Picture It, Sicily... Page 3 of 3
When Sophia felt like imparting wisdom on Dorothy, Rose or Blanche, she would often turn to a story from the old country which began "Picture it, Sicily, 19...".
Quote from Sophia in Stand by Your Man
Sophia: Please! Just because a man's in a wheelchair doesn't mean he can't satisfy a woman.
Dorothy: What do you know about this, Ma?
Sophia: Picture it Sicily, 1914. A man in a wheelchair satisfies a woman. It's a short story, but I think it makes my point.
Quote from Sophia in Zborn Again
Rose: We were telling Best Sex Ever stories, Sophia.
Dorothy: Yeah, but now we're tired of telling them, so why don't we go to bed, huh?
Sophia: No, wait. It's a good thing I'm up, because it so happens that I have a story for you, the sex story to end all sex stories. Sicily, 1922. I stop by a little trattoria. No, wait. I'm thinkin' of the best meal I ever had.
Blanche: Sophia, I just wonder if maybe Dorothy's right. Could this whole Grammy thing be somethin' I just talked myself into believing? Some kind of childhood nonsense?
Sophia: Dorothy doesn't understand about these things. You know, her father sent her a very special message, and she doesn't even want me to tell her about it.
Blanche: You can tell me about it, Sophia.
Sophia: Really?
Blanche: Oh, yes, I'd love to hear it.
Sophia: Picture it. Heaven. Two days ago. I'm holding onto Sal, telling him I'll never let go, when who shows up...
Quote from Sophia in Rose's Big Adventure
Blanche: Have you decided what to do about Al?
Rose: No. I'm just as confused as ever.
Vincenzo: [Italian]
Sophia: Vincenzo says he thinks he has a solution to your problem.
Rose: Really? Well, translate for me, Sophia.
Sophia: Well, I'm a little bit rusty, but I think he said, "Picture it: Sicily 1939. The war is on. A promising young architect is offered a job to spearhead construction of a new wing at the Vatican."
Dorothy: Wait a minute, Ma. You say your Italian is rusty, but you know the word for "spearhead"?
Sophia: It was my brother's nickname for a while as a child. Anyway, the young man is torn. Taking the train to Rome means running the risk of enemy bombs. But staying home means passing up a chance to make history!
Dorothy: Boy, he certainly packs a lot of meaning into a few words.
Sophia: Aw, shut up! In the end, he chooses safety. It's a decision he still regrets half a century later. His conclusion: Life without risk is no life at all.
Quote from Sophia in The Sisters
Blanche: So you're not going to tell us what happened?
Sophia: Nope.
Rose: Well, Sophia, that's your choice, but I think you're making a mistake. You see, the same thing happened in my family once. My cousin Astrid-
Sophia: All right, all right. I'll tell you what happened. Picture it. New York City. Christmas, 1955. Francesca Ragouso's annual Christmas bash. Everyone was there including the neighborhood heartthrob Salvadore de Milo. All the women adore Salvadore. Mainly because he's the only guy in the room with a neck. Anyway, I'm feeling a little queasy. Francesca makes a great party, but she bakes a manicotti you could anchor a boat with. So I go upstairs for a seltzer when suddenly Salvadore grabs me from behind and begins passionately kissing me. Being a respectable married woman, I cop a few good feels, push him away and run back to the party. But I have to tell someone what happened. So I tell the only person in the world I trust, my sister Angela. Five minutes later, everybody at the party is talking about it. So I drag Angela into the pantry and ask her how she could betray her own sister. We have a big fight, she denies everything and we never speak again.
Blanche: But, Sophia, honey, that was 30 years ago. Isn't it time to forgive and forget?
Sophia: Forget I do plenty. I never forgive.
Quote from Dorothy in The Sisters
Dorothy: Aunt Angela, please. We have to talk.
Angela: What's to talk about? Your mother's a stubborn old goat, who apparently pays a buck and a half to have her hair done.
Dorothy: What is going on between you two?
Angela: I don't want to talk about it.
Dorothy: Now look, I have spent weeks working on this surprise, only to have it blow up in my face. And don't you think I at least deserve to know why.
Angela: OK. OK, you want to know so bad, I'll tell you right now. Picture it. New York City. Christmas 1955. It's Francesca Ragouso's annual Christmas bash. Everybody is there, eating, drinking, guzzling the Pepto-Bismol. Well, I mean, Francesca's a beautiful woman, but she makes a manicotti like you could anchor a boat with. Ah, well, as usual Sophia's stationed at the eggnog and she's drinking right from the bowl through a swizzle stick. My husband Carmine walks in and passes right under the mistletoe. Well, she makes a beeline to him and gives him such a kiss she can practically suck the beard off his face.
Dorothy: I don't remember Uncle Carmine having a beard.
Angela: He was in a Santa suit and he had one of those hook-on beards. Well, I mean, I can't believe what I'm looking at. So I go to her and I yank her into the pantry and I say, "What do you think you're doing?" She says she thought Cunio the bookmaker was in the Santa suit. And I say, "That's a lie." Well, we have a big fight about it. She denies the whole thing and we never speak again.
Quote from Sophia in The Pope's Ring
Dorothy: My God, Ma! This looks real!
Sophia: It is real. You think he'd wear his fakes in public like Zsa Zsa?
Dorothy: But, Ma, how did this happen?
Sophia: Picture it. The papal mass. A few hours ago. I want to cop a blessing for Agnes, so I sneak into the crippled and lame section.
Dorothy: Oh, Ma, how could you?
Sophia: With a pronounced limp. The Pope finally arrives, I bend down to kiss his ring. Just then, security comes and whisks him away. He leaves the ring behind as a memento.
Dorothy: Ma, you stole the Pope's ring?
Sophia: It slipped off. You know, for God's representative on Earth, he sure has sweaty palms.
Quote from Sophia in Mother's Day
Sophia: Okay. That's it. When she gets off the phone, we're going for lunch. I'm tired of listening to these lousy Mother's Day stories.
Rose: Sophia, don't you have a Mother's Day story?
Sophia: I said I was tired of listening to lousy Mother's Day stories. I wouldn't mind telling a good one. Picture it: Brooklyn, 1957, the second Sunday in May. Dorothy had gone to pick up my mother and I was getting the house ready which mostly meant trying to get my Salvadore into a shirt with sleeves.
Quote from Dorothy in My Brother, My Father
Angelo: I cannot go on with this deception any longer. I can't marry you. I'm not a priest. I never was.
Dorothy: Uncle Angelo, what are you talking about?
Sophia: I gotta sit down.
Angelo: Let me tell you a story. Picture it: Sicily, 1914. I promised our dear sainted mother on her deathbed I'm-a gonna join the priesthood. On my way to the seminary in Palermo, I stop off in a local trattoria for a glass of Chianti. The waitress bring drink to the table is a vision. Luscious lips, full bosom and a behind so round, so firm, you got to fall down on your knees and cry put at its magnificent regal beauty. I'm a butt man. Anyway, my devotion to God doesn't waver. But suddenly, the idea of living with a bunch of guys in itchy robes doesn't seem quite as appealing as that tuckus. So I tear up my priest application, ask Philomena to marry me, and we lived the next 72 years in wedded bliss.