March 15th, 2010
Well, last Saturday was another step on the road to Gramma-hood. The shower! Our daughter-in-law looked fabulous. The food was good, the gifts were lovely and the games were fun — and funny. The men made themselves scarce (cowards!) for the most part. The women folk visited and oohed and aahed over the adorable little girl gifts. It was great.
As for me, I’m still desperately trying to develop some Grandmotherly wisdom that I can impart when necessary. The cuddles and snuggles and toy buying will be simple. But I need to remember and fine tune some “Daddy growing up” stories for my Grand daughter. If she grows up half as fast as her Father did, I’ll need them by next year. But most of all I have to get smarter and figure out the answers to life’s thorniest problems as well as learn to bake and do great things with her hair.
I’ve also been looking around at the world. Good grief, what a mess! Note to self: achieve world peace by late May, June at the latest……………then we can work on the environment. It’s going to be a busy couple of months.
Nighty-Night!
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March 12th, 2010
There we were: Myself, husband and daughter in this lovely and immaculately clean small Italian village. The birth place of my Grandfather, and who knows how many ancestors before him. First, I was handed a letter in English. It was in response to the letter I had mailed before our trip. They hadn’t had time to get it to me before our arrival. As I was quickly reading it, the Italian tennis match began. Two of the gentlemen there began to speak to each other in a very animated manner. The one to our right would say something, complete with gestures. The one to the left would seemingly disagree with the same amount of certainty and still more sweeping arm motions. Our heads were swinging from left to right as though we were at Wimbledon. It ended when the gentleman who bore an uncanny resemblance to Grandpa took my wrist, and put me in the back seat of his car. They wouldn’t even let us get back into our limo to follow! Uncertain what would come next, off we went.
We were taken to a lovely home, and more people began to gather. There we were met by a sweet young woman who knew a little English. Apparently family was stationed at the entrance to the village much of the day, waiting for our arrival. As we entered the home, we were led to the table and the food began to arrive. And arrive. It was all delicious but with all the excitement, it was hard to concentrate on eating. Whenever we slacked off, we were urged to “mangia”. The warmth of the welcome was unbelievable. I alternated between shock and teary eyed emotion. There were kisses on each cheek and hugs galore. Our limo driver did some interpreting for us, and we were able to exchange family information.
After the meal and desert our host brought out two packages. One was presented to myself, and one to our daughter. Enclosed in each was an 18 inch by 2 foot framed and matted professional photo of my grandfather’s village, signed by a dozen or so family members, “with affection”. I was stunned at their generosity and more than a little teary eyed. They spoke of the longing, especially of the older generation to know what became of my Grandfather. He was referred to as “Uncle Nazareno” even though no one there had been alive when he left in 1915. I always knew family was important to Italians, I had lived in an Italian/American neighborhood. But the extent of the affection and concern was truly stunning.
Next on the agenda, came the walking tour of the village…………….
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March 5th, 2010
As part of my self improvement for the new year I’ve decided to attempt to work on my brain. The same organ that can’t seem to retain the location of most of what I own. Yeah, this should be a piece of cake, right? In the past I tried brushing my teeth with my non-dominant hand. Any gains could hardly out weigh the possibility of losing an eye, so I had to come up with another idea. Some where I had read that puzzles can be of assistance. So Santa brought me a couple. Ho-Ho-Ho and all that.
Puzzles and I have never had a relationship. When I was about 5 I saw my brother working on one. Very impressed, I watched for a while. But then I noticed the picture on the box it came in of what it would look like when done. My five year old brain then said the five year old equivalent of “why bother?” and that took care of that.
But now I need to make new pathways in my brain. Time to give it the old (non) college try. Actually having completed one, I’ve started on the second. In doing so, I’ve come to the conclusion that there is only one happy moment in the process of doing a puzzle. That’s the moment you put the last piece in place and put the damn thing away and never look at it again. Not to mention that I’ve conceived a hatred for deep sea creatures, and am now developing a loathing for cardinals (bird not team) and pine trees.
How this is going to help with locating the car keys, numerous pieces of paperwork, a ring and a certain Christmas present (long story) God only knows. But I’ll forge ahead. It’s sure to work, right? I mean all the experts say so……….. But then again, the experts will say anything. Then write a book about it which I’ll spend money on, bring home, and promptly lose. Now where was all this supposed to get me? And most importantly, are we having fun yet?
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March 2nd, 2010
Italy at last! After 4 decades of thinking about it, myself, husband and daughter arrive. The 6 hour plus flight is best left undescribed. Trust me on this. Then there is Milan, Lugano, (Switzerland) Como, Verona, Padua, Venice, Pisa, Florence, Sorrento, Capri, Pompeii, Naples and Rome. In the interest of total honesty I must add here that I ate enough in 2 weeks in Italy to feed me for six weeks at home. And I’d probably do so again……….
It was time to make arrangements with a car service to visit Casape, and off we went. I was incredibly nervous, and had no idea what awaited us. Although only 38 km from Rome it was truly country, and we wound our way up along a road of breath taking views. We had an Italian phrase book and English to Italian dictionary along. Would anyone speak to us? Would anyone speak English? Was there still time to change my mind?
We entered the village slowly, and observed a couple of people with cell phones popping out of doorways. I heard my name and the word “American” being called as we were flagged down. The three of us were rather stunned by all the excitement as a crowd began to gather around the limo. When the driver stopped I sat frozen in my seat and as my husband exited the car, I remember my daughter saying with a chuckle “Mom, you have to get out”. Then someone opened my door…………
More soon.
Seen on a T Shirt:
“How Did I Get here?
And Now What Do I DO?”
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February 22nd, 2010
Hang on folks, we’re almost in Italy: Much time passes, and lots of life happens. Our son is grown, married to a lovely girl and on his own. Our daughter is due to graduate college in 2007, and I begin to think perhaps it’s time to stop thinking about Italy and actually GO. My husband is not at all into investigating the past. Especially the lonnggg past. But who wouldn’t want to visit Italy? So much to see, so much to do and the added bonus of not having to see my unhappy face across the dinner table for the rest of his life if he said “I don’t want to go”. Figuring out how to accomplish the entire trip without him ………..well thankfully, I didn’t have to.
My husband gets on the computer, and finds the village of my Grandfather’s birth. Yes ladies, it was that easy in the age of computers. My Aunt, Nazareno’s only surviving daughter, locates the Italian phone book the same way. She finds 36 people listed under the family name, and I now have addresses. Hmmmmn…now what? Time for a letter from the blue to a randomly chosen probable relative. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? So about 6 weeks before our tour of Italy I mail it off. No response is a little disappointing, but our trip begins in Milan, and ends in Rome which is only 38 km from Casape. So we’ll find transportation and take an afternoon and visit. Walk about a bit, perhaps check out the church and see if there’s a local cemetery. In so small a place, perhaps someone will venture over and talk to us. Grandpa left in 1915, but maybe some one remembers something………….
The prospect of all of this is not easy on a person who loathes flying and is not comfortable being in the position of possibly intruding on “strangers”. But there’s always Xanax for the plane and the thought of Mom and Grandpa for courage. What’s the worst that can happen? THAT I try not to even contemplate.
More soon.
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February 19th, 2010
I was having a sad enough time of it as it was. In our local “everything” store, I was perusing the almost bare aisles. They are closing at the end of the month, after over 20 years in town, a victim of rising rents and the economy. I’d noticed a very pretty young girl walking around. Flawless makeup and hair, well dressed and about 15 to 18 years old. She called out to her middle aged Aunt “What’s fifty percent off two dollars?”. Good grief. We are definitely NOT having fun yet if that’s where our future lies………..
More later………..
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February 16th, 2010
Back to the story of how I ended up in a small village in Italy. By the way, small in Italy is a lot smaller than small in the USA. We’re talking 781 people. But I’m getting ahead of myself. When I was about 10 or 11, my Dad tried to reestablish contact with the family in the “old country”. He tried the address of a convent at which my Grandpa’s aunt had been Mother Superior. It no longer existed. He also tried the Italian Embassy, with no luck. No one seems to have heard of the name of the village, and this was way before computers. My father always regretted being unable to let the family know that Nazareno had died in 1960, so there things stood for quite some time.
By the mid 1970’s, my father had taken early retirement. Before his health declined, he tried to persuade my Mom to agree to go to Italy and try and find her family. The first problem was that Mom hated to fly. The second was that although they were right in believing Grandpa had been the oldest son, they thought his 5 sisters were all older than he. Assuming they were older, and had married, they believed locating any traces of them would be problematical. Keep in mind we had no idea how small the village was, or how long the memory of the average Italian living in the same place his ancestors had for years was.
Now picture a calendar flipping months and years really quickly. I think I’ve actually seen that in an old cartoon…………….
another installment soon.
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