Searching for The Spaghetti Lady - Kim R. Deslaurier

A child’s love of a book began an endless search. When my daughter Beth was in first grade (33 years ago), all she wanted for Christmas was The Spaghetti Lady, a book that her teacher had read out loud to her class. Without the author’s name, my search began, but how hard could it be to find the book about a spaghetti lady?

It was a snowy night two days before Christmas. I was in downtown Burlington, Vermont, weary from a whole day of Christmas shopping. Trudging in and out of bookstores, I had exhausted all my possibilities.

Over and over I heard myself saying, “Hello, I’m looking for a book: The Spaghetti Lady.”

Blank stare, “Nope, never heard of it.” I remember feeling so disappointed that I had failed to find the one gift that seemed to mean so much.

It was time to head home. I was freezing, streets were empty, and stores were closing. I was walking past a side street and remembered a small independent bookstore down there: The Everyday Bookstore. The lights were still on. I was dead tired and kept walking, but something made me turn around. A last hope filled me. I mustered up all the energy I could and ran down the street, just as the woman, keys in hand, was about to lock up. She met me at the door, “I’m sorry we’re closed.” My shoulders slumped.

Out of breath, I pleaded, “Please, have you heard of the book: The Spaghetti Lady? I am desperate and have looked everywhere and my daughter loves this book so much and I want to give it to her for Christmas.” I could hear myself rambling.

I think she must have felt sorry for me. “Come on in,” she said, as she locked the door behind me. She said that she too had never heard of The Spaghetti Lady, but she still looked, and all of a sudden, she turned toward me, eyes widened, and asked, “Could it be Strega Nona?” Strega Nona? I wasn’t familiar with that title at all.

“Come with me,” she said. We walked down a wide flight of stairs to the kids’ section, and she took me to a shelf and pulled out the book Strega Nona. She said the book was a wonderful tale about an old woman and her magical pasta pot.

With gratitude, I said, “I’ll take it!” Even if it wasn’t the right book, this woman had gone the distance to try to make a tired mom happy.

Christmas morning came, and I received the best gift of all. Beth barely had the wrapping paper off the book when she jumped up hugging the book to her chest, “The spaghetti lady, the spaghetti lady.” My heart filled with so much joy, seeing how thrilled she was. I said, “Beth, the book’s title is actually Strega Nona.”

“Yes, Mommy, I know.