Archive for the ‘life in calabria’ Category
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.
most popular dog in town
In a recent photo meme about what’s me/not me, I included a picture of a dog wearing a pink, ruffled hoodie. For those who weren’t paying attention or have never met me, that’s really not me.
I also wrote that my doggie Luna thanks me everyday for this. Well this was no truer than the past few weeks because our little princess was in heat. And she didn’t need any help attracting more perverse pooches.
Probably going to get some interesting search engine hits on that one, but let’s move on.
For those of you who don’t know the secrets behind dog mating rituals (and may I ask what you’ve been doing with your life?), a girl dog goes through menstruation just like girl, uh, humans, even shedding a small amount of blood. Since bitches (I can totally say that as that’s what they are) only go into heat about once every six months, their window is somewhat wider than ours. Stop chuckling–this is serious. The entire thing can last up to three weeks, although a female dog will only be fertile for a few days in the middle of that.
You’re welcome, by the way, for the lesson on dog periods. Feel free to send donations to keep this information, uh, flowing.
So, as Luna is not spayed (keeping our options open), for us, this means a good three weeks of fighting off all of the male dogs courting one of only three bitches in the town–three females and at least 10 males, all of which run free although technically “owned” by someone or another.
P joked that this is very similar to the ratio of women to men around here, and he’s not wrong. No comment on the parallels of running free and courting though.
What does the doggie love dance entail? Mostly leaving their marks (yes, *those* marks) on our doors, steps, general living area. Lovely. I go through a lot of disinfectant in those weeks if you’re wondering, although I still refuse to use the big pink jugs of alcohol. Fellow Italy expats, I know you know what I’m talking about. That stuff smells too nasty even in the open air. Even bleach is better, and we all know that bleach can kill you.
But that’s not the true trouble with Luna’s time of the year. The real issue is that all the male dogs sit and wait outside the house for anyone, Luna or not, to exit. Occasionally there’s a fight amongst them, but for the most part, they just take a vacation from their normal, stressful lives, and camp out here, transforming a charming medieval house into the Hotel Horny Hound.
If we haven’t run into them in the village, the other owners call us to make sure their pets are still alive. Why they can’t come here, retrieve them, and keep them at home is beyond me. Oh, it’d be because no one lets dogs in their houses here. I know. It infuriates me too. Most of them do have little doghouses outside at least, but still….
And what do the dogs do when we leave the house? Well, if Luna is with us, they’re literally up her butt, all sniffy and stuff–but of course we don’t let them get too close. I like to keep her in front of me, so I can prevent any attacks from the rear. And truth be told, she doesn’t show much interest in most of them, although there are two that she’d probably get with if given half the chance. Which doesn’t happen. And won’t.
If Luna isn’t with us, or, more specifically, me? Easy! I become the doggie pied piper of the village with a bunch of male dogs following me wherever I go.
Grocery store? Right behind you!
Post office? Can I hold your bag while you wait?
Cappuccino? One sugar or two?
It gets old after about a minute and a half of the first day, and yet there’s so much more adventure to be had after that.
Here are three of the more determined suitors:
Meet Romano Prodi.
Not to be confused with the current Italian Prime Minister; this dog rolled into town right around election time, thus the name. Although quite loveable, he’s *far* too big for Luna, so he has no chance. Plus he’s tried to violate me many times over the past few weeks, and (n.b.) that’s never going to score you points with Mamma.
This dog’s name is Zuzù.
That right there rules him out in my opinion. He’s also needy, and that’s just annoying in a partner, canine or otherwise. Sorry Zuzù.
And here’s Bobby.
He and Zuzu are brothers, but Bobby’s got a temperament that just shouldn’t be replicated. Or, as my mom would so eloquently say, he’s nasty as cat shit.
He snaps at everyone, including children, but he loves me. If you think maybe Luna has something to do with that, you’re sniffing in the right neighborhood. Anyway, another one with no chance at the Balloopers, although he sure does give it the old college try.
Then there’s Scooby, Whiskey, Lucky (who won’t live up to his name as far as Luna is concerned), Tobacco, Tommy (just visiting), and two others that don’t really have names. Go ahead. Comment on Italian dog names–it’s worthy of a whole other post.
If I had my druthers, I’d go with Scooby, and I think Luna agrees. When Scooby lived closer to us, he used to come up to play with Luna. He’d cry outside and I’d let her out, prepare them some snacks, and beam with motherly love. Now that he’s further away, though, we have to go to the piazza for play dates.
Being a doggie mama is tough sometimes, I tell you. Especially when every boy dog around wants a piece of this:
And can you blame them really?
Oh, and FYI, despite the posizione porno, she’s still pure as the driven snow.
La Mamma di Luna has won another round.
Thank goodness I have another six months to gear up for the next one.
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[tags]dogs, dogs in heat, female dogs in heat[/tags]
rainbows sure are purty
Today’s weather is crazy!
When I prepared the last post, we were having all kinds of nasty weather. There have been high winds the entire time, but we’ve also gone from cloudy to foggy to rainy to sunny to hail-y back to the rain, sun, clouds, oh the whole gamut over and over again in cycles. Some thunder and lightning mixed in for fun.
Oh, and did I mention that rainbows are part of the cycle?
Here’s the first, faint rainbow:
And then about fifteen minutes later, this one:
And then another fifteen minutes later, this one:
We’re currently in a high winds and clouds state, but more rain/hail should be coming soon. P tells me this used to be what March was like around here–seems like we’ve skipped a month somewhere along the way….
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[tags]weather, rainbows, calabria, crazy weather[/tags]
What’s Cooking Wednesday: Cannellini Beans & Chicory
Welcome to another edition of What’s Cooking Wednesday!
Today’s dish is chicory and beans. And for those of you who don’t like beans, I apologize in advance. I’m also sorry for those who have never tried chicory, because it is divine. Note that we eat this as a somewhat light supper, so there’s never an accompanying meat or other vegetable for us.
Many people know that chicory has been used in place of coffee, so maybe that doesn’t exactly make it sound inviting as a vegetable. Oh, but it is. Especially the wild kind, which is harvested throughout the winter down here. Think escarole and endive, and you’re on your way to understanding how chicory can be used. So, on that note, if you don’t have chicory, you can substitute members of the chicory family.
Cannellini beans & chicory
I’m not going to lie to you, P’s mom usually does the dirty work here. I could if pressed, but to steer you on your way, I’ve found a good page that describes the process of soaking and cooking beans. Otherwise, just buy some cans of the beans ready to add to the chicory once it’s cooked — this works too.
For this recipe, you may have to play with measurements to your desired serving sizes and tastes. This recipe makes enough for three rather large portions.
- 2-3 cans of beans
- 2 bunches of chicory
- 6 tablespoons olive oil
- 6 cloves garlic
- 1 medium-sized peperoncino (hot pepper)
- Salt to taste
1. Clean the chicory, chop, and place in boiling, salted water. Let boil for about 5 minutes or until the stems are tender.
2. Remove with slotted spoon and set aside while you heat up olive oil (you need to be generous here, as this is mainly where the greens pick up flavor) on medium heat.
3. Add the garlic and peperoncino and after about two minutes, add the chicory and some salt. Stir well and let this cook for about 10-15 minutes, or until the oil has been mostly absorbed.
4. At this point, add the beans, mixing them in well with the chicory. Also add some more salt and also some water to cover everything. Let this mixture cook for another 15-20 minutes, and taste test for salt level as you may need to add more. I’m not a big salt eater, but this dish seems to require quite a bit to get the maximum flavor.
5. Serve the dish hot with fresh oil drizzled on top. Crusty Italian bread is a must.
Buon appetito!
love thursday: new experiences
Some of you know, although most of you don’t, that yesterday I was initiated into the Expats Club. Yes, I’ve been here over 3 years, but time has nothing to do with this membership. You see, in order to be a true Expat in any non-English speaking country, you must teach English.
And I’m finally in.
I’m working for a private language school, but my classes are at a local ; the students are high school age except for one who’s somewhere around my age. After Day 1, I am appreciating and loving new experiences.
The students are motivated, excited, and love to speak. I asked them to introduce themselves to one another, and they went ahead and had mostly correct conversations in English. I was just looking for “Nice to meet you.”
I have two classes, two hours each, back to back, twice a week. The first class has 4 students, and the second has just 2, so they’ll be sure to get a lot of attention. The school supplies all the materials *and* lesson plans, and from the pay they’re offering, I also won’t feel exploited, which is nice.
During the lessons, we’re the only ones in the building except for the cleaning crew. I’ve always loved schools when they’re empty, and I’m free to roam and explore. I hardly think it comes from a naughty “What can I do while others aren’t around?” vibe, as that’s so not me–more of a geeky “all these school supplies to play with” thing.
Of course, in Italian schools, Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is rather bare in that sense, I learned–can you even see the tiny bits of chalk in that picture above on the left?
I did find this, though, which, as far as I can guess, is either used to direct traffic, signal kids to be quiet, or, you know, “signal kids to be quiet”:
In my wandering, I also found one of those nifty coffee-making vending machines. I put in 2 euro because there were no prices listed but figured that should cover it, and then tried to get a cappuccino. Nothing. Caffè macchiato (espresso with a splash of milk)? Nothing. Espresso? Nope.
Finally I pressed some kind of chocolatey thing, which I was sincerely hoping was not the Ciobar-like delight I’ve praised in the past. Even though I love the rich, creamy mixture, I just wanted something to drink for caffeine’s sake.
My new friend delivered. Big time. And then gave me 1, 70 back. That was a 30 centissimi cup of heaven, my friends, and it wasn’t just one of those little espresso shot cups either. How many of those do you think I had during my 4 hours? If you guessed more than one, you’re catching on.
And then, in a move which (yet again) exposed me as a weird foreigner, while a normal person may have been pouring over the first day’s lesson plan, I was taking pictures.
I may be an English teacher, but don’t worry–I’m still a blogger first. I think you’ll see some big differences from those hospital photos I posted (thank goodness).
The atrium:
Some of the decor:
Part of the courtyard:
And finally, the view from the courtyard.
If you look on the left where the houses meet the sea, you can see a tiny bit of the beach:
Happy Love Thursday everyone!
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[tags] love thursday, soverato, calabria, ionian sea, schools, liceo, don bosco, teaching, ESL teaching, terra cotta jars, erasers, desks, courtyards, atria[/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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