To all the mothers everywhere, whether your kids have 2 legs or 4:
the light that is in me honors the light that is in each one of you.
Namaste.
I tell wonder-filled stories about hope and healing

She loved to find a good bargain while shopping. She was a relentless coupon clipper. My favorite of her finds was a pair of pink jeans that I loved when I was a kid. She bought them for me for $0.99 and I remember how brightly she smiled at that price tag. I think my sister, Weez, got a pair, too, though that detail is more fuzzy in my mind than Grammy’s smile. She would turn 92 today.
There are also certain foods that I always associate with her. She was a simple cook, though there are unmistakable flavors that always remind me of her. Finely chopped carrots and green peppers in meatballs, an apple cake that was my favorite, cheese ravioli, blueberry muffins, Salada tea with sugar and milk, and pizzelle cookies that her friend, Theresa, always used to make when she knew my mom and her gaggle of kids would be visiting.
I was wandering through Whole Foods this weekend doing my weekly shopping. They had a huge display of pizzelle cookies. They weren’t as beautiful as the ones I remember from Grammy’s house, though they were available in a bunch of different flavors, which I thought Grammy would have gotten a kick out of. Then I turned over the package and saw the $4.99 price. I’m sure Grammy would have been disgusted to see such a high price. I bought them any way.
As I rounded the corner with the pizzelles in hand, I could have sworn I felt a small tap on my shoulder. I turned around but no one was there. No one was physically there any way, but I felt a very warm glow and my eyes started to tear up. I’d like to think she was there with me, right next to me winding through the aisles as I filled up my cart. I made sure everything else I put into my cart was indeed a bargain by her standards.
It’s funny what food can do. How it can sneak its way into your heart through your taste buds; how it can help you keep a warm and happy memory alive even when it’s pouring buckets of rain outside; how it can bring someone to your dinner table even though she hasn’t been with you for so many years. I went home, had one of my too-expensive pizzelle cookies, a cup of tea, and tossed up a prayer of gratitude for the opportunity to have had someone in my life as special as my Grammy.
May 20th would have been my grandmother’s 88th birthday so my Darden graduation on that date has a dual-significance for me: it is the celebration of my greatest academic accomplishment and of a woman whom I consider to be my greatest teacher. She was born Sarah Louise Gagliardi, though I knew her as Sadie Lupinacci. She was born to blue collar immigrant parents on Barber Street in Hartford, Connecticut. She was a life-long employee of Traveler’s Insurance Company. She had two children: my mother, Sandy, and my uncle, Tom. She was married to my grandfather, Alfonso Lupinacci, for over 40 years until his untimely death in 1982. They were childhood sweethearts and grew up around the corner from one another. She led an ordinary life. Nothing extravagant. Nothing extraordinary.
Yet she was an extraordinary person – the kindest, most loving person I have ever known. She had a remarkable sense of forgiveness and an endless supply of support for those she loved. When anyone asks me what kind of person I aspire to be, I consider that I wish to love and be loved the way my grandmother was, and still is. She came from so little, and I have so much which is why I feel a tremendous amount of gratitude for the opportunity to be a part of this community and this graduating class.
I came to Darden to attain traditional financial skills because that was a clear hole in my resume. This was the explicit learning. While I was able to reach this goal, there were implicit learnings that I did not expect to find which are just as valuable, if not more. I learned about the idea of lifting as we rise, that there is so much more satisfaction in climbing the ladder with people we admire and care about along aside us rather than climbing over others and being alone.
I spent a lot of time here considering the idea of happiness, of accomplishment. Defining it, setting benchmarks, reflecting on what’s working in my life and what’s not, and then taking on the responsibility to change, even when that change is painful or frightening. And I am continually reminded of the idea that what we wish to have in our own lives we set about attaining by providing that very thing for someone else. So if it is happiness we seek, we can begin to have it by providing happiness for another. The same goes for success, personal and professional, for peace of mind, for friendship, and, as my grandmother showed me, for love.
I learned how devastating it can be to think I’m on a road that I built going one way, and all of a sudden the bottom falls out and I end up on a path I never knew existed and probably would not have chosen by my own volition. Surprisingly, I learned to love the new road, and even became grateful that the Universe presented it to me. Resiliency and the ability to see possibility in all opportunities are great blessings that I found here.
And most importantly, I learned about the power of place. I have a friend who talks about the metaphor of a great vein of life running just beneath the Earth’s surface. Sometimes we come upon physical places that have special significance though we cannot pinpoint the underlying reason for that feeling. She says that at those points, the vein of life emerges for us to grab a hold of and experience an intensity of emotion that we do not find in the course of our everyday lives. The places where the vein emerges makes us feel alive; make us feel connected to one another and at cause with the world around us. Darden has been one of those places for me, and I hope it has been for everyone who has the privilege to call this beautiful place home, even just for a little while. I look forward to returning again and again in the years to come, and I am so excited to see how our lives unfold, intertwine, and connect.