"Betty's spaghetti" & memories of mom's childhood

My mom was one of 9 kids. They grew up on the northwest side of Chicago. My grandpa was a successful fruit & vegetable merchant from the early 1900s-10s into the 1940s-50s putting all his 9 kids through college.

After mom and her siblings moved out to start their own families, I remember visiting my mom's childhood home 1960s-70s as grandma & grandpa still lived there for a few years as they grew elderly.

Their Chicago home was a condo, by today's namesake, 2 levels and (I believe) 2 units joined together to accommodate 11 people. My grandfather had cleverly inserted a large circular hole into the ceiling/floor of the back room next to the kitchen - I think the laundry room on 1st floor and a study type room on 2nd.

Why a hole?

To install a full, working firepole of course.

So this was great fun: get the courage as a 7 year old to go down the firepole, run or walk quickly (..." no running in the house kids..." as we streamed on by) back to the front of the house, up the stairs, down to the back room and down the firepole - round and round, again and again.

I don't remember how many times I went down that pole, as a visiting grandchild in my grandparents Chicago home, but I do remember multiples.

I do remember grandma's huge kitchen as it was next to the firepole landing area. It was a big 1940s style room full of antiques, but the dining room table was a long, sturdy picnic table with 2 long, sturdy benches. There was huge lazy susan on the top which rotated with condiments. Very practical.

While I was still quite young (probably age 7-9-ish?), I could instantly tell by the firepole and the picnic table kitchen, my grandparents were cool, loving and humorous.

My mom has told me some great stories about her past and growing up in both Chicago and their family farms 2 hours north in Wisconsin. Since there were 9 kids, when old enough, several were tasked with making dinner for the whole family. My mom said she would always make spaghetti since it was easy, but tasty.

She called it "Betty's Spaghetti". Catchy, isn't it?

Now, whenever I make spaghetti, I am forever fondly cursed to always think of "Betty's Spaghetti".

I have no idea what ingredients she put in: the recipe doesn't matter.

What matters is I always just add a little dash of silent homage to my mother, her 6 brothers, 2 sisters, my grandma and grandpa.

I picture her in a busy, happy family life in their cozy, crazy-firepoled Chicago condo. I see my mom, a teenager, toiling away in the kitchen cooking up a large quantities of noodles & meat sauce. When finished, calling up for stragglers upstairs to hurry up down for dinner resulting in pounding feet on the ceiling as my uncles zip down to the firepole to join everyone in the kitchen.

I hear grandma's phrase "mabel no elbows on the table", loud laughter, jokes and clever sibling teasing about another batch of mom's regular fare as its devoured each week just the same... happy for their food, joy and love of family.