Feast of the Assumption
Friday, my mother, Anna, Manuel and I participated in the Feast of the Assumption’s evening procession. As we followed men carrying the Sleeping Madonna through the streets, a band played music that reminded us of The Godfather. Hundreds, if not all 3,000 of Tusa’s residents, walked with us, and my mother, overcome with emotion, sobbed for the second time in two days. As part of the procession, we walked the same ancient, winding streets as her grandfather, who, when he moved from Tusa to Pawcatuck, Conn., started a similar tradition that I participated in for many years.