My grandmother, dad’s mother,  died on December 20, 1946 in Anacortes. She was an Italian grandmother who looked like an Italian grandmother.  She was an outstanding cook with many talents. She spoke only a few words of English, but visiting Nonna and Nonno Luvera was an adventure because she was always feeding us children wonderful food or treats whenever we visited. In the photo is Nonna, my sisters Phyllis, Anita, me and my grandfather Nicola Luvera.  this is in memory to her. I’ve written about her before: https://paulluverajournalonline.com/weblog/2013/12/phyllis-flippa-luvera-1870-1946.html.htm

ELIZABETH “BETTY” BARNETT

Betty Barnett was my wife Lita’s mother who died December 20, 1985. It was my privilege to have known her. She was extraordinary  in so many ways. She was very intelligent, wise and a great judge of people. I loved her like my own mother for her many qualities and her understanding. This is a woman who attended Holy Names in Spokane where she was taught proper table settings, good manners and social skills. She met Hollis Barnett when he was attending Gonzaga and after  they married he took this refined lady to Rainer National Park where  he ran a small gas station. they lived in  a small attic area above the gas station.  Later they built and operated the Gateway Inn at the entrance to the park. Their marriage lasted over fifty years and produced son Hollis and daughters Barbara, Monica and Lita.

Their story is unique: https://paulluverajournalonline.com/weblog/2013/12/my-mother-in-law-elizabeth-barnett-1910-1995.html

She was unique in so many ways. She was very intelligent and well read. She had great strength of character and was the backbone of the family religious life. Her role in the success of the family resort was essential. She had a great love of neighbor and concern for others. Her favorite poem describes her attitude: 

The House by the Side of the Road

by Sam Walter Foss (1858-1911)

There are hermit
souls that live withdrawn
In the peace of their self-content;
There are souls, like stars, that dwell apart,
In a fellowless firmament;
There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths
Where highways never ran;-
But let me live by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

Let me live in a house
by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I see from my house
by the side of the road,
By the side of the highway of life,
The men who press with the ardor of hope,
The men who are faint with the strife.
But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears-
Both parts of an infinite plan;-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.

I know there are brook-gladdened
meadows ahead
And mountains of wearisome height;
That the road passes on through the long afternoon
And stretches away to the night.
But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice,
And weep with the strangers that moan,
Nor live in my house by the side of the road
Like a man who dwells alone.

Let me live in my
house by the side of the road
Where the race of men go by-
They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong,
Wise, foolish- so am I.
Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat
Or hurl the cynic’s ban?-
Let me live in my house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man.