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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February 9th, 2010
Okay, where were we? Ah yes, telling you about the loss of my Grandpa Nick (a/k/a Nazareno Antonio Pallante ) when I was five and a half. As some time went by, and Mom’s grief wasn’t quite so new, I would speak with her about him. At about eight, I realized that the reason he talked “funny” even when he used words I could understand, was that he had an accent! Hey sophisticated I wasn’t. That spring, my sixteen year old brother had just been confirmed and was given by my Grandmother an old, heavy gold signet ring. My Grandpa’s initials had been replaced with Mike’s and I was fascinated. For you who aren’t Catholics, by confirmed I mean a Catholic coming of age ceremony — not an appointment to the Supreme Court or anything.
The ring intrigued me. Mike began telling me stories about Grandpa and how he was often sad because he was never able to go back to Italy and see his family again. It wasn’t long after that I told my brother that one day I’d go visit Grandpa’s family for him. Mike never laughed at me, but looking back when he smiled and kissed the top of my head, I’m sure he thought it unlikely. Being from a family of redheads perhaps he should have known better. I’m nothing if not stubborn, and at the ripe old age of nine, it went on my to do list.
Speaking of the list I compiled at age nine, I still haven’t met the Beatle’s. So if anyone out there has Ringo or Sir Paul’s phone numbers, do let me know………..
More another time.
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February 5th, 2010
Pet Peeve alert! This one is aimed at my local supermarket. Do the people that design things in this store have any experience of the items they are dealing with? There is a large produce department with an ample selection of fruits and vegetables. Unfortunately, people who are obviously lacking in knowledge of the subject have come up with an idea. There are now color enhancing lights over the displays. STRONG lights. So of course everything rots in half the time, and you have to scramble below the top layer or so to find anything acceptable. Not to mention (but I will) the fact that more produce gets dumped instead of sold. Do the customers like it? No. Do the produce workers like it? No. Do the higher ups listen to any of us? Once again, no. Way to go, folks.
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