We live in a Catholic country and are not Catholic. We live in a country greatly impacted by and angry about illegal immigration; we have California roots and embrace diversity. We are welcomed into the homes of family members who are really strangers.
I always thought Carnival was reserved for Rio and New Orleans--with wild, outlandish costumes and behavior to match. I was surprised to discover a Carnival celebration in the centro storico of every village, burg, town, city in Italy--and they range from parades to parties to feasts with costumes and floats and lots and lots of food! The feste generated by the Catholic Church are many and varied--a Saint's Day or holy season--there's an excuse for a party or a day off or a celebration every other week! Do you know there's a festa the day after Easter called Pasquetta? yep, people take the day off (not so much any more) and go out to the country and have a picnic and enjoy the fine weather.
The feste, of course, are not limited to religious celebrations. Gary and I went out for pizza on March 8 and found the pizzeria filled with women, only women, at long tables having a great time. There were the matriarchs, the Italian mamas, the working women, the young girls, all enjoying pizza and each other. I assumed (you know what that makes me) this was related to Carnival because it was the day before Lent began; but nooooooo, it was Festa delle Donne, Festival of the Women, a national day celebrating the emancipation of women. Who knew??? The women knew.
And then there was the March 17th celebration the Unification of Italy, 150 years. It was a festa day---4th of July on St. Patrick's Day---so it was an imposed day off for the laborers, they didn't get paid and were not very happy. But the celebration was on, then off, then on, then off again, then, finally on....the country was to celebrate with--hot dogs and corn-on-the-cob?--speeches and food. The North didn't participate because they are mad at the state, the rest of the country sporadically participated. Mostly, it was a day off.
Life in Italy whirls around us; everybody knows when there's a Saint's Day or a National festa, except us. We always find out by accident...we're living in a vacuum of ignorance. So we read every sign we see and scour the public announcements so as not to be taken unaware....
Lampedusa is the center of the news here in Italy. All the refugees from Tunisia are fleeing to Italy; once they get to Lampedusa, there is no water or food or sanitation, and the Senate is trying to pass a law that will outlaw their entrance into the country; a military, mandatory evacuation of 1500 refugees occured last week. There is also a proposition on the floor of the Italian Senate to pay refugees to return to their homelands...of course, what's to stop them from returning and collecting more money to return home???
The Italians are angry. They love their country and the life they've forged. They don't want desperate illegals using their resources and abusing their land. There is not enough work for the children of Italy; college graduates have to leave the country to find work--I have two cousins who fit into this category--why should native sons and daughters lose work to refugees??? The face of Italy is changing with the face of the world; the people I've spoken to are outraged and feeling helpless.
This is counter-intuitive to what we in America, and California specifically, have always believed--that the richness of many cultures enriches the one, larger culture. Different traditions, food, interactions, languages, philosophies, religions feed the larger community--or so we believe.
Political life in Italy--from dealing with the refugees to dealing with Berlusconi--whirls around us with passion and intensity. We watch, we listen, we try to understand.
Ahhh, family...an amazing phenomenon in this country. My cousins, many whom I've not seen in years, open their homes and hearts to us. Others we see once a year, and yet, that tie is iron-strong...we talk of my mom and my siblings and the nephews and nieces, their kids and work and homes---but in the middle of it all, I stop and realize these people, who I really don't know at all, share my grandfather. We're family. My Zio Gino is Cousin Rita's father--we're connected by an invisible bond. We're family, but we're strangers. Compounded by a language barrier, we deal with the superficial, but if we're fortunate, we delve beneath the surface and touch each other's essences. We're family, but we're strangers. They don't know what I read or how I think, I don't know their politics or religious bent. But we're family.
The familial bond is a sacred trust in this country. Family above all. The sacrifices and generosity related to family abound---the spirit of family whirls around us as we accept their love and kindness and try to reciprocate.
Much of our life here is spent watching and listening and learning...Italian life is vital and vivacious and generous and chaotic, but it is ever-moving about us. We sit quietly (sort of) and absorb what we can, for soon, we will move out of the eye of the storm and into the tumultousness of this Italian life.
