Archive for 2007
taking the party to the beach
Don’t forget that all this week is The Ultimate Blog Party!
Check out 5 minutes for mom to learn more about
how you can participate–everyone’s invited!
The weather is absolutely gorgeous today, so I took my first trip to the beach in a long while. I’m not one to spend hours under the sun in the summer, but on days like this, there’s no better place in the world.
Of course, I ran into P’s parents on the way and they kept trying to convince me to get in the car so they could take me home (probably feeding me something first). Mamma asked me where I had been, why I had gone down to the Marina (the part of the village on the sea), so I told her the truth.
Nowhere and to do nothing.
The health care clinic? Nope.
The market? Neanche.
They just don’t get the crazy Americana who wanted to wander around the Marina with my camera for an hour or so.
But I know *you* do.
Shall we?
Turned out it was just Giuseppe and me.
I didn’t know him before today, but he told me that he usually
walks the beach with P’s Zio Antonio.Welcome to life in a small town folks.
Some fishing nets secured on the rocks.
And a final shot of Giuseppe as I made my way back to dry land.
When I got back home, I felt refreshed, energized, and so very alive, and as I write this a few hours later, my face is still warm with Calabrian sun.
I may have to make this a regular thing.
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[tags]calabria, beaches, sea, ionian sea, badolato, badolato marina, boats, trees, fishing nets[/tags]
sunday scribblings: superstitions
Prompt #49: Superstitions
Superstitions–a topic close to my heart having grown up with an Italian-American grandmother and now living in southern Italy, where Roman Catholicism and mysticism live in surprising perfect harmony.
That phenomenon is worth a whole post, and indeed books have been written on the subject. Perhaps someday I’ll wax theoretical, but for today, let’s stick in the here and now, the daily implications of superstition in my life.
I’ve already written about my experiences with malocchio, The Evil Eye, perhaps the greatest superstition of all, especially since it crosses many cultures and religions. Some of my other favorite superstitions are things you should avoid doing lest you invite bad luck: placing a loaf of bread upside down, spilling wine, olive oil, or salt, dropping scissors.
Another of my favorites is that a pregnant woman’s cravings should always be satisfied or else the baby will be born with a birthmark in the form of the desired food or the child will be generally disfigured. You scoff?
I inherited a birthmark that my father has because my pregnant grandmother expressed her craving for chicken while scratching her legs. Yes, we both have chicken-shaped birthmarks on our calves (although I prefer to think it looks more like a heart). Someday I may show you, but sorry, today’s not the day.
All of my pregnant readers are more than welcome to quote me on this topic, by the way.
But my freakiest experience with southern Italian superstition happened about a year ago when P’s mom rushed into the house with tears in her eyes, begging me to go and retrieve some of her jewelry she had given me a few months before.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I had a dream.” I’m pretty sure she thought that would be enough information, but, you know, I’m American, so I ask questions.
“About the jewelry?” I was still not making a move for the steps to get the jewelry, so she gently guided me with her hands.
“No, about you and my son, and….” She sat down, started rocking back and forth, made repeated, furious signs of the cross, and began mumbling what I assume were prayers.
“What happened in the dream?” I stepped down two steps and stopped.
“I didn’t sleep all night,” she said, and continued saying prayers and crying. I didn’t see the conversation going any further, so I didn’t push it. I assumed that P and I had been dead in the dream–because if we had just broken up in the dream, that wouldn’t have been so upsetting? Right? Hard to tell. I went to get the jewelry.
“This is everything?” she asked as I handed her a few little boxes that contained earrings and a necklace I rather liked–it had a tiny ladybug charm, which, ironically, I always thought meant good luck.
“Yes, that’s everything. Do you want something to…”
“OK, I have to go,” she said abruptly and left, still saying prayers and still crying, but most importantly clutching the jewelry.
So I was left in the wake of this early morning encounter to consider not only my own and P’s mortality, but also what the jewelry had to do with any of it. Through various research including thinking back to my own grandmother but *not* including asking P’s mom, because this is a subject not to be discussed, I think maybe I’ve figured it out.
Among southern Italians, it’s a common practice that when one prays to a particular saint or the Virgin Mary for a request, one often promises something in return–many times it is a piece of jewelry to be pinned to the clothes of a statue.
I’m wondering if perhaps P’s mom had promised my pieces of jewelry somewhere along the way for some request, and then saw something bad happening in her dream because she gave them to me instead. Or perhaps she had simply promised away that jewelry in lieu of P and I staying alive and/or together. Or maybe she had seen something in the dream about the jewelry somehow causing trouble.
Like I said, I haven’t asked, because, truth be told, I don’t actually want to know the whole story. I’m definitely superstitious, and I believe in messages coming through dreams, so this was one time I was more than happy to live in blissful ignorance.
In fact, I didn’t even tell my own mom about this until I figured P and I were in the clear. Like birthmarks, superstitions seem to run in the family.
sharing a wonderful discovery
In honor of the Ultimate Blog Party, I’m going to direct you to one of my newest favorite blogs, The Life of Riley.
Now before you mistake “Riley” for one Mr. Bill O’Reilly (and me for a right-winger), let me show you a picture of the blog’s author:
Meet Olive Riley, a 107-year-old Aussie who has been graciously sharing her life and memories with the blogosphere since mid-February. Her friend does the typing for her “blob” as she has called it, and what comes out is nothing short of brilliant.
This is the beginning of Olive’s first post:
Good Morning everyone. My name is Olive Riley. I live in Australia near Sydney. I was born in Broken Hill on Oct. 20th 1899. Broken Hill is a mining town, far away in the centre of Australia. My Friend, Mike, has arranged this blog for me. He is doing the typing and I am telling the stories. He thinks it’s a good idea to tell what’s going on. He already made a film about me a few years back and people liked that, so they might like this blog too, he says. We’ll see.
What we’re seeing is that Mike was right. By its Third Post, The Life of Riley had amassed over 190,000 visits from all over the world.
With photos and stories from the last 100 years and topics ranging from Olive’s sipping shandy on a trip to Brisbane to see her son to her campaigning for a local “lettuces”-grower being kicked off his land to how she ended up with the same set of teeth since 1930, how could we do anything but read, read, and read (and want!) some more?
Olive’s blog is beautiful and inspiring, and if you don’ t contract a severe case of warm fuzzies from seeing how much she enjoys life, well, I doubt you’re human. It would be wonderful if more of our elders follow Olive’s lead and record their thoughts on this international forum; too much oral history has already been lost.
And especially during a time of war, we could all use a course in real human history.
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[tags]olive riley, world’s oldest blogger[/tags]
you’re invited to the ultimate blog party!
It’s finally here, the beginning of the Ultimate Blog Party, and everyone’s invited!
Now get thee to 5 Minutes for Mom to find out how you can show off your moves, mingle with other bloggers, discover new online friends, and even win prizes!
So, part of the deal is that I’m supposed to introduce myself to all the fellow party-cipants (hah!). As you can see over there on my “about me” section, I’m an American expat writer living in southern Italy. Bor-ing, I know. We expat bloggers are a dime a dozzina these days.
But there are also 100 things, another 100 things, and a “me, not me” photo meme to learn more about me too–those could keep you busy for a while.
Nothing interesting there either?
Hmm…well, just the other day, I was tagged by lovely Loulou (my first tag!) to list 5 Things No One Knows About Me. One might think that since I have previously written 200 things, posted a bunch of pictures, *and* done a 6 Weird Things About Me meme, I’d have nothing left to share.
Well, to paraphrase Bugs Bunny, “One don’t know me very well, do he?”
1. I love corn on the cob (or as my niece and nephew call it “corn on the dog”), but I didn’t eat it for about 15 years from the ages of 10 to 25 or so. Why? Because when I was 10, my mom and I were eating at Long John Silver’s. Come on, you know you loved that batter-dipped stuff too.
Anyway, I had a loose tooth and wasn’t really into eating anything, but particularly those little butter-smothered corn on the cobs. But my mom made me. And my tooth came out right in between two kernels on the cob. *Big* but (I believe) completely understandable aversion to corn on the cob ensued.
2. I have never had anything professionally waxed–eyebrows, bikini line, car. Nothing. Well, paper, but that doesn’t count, because it already comes that way. What about candles? Crayons? OK, you get my point.
3. I was placed on a diet by overanxious doctors when I was about 9 months old. I wasn’t allowed milk or formula, only juice. I’m convinced this is why I’m short, have weak teeth, and lifelong weight issues. And probably why I never wanted to be a doctor.
4. Speaking of weight issues, I don’t own a scale and have no intention of ever owning one. Even though I’ve recently lost weight, and I’d love to know how much, I’ll just wait until I go to the doctor. I can’t imagine that it would be a good thing to know my weight down to the kilo every day, which is exactly what I would do if I had a scale. I’m like that, and I know it, so it’s best to avoid the whole temptation.
5. Until I was about 16 years old, I was convinced that it was the LAW that one could not drink soda before noon. This was my mom’s rule, and the funny thing is that my mom is the polar opposite of a disciplinarian–this may have been her only rule come to think of it. Anyway, I really took it to heart, and to this day obey the LAW OF NO SODA BEFORE NOON.
So, regular and new readers alike, I hope you’ll stick around, let me know you’ve stopped by, and then party on back to The Ultimate Blog Party for some more fun!
Blog party on!
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[tags]ultimate blog party[/tags]
love thursday: the couple that gets water together
P’s parents have been married for nearly 50 years and have 7 children; P is the youngest. I haven’t asked how they got together, but judging from the time period, it’s possible that it was somewhat arranged, that is, at least encouraged by their respective families.
Maybe because this is a Love Thursday post, you’re waiting for a “and they’re still in love after all these years” revelation. Truth be told, I imagine they are at least in some way, but they certainly aren’t lovey dovey. In fact, they are an awfully stoic couple, not touchy feely at all–I know, you’re wondering if they’re really Italian, but this is actually quite common in the older generations down here from what I’ve seen.
They came of age during World War II, when there was never enough of anything to go around. But they made do, and they still make do. They never had a lot of material stuff, extra time to offer up for each and every child, time to just relax and have fun–they were busy working and providing the basics, which included raising nearly all of their food from start to finish.
Sometimes it’s easy for those of us who didn’t grow up in this culture to judge a particular style of parenting and/or living from the outside looking in. But when I look deeper and try to understand the “whys” along with the behavior, I see that P’s parents are, indeed, extremely loving people. Instead of giving “things,” hugs, and kisses, they are of the school that says you show your love by doing nice things for others, things that make their lives easier.
And they most certainly do a lot for us. A list would be tedious, but I did happen to catch a photo of them doing something for P and me the other day.
Getting water from a mountain spring (try to imgaine there’s no graffiti).
Not too long ago, this spring was closed because of a lack of water (no rain!), but since it’s reopened, P’s mom in particular is ecstatic. Although there’s a truck that comes around with mountain water for about 10 cents a container (you bring the empties, and the driver refills while you wait), P’s mom likes the taste of this spring water better.
I can’t say that I taste a difference, but in any event, we are never thirsty, and we are grateful.
Happy Love Thursday everyone!
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[tags]mountain water, love thursday, couples[/tags]
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.
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