Archive for 2006
Love Thursday: Topping the Tree with Love
A few years ago, I found this plush, padded, bedazzled heart in a crafty kind of store and bought it, having no idea what I might do with it. The answer came the following year, when I had my first tree, mini as it is, and was without a top.
Fellow expat and blogger Delinissima wrote about the difficulty in finding a star to top the tree here in Italy. I don’t know why they’re anti-star either, but there aren’t a lot of choices out there.
So, I had to do some creative rigging up with twisty-ties, but I think the heart does the trick– along with reminding me that Christmas is a time to love and appreciate all that is right with my world. And yes, that’s our little Bonsai Garden/Christmas Village out of focus behind the tree.
I wish everyone a Happy Love Thursday and Happy Winter Solstice.
Now go out and enjoy the shortest day of the year!
National Association of W Lovers
Over at Red Red Whine, Guinness Girl was tagged to make a list of ten things she loves starting with the letter G. She then generously offered up other letters for fellow bloggers to play, and I have received “W.”
If you’d like to play along, use the first letter in your name and then please leave a comment directing me to your list.
And, incidentally, if you think I’ve made up the title of this post, get thee to Sesame Street!
Now, the list:
1. Wine. Well this is kind of an obvious one, isn’t it? I love red and tolerate white, but I use white more for cooking than for drinking. For the most part, we imbibe P’s father’s homemade brew, which, thankfully, does not at all resemble vinegar like so much of the paesano wine around here does. The second most popular in our house comes from Cirò, another Calabrian town. Yeah. We keep it real.
2. Whiskey. Staying with the alcohol theme, I do love me some whiskey. Preferably Jack Daniel’s. Preferably with Coke. Yes, I’ve been known to bring this with me from the States even though they have it here. It’s cheaper there, in case you wondered.
3. Winter clothes. I would live in turtleneck sweaters, jeans, and boots if it were at all possible. As I live in southern Italy, alas, ’tis not.
3. Words. Writing. Writers. These are grouped together for obvious reasons, but also because I didn’t want to be considered a cheater for my very first meme as a blogger. I am fascinated by words, how they evolve, who uses them, and why. I love putting them together in ways that no one ever has, sometimes making them up myself, and, most of all, I love reading other writers doing the same thing. I’m a wordgeek and proud.
4. Walking. I used to live in a city, so walking was a forced kind of exercise, and I didn’t always appreciate taking a stroll. Here, though, I’ve learned to love it, especially when accompanied by Luna. Our favorite routine takes us down a mountain road that, 10 kilometers later, would land us in the next village. Although we haven’t gone that far just yet, on this Road Less Traveled, Luna and my mind both run free. Lovely.
5. Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Although Willy Wonka, not so much. He’s kinda (a lot) creepy. But oh how I long to lick the wallpaper and have the Schnozzberries taste like Schnozzberries.
6. Wendy’s. The fast food chain. I’ve already mentioned this, but let me add specifically how much I enjoy Wendy’s fries dipped in an Original Chocolate Frosty. To die for. Someone, somewhere, please do this for me and report back with the tales of glee.
7. Watching movies with P. We watch only in Italian, so he acts as my real-time interpretor. It’s quite handy. Yeah, there’s the closeness and bonding time, blah blah, but really it’s more about the live dictionary thing for me. Shh.
8. World Wide Web. Three W’s for the price of one. This little invention made my moving to another continent, an ocean away from everyone I knew, a heck of a lot easier. I can’t even imagine what it was like for people like my ancestors who left their homes and were able to exchange only letters and photos at the most.
9. Weekends. No explanation necessary.
10. Women friendships. As I’ve gotten older, I appreciate more my relationships with other women, my mother included. Bottom line is that we get us, and no matter what else is going on in life, I know that certain women will always have my back. Grazie!
And now some things I don’t love starting with a W:
W, a.k.a. Dubya; war (beauty pageant answer); weapons of mass destruction (assuming they exist); washing windows; whiny adults (children have a certain leeway with me); “wazzup” just in case anyone is *still* saying that; weathergirls in Italy (yes, we have them); weddings; and winkers who insist on winking even though they physically cannot close only one eye at a time.
OK, who wants to play?
What’s Cooking Wednesday: Calabrian Stuffed Lasagne
This stuffed lasagne from Calabria is made with a tomato-based meat sauce and includes hard-boiled egg, ham, and cheese. Stuffed with goodness!
Read on...Sunrise Over the Ionian Sea: Buon Giorno!
*Unfortunately, this was not taken this morning, as it’s cloudy, damp, and quite nasty here today (again). I found this picture while going through some old photos last night and wanted to remember warmer, sunnier times.
FYI, what you are seeing is a scan of an untouched photo taken with a throwaway camera.
Buon giorno a tutti!
My Move to Italy and the House of Violets
The back of my house rests on Vico Fiore, loosely Flower Street, and so all the houses have (informally) been given flowery names. Mine is “Casa delle Violette,” or the House of Violets.
I’ve always loved violets and my favorite color is purple, but that’s certainly not what sold me on the house and living in Italy. Didn’t hurt though either.
I’m a believer in fate and destiny and all that stuff, and although I’m not one to wait for Signs From Above before I make a big decision, I do keep my eyes open for little clues that tell me I’m on the right (or wrong) track.
Looking back, it seems my path to Italy was, and is, paved in violets.
I came to Italy for the first time in the summer of 2002, eight months after the death of my Italian- American grandmother. Born in America to Italian immigrants, she had never even visited, and at that time, I was reaching deeper into our family’s history than anyone ever had.
And so, when I stumbled upon a falling down mess optimistically called the House of Violets in my family’s ancestral village, I was obliged to take a second look.
Anyone who knew her knew that my grandmother’s favorite color had been purple, which dotted her house even though the rest of the color scheme was firmly 1970s browns and rusts. I even wore a deep purple suit to her funeral because it had been her favorite of all my dreary lawyer-wear.
I had developed quite a fondness for the color over the years myself, going from my favorite pink as a little girl to blue as a young adult and now settling on a color that combined them–purple is as calming, solid, and safe as blue but mixes in pink’s playfulness and innocence.
After seeing the house the first time, I went back to where I was staying to record the day’s events in the journal my friend had given me before the trip. I laughed to myself as I saw what graced the textured lavender cover: a lone violet protected by a clear plastic, raised box.
So as the trip went on, I started to imagine what life might be like in a southern Italian village. I didn’t have very much time there on that trip, so I knew I’d have to return. And I did a few times before making the big move, which, to be clear, was not so big in my mind at the time–I was planning on a couple years tops.
But through all the thinking and evaluating, another incident stuck in mind. Upon returning from that first trip, I lugged my bags upstairs to my bedroom in my Philadelphia apartment. While I was gone, a friend took care of my cat and plants–yes, I’m anal enough that I drew a map of all the plants and a chart of watering frequency (thanks Sue!). All still alive downstairs (including Kudzu kitty), the last plant left for me to check up on was the one on my nightstand–my prized collection of African violets.
Well, to be honest, it was a collection of African violet leaves. Three Easters before, my Mom had gotten me three of them planted together in a flat, white basket. There were lots of pink and purple flowers when I got them, and although I had kept the leaves green and furry for years, I hadn’t seen a flower again after I snapped off the last dying one from its original bloom.
But there, upon returning from my first trip to Italy, with thoughts of transferring my life overseas floating around my mind, wouldn’t you know it? Three deep purple violets had bloomed in my absence.
The House of Violets.
Three rooms. Three flowers. Alrighty then. So here I am, probably pushed by violets (better than pushing *up* violets, eh?). And after living here for about a year and a half, I met P.
And just in case I was beginning to wonder whether life in Calabria is for me, whether I should be trying to talk P into moving to the States, a few months ago, P’s mom gave me…yeah, this is getting weird isn’t it? I saw the furry leaves one day at her house, and she told me that although the plant had flowers originally, it hadn’t bloomed since. So she passed it to me. I think the violets are happy here.
And for those who can’t get enough of this: the African violet is of the genus Saintpaulia. My grandmother’s name was Paulina. And a clever reader might take a stab on what follows the P in P’s name.
Michelle Kaminsky is an American attorney-turned-freelance writer who lived in her family's ancestral village in Calabria, Italy for 15 years. This blog is now archived.
Calabria Guidebook
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