My Grandparents and their daughter that was my mother

I can’t eat pizza without thinking about my Nonna, my grandmother. I never knew my real grandmother because she was dead long before I was born. This other woman--my mother’s stepmother--ran my grandfather’s house on a backroad in the small town where I grew up. There was a sign in their bathroom: if it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down. I thought they were tree-hugging conservationists, but it was really that they were just poor and maybe a little…