mt. Carmel Church, directing the company of Giglio musicians. We admonished her that, if she didn't come away, she would, most likely, be overrun by the aluminum and paper Mache structure. She didn't hear or care. Waving her arms with astonishing precision and grace, she maintained her central position, right in front of everyone. In her own way, she was shouldering tradition, keeping alive the memory of those before her.

Each of us carries an inner tribute to our ancestors in some special way. Recollection is a conduit to the past and the future. In remembering the Giglio tradition and what it signified to my maternal ancestors, I hear their voices, returning to serenade me.