I CADUTI

I Caduti means The Fallen

Here in Italy every town, every village, every burg, every city has a monument to their caduti, honoring those lost in wars.  The monuments are in the center of town, well-landscaped, mostly well-cared for, and works of art.  I've been taking photos of these monuments for 7 months now, and I wanted to share some of them with you.

They are a patriotic gesture that honors these young people and their families;  they are a daily nudge to REMEMBER--War has a price and makes an idelible mark.

This is my paean to The Fallen of Italy.

SOPHIA, BERLUSCONI, and ME

Italians love women.  Italian men, especially, love women--all women.  The whole world loves Italian women.  I mean, when a country produces the likes of Sophia Loren and my mother...what's not to love?

                                              
         Sophia to the left,
                Mom to the right!!

And then there's Berlusconi, who really loves women---young women, women he puts into Parliament.  Hmmmmm, and a nation follows him?   So, do you think the men of Italy think if they vote for him they'll be able to live like him???  (Secondo me, Mr. B has set women's rights back decades.)

I read recently that men in Italy can retire at 60, but women have to wait until 65.  I also heard that in our local hospital, the male doctors are called Dottore, while female doctors are called Signora. 

Italian men rarely help with the housework--it is considered beneath them.  So if the wife is working outside the home, she is still expected to take care of the house, the laundry, the cooking, the kids.  (My cousins Stefano and David are exceptions here.)  I have another cousin who, living alone and divorced, took his shirts to Mama to be washed and ironed every week.

And then there is the mammone phenomenon...grown, unmarried men who still live with Mama.  This is a national phenomenon--our friend, Scott, told of a recent incident when he went into an empty store and the proprietor, rather than helping Scott, made a call, "Mama, che fai per pranzo oggi?"  Mama, what are you making for lunch today?  Food and Mama, both high priorities!

So, we're living in a country where la bella figura dominates public perceptions---how one looks and acts in public, the figure one cuts, the clothes one wears, the way one comports him/herself.  We're living in a country where women are admired and appreciated physically--all women of all ages and sizes.  We're living in a country where women are still expected to fulfill the traditional roles while holding down a job.  We're living in a country where women have to fight for rights and recognition outside of the house and bedroom....

My Challenge:  find a way to remain strong and independent and outspoken and untrodden-upon (I think I made up that word) while maintaining good relations with the locals.

Sometimes I want to shout and stomp my feet to make myself heard, but, Pat, not much bella figura goin' on there.  So I've had to find a way to maintain my ways of thinking and advance my agendas while maintaining la bella figura and avoiding the "ugly American" label.  Patience is the key--something of which I have very little--slowly, pleasantly moving forward.  And, my husband/partner, who likes to do laundry and dishes, goes a long way towards ameliorating my irritation. 

I offer coffee and croissants, make lists, and think really hard about how to approach the plumber or mason or painter; Gary and I clarify our goals.  Then Gary makes the calls (Italian men are much better man-to-man), describes the problems to them,  supervises the jobs, and delivers the money when all is said and done.  I offer coffee and croissants, smile, translate when necessary, and make sure everything is what we want.  I'm playin' the system...have I sold out?  Sometimes I think so, but, if I can get the work done, my ideas across, save money, and maintain good relations, everybody wins. 

It's hard work curbing my tongue.  I have to constantly remember the goal:  Access, understand, assimilate the culture...LATER, I can change it.

I wonder, did Sophia sell out?  She used her beauty, magnetism, and sexuality to catapult herself into international stardom.  Did my mother sell out??  She held onto her essential self her whole life---even when she sublimated herself to my dad, she never let her core dissipate.   Do Berlusconi's women sell out in order to attain power??  Or are they just smart??  Ummm, yeah.  So women, members of the "weaker sex," have been playing the system for eons--and winning. 

Italians love women.
Women are strong.
Therefore, Italians love strong women. 

I knew it all along!!!

@&)>>!!&%$#####

ARRRGH...I've spent HOURS, honestly, hours, trying to upload some photos on this program and FINALLY I've got something to show ya!! 

If you click on this link, you'll be taken to a slideshow of  DAILY LIFE --(that's the link!)

HINT:  you might want to change the time of each slide to 5 seconds.

WHERE IS HOME???

I am straddling two continents.  I have a house and friends and family and years and years of living well-rooted in Southern California; and I have a house and friends and family and years and years of short-term visits well-rooted in Italy.  Most of my communications are with friends in SoCal, my socializing is mostly here.  My banking and mortgage are in CA, my paycheck comes from across the world, my siblings and nieces and nephews are there, Gary's work is dependent upon the whim of the California Community College system, and yet.... 

When we speak of "home," we often have to clarify, "which home?"  In the dead of winter I was cold and lonely for social interactions; I longed for a yoga class at Total Woman; I wanted to eavesdrop on the table next to me at a restaurant--and understand every word!  No Contest--Home was California.  Then spring came, we worked on the house, revamped the garden, completed projects, made everything more comfortable and "pretty."  The competition was getting stronger.

Then we went away for 10 days--Rome, Provence to our friend, Lynne, back to Rome to visit family--and then back home...for the first time, when we got back, it was to home.  To my bed, to my kitchen, to my plants, to my bugs, to my electrical problems and odd plumbing...I was home.

In Provence, Lynne greeted us with open, all-encompassing arms.  It was affirming, warm, welcoming--unconditional.  Anne, Gail, Sandy, Jane--also at Lynne's--met us with a giant group hug and a glass of champagne!  And then...we were shown to our room, the new addition to the house, with a rock sign proclaiming "Chez Pat & Gary."

If you look carefully, you can see the rock above my head....
How welcoming is that??

Lynne gave us friendship and food and frivolity.  A home away from home...but where, exactly, is home?

Our new friend, Gabriella, asked us where our hearts were...for there, she said, is home.  Our other friend, Anne, said she thought home was where our "stuff" is...the things that define us, our books, our photos, our towels.  Feeling free to put my feet on the couch and strew my clothes about goes a long way to establishing my comfort level--another indicator of "being home."  And some sage said home is in the arms of your loved ones.  I gotta say, when I am emotionally vulnerable, there is no home, no safer haven, than my husband's arms.

I am already saddened by our imminent departure from Italy--although we're here another 10 weeks!--for our commitment to the place, the house, the people, the country, is strong.  And part of me can't help but feel when we leave, all the work--emotional and physical and mental--will be lost.  And in losing that, negate the last 8 months and lose a vital part of me.  

And yet...I am looking forward to having margaritas with Jamie and Karen, having dinner with dear, dear friends, hugging my nephews and nieces, sitting down with my brother, getting a massage with my sister-in-law, havin' a burger, eating Mexican and Thai food, barbequing, knowing the holidays, not thinking about verb conjugation before speaking!

I am firmly convinced we won't know where we belong until we go back to CA--Time....

So I continue to straddle two continents, continue to wonder where I belong, where my emotional ties are, what I want out of the next 20 years, how many challenges I want in my daily life.  Knowing, always, there are a pair of arms that can salve the wounds and bring me home.

INSPIRATIONS

I have had the opportunity to meet some stellar people who have touched my heart and rattled my brain...some are new acquaintances and some have been in my life for years.  This is my paean to you, all who touch my life....

We met Angela and Paul about two weeks ago; they had just pedalled down to Italy from Wales.  Yes, you read correctly, pedalled (the Brits call bicycling pedalling) from Wales...there were 2 ferry rides to be fair, but, mostly, they rode their bikes.  From Wales to France, south through France, into Italy, to us, and, OH YEAH, they rode their bikes over the Alps.  (If I could figure out a way to download a map, I'd trace their trip for ya!)  AND, they thought riding the Alps was easier than manipulating the hills here in Le Marche,  because, you see, the incline is more gentle, not as steep and fast as here.  They had a great time, riding about 40 miles/5 hours a day, stopping for lunch along the road, quitting for the day when tired, finding a hotel, and starting all over the next day.  They are delightful people with a fabulous story to tell and we were lucky enough to be a small part of that.  Gary was so inspired he bought us mountain bikes---they're still in the garage in pieces, but, I am sure, they will be put to good use.

Last week we went to the museum in the nearby town of Falerone, only to discover the museum is open only during July and August or by special appointment (!!).  Sooo, we explored the town with our friends, Dennis and Kathy, and came upon a small shop loaded with artwork.  The man loitering in the piazza behind us knows the artist and rang his doorbell...

Adelio Marini answered his door, enveloped us 4 strangers with warmth, explained he's been making art for 80 years, and apologized for the rooms stuffed with his canvases--he's run out of space.  He opened his shop, explaining his inspirations and techniques, like a kid in a giant toy box anxious to show off every toy--every drawer, every nook, every corner, filled with his work.  It was a study in passion and commitment and the creative process.  My soul was fed from this encounter.

Adelio Marini and one of his canvases....
www.rajzi.bme.hu/adeliomarini







I have a friend who has been diagnosed with a serious disease.  He suffered for several years before the actual diagnosis came in, but come it did.  I have watched him grapple with the disease, accept the impact on his life, and choose to LIVE.  He doesn't dwell on the pain or the potentially horrible effects, he involves himself in life-affirming things---laughter, music, food, friends, family---he doesn't care to spend time with negative people or in negative situations, he just wants to live, relishing the joy.  I have the privilege of sharing some of that joy with him.

Here in our small part of the world, I have the time to reflect on many things--my life, my husband, my priorities, my goals, my beliefs--but one overriding theme in my life is the people who populate it.  I choose to surround myself with people who are strong of character, who have beliefs they defend, who appreciate thinking and speaking well, who give freely, who are sensitive to others, who love to experience new things, who are passionate....how lucky am I??   

AS·SIM·I·LATE

After I made my appointment for my massage with Paola (yeah, baby!!), she cheerfully wished me, "Buon Pasqua!"  Happy Easter....hmmm, I can't remember the last time anyone wished me Happy Easter or Merry Christmas.   Yet Paola didn't think for a moment; didn't consider I may be Hindu or Buddhist or Atheist, she just wished me, "Buona Festa," because everyone celebrates Easter and Pasquetta (Easter Monday).  It's part and parcel of the Italian culture.

Which led me to one of my favorite plays, A Raisin in the Sun, when Beneatha flaunts society's norms and stops straightening her hair in deference to her African heritage, citing "anti-assimilationist beliefs!"

Which led me to the dictionary:
AS·SIM·I·LATE
–verb (used with object)

1.  to take in and incorporate as one's own; absorb: He assimilated many new experiences on his European trip.

2.  to bring into conformity with the customs, attitudes, etc., of a group, nation, or the like; adapt or adjust: to assimilate the new immigrants.   (dictionary.com)

Which led me to my mother who lived in the US for over 50 years and assimilated quite nicely, thank you very much.  She assimilated so well that we, my brother and sister and I, lost some of our Italian heritage because she didn't talk about it.  Was she reticent because her new culture was our dominant culture?  Was she reticent because talking about the past wouldn't change the present or influence the future?   For example, my mother talked frequently about my being born on Easter Monday...in America, Easter Monday is the day after Easter and we all go back to work.  In Italy, it's a holiday.  She never told me it was a holiday, a celebration of family and friends--or if she did, it is gone from my head.  Christmas Eve, here in Italy, is the big Christmas celebration.  A huge, multi-course fish dinner is prepared, and families play games and eat until dawn--everyone celebrates that way.  In America, each family has a different tradition, but the fish dinner and games isn't usually one of them.  I didn't know....soooo, was Mom reticent to share her culture because it would make her less American?  Were we so uninterested (as children are wont to do) that she didn't want to impose her culture on us?  Is this assimilation?

Which led me to our situation here.  We work very hard not to stick out; we don't want to call attention to ourselves as Americans, even though we are obviously not Italian (once we open our mouths).  My friend, Bill, asked me, "Will you ever not be outsiders?"  No, we will always be outsiders, to a lesser degree the longer we're here, but we will never be mistaken for Italians.  But in our quest for "Italian-ness," we try to absorb the culture, understand the belief systems, flow with the Italian concept of time--which is fluid--, value the history and the music and the local traditions, explore the habits and incorporate them, as much as possible, into our daily living.  (i.e. cappuccino and brioche for breakfast, lunch at 1, dinner at 8, no shopping  between 1 and 4 cuz the stores are closed.) Is that assimilation??

We have met several English couples who don't like Italian food, don't like the Italian people, can't stand the Italian bureaucracy, and won't learn Italian.  My reaction is, "go home!" If you don't like being here, why stay?  Go back to London or Manchester---why are you here at all???  Additionally, they tend to hang together, not make friends with the locals, creating an insidious, incestuous group.  (Obviously, not all English ex-pats are like this, but there are some....)  Is this assimilation?

Which led me to the immigration issues we experience in the States, and SoCal in particular.  My students in any given classroom easily reflected 10-15 different cultures, constantly grappling with acceptance in school--difficult at best--, and acquiescing to parental demands of maintaining the culture of their homeland.  This, in and of itself, creates a huge schism for these kids.  Mom and Dad say THIS is important, but the school culture and their peers say THAT is more important.  Most of them have beautifully integrated both of their cultures; they are able to satisfy Mom and Dad while making and keeping "American" friends.  Is this assimilation???

Which led me to: why do people immigrate and what is their responsibility once they do??  What responsibility does the dominant culture have to immigrants?  What motivates one to immigrate and what kind of expectations does he/she have??   There are as many answers as there are people. 

I, for one, believe if I choose to live in a country other than the one in which I was brought up, I have a responsibility to learn about that country, its people, its customs, but, mostly, it is incumbent upon me to respect the differences, embrace them.  All of this while maintaining my identity and ties to my native land.   We walk a complicated tightrope; I can only hope we reach the other side with our humanity in tact.  For me, this is assimilation. 

WHINING FROM PARADISE

We have designated the months of April and May as "project months!"  The weather has warmed up significantly (whew!) for us to proceed with painting and floor-boarding, gardening (see "Eva and Eddie" post), patching walls-inside and out, prepping the apartment for guests, tiling the front of the fireplace.

When I see the list this way, it looks manageable, even easy.  When I'm in the middle of it, I want to TEAR MY HAIR OUT!!!  Nothing is easy...I wanted to rehang some pictures in the loft upstairs--no big deal, right??  Wrong.  Our walls are 18" thick and made of plaster...to drive a nail, one needs a damn drill; once the hole has been drilled, the nail has to be fitted; then, hopefully, the nail will hold the picture.  So a project that I would do myself in 10 minutes in CA, took two of us two hours.  The pictures look great. 

I understand more clearly why Italians, once they decorate, NEVER change decor--their homes have the same color pallet and wall decorations for 30 years.

TILING:  we've lived with a gaping hole in our fireplace where the pellet stove was installed since December...time to revestimento or redress the front.  We went through our creative process, shopping for tile, creating a look--the fun stuff.  We found the glass tile we wanted at Leroy-Merlin, a chain store similar to Home Depot.  We assumed---ahhhh, silly, silly us---if one L-M had the tiles, the others would, too.  But, nooooooo.  There passed several futile days of visiting L-M all over Italy to match the tile we wanted (seriously)....we finally found it--online.  Again, thwarted....it's such a simple thing in CA, if one Home Depot has it, they all have it.  But, it was clearly explained to us that each store is individually franchised and they don't all have the same stuff---duh!.. 

The bigger problem is the front of the fireplace had to be made in such as way that the panels could be removed for cleaning the heater...okay, imagine the complexities of figuring weight-bearing, ease of removal, maintaining the integrity of the design....that consumed about 2 weeks to solve those problems.  The picture doesn't do it justice,  But...

this is the result...and we're very happy!

 And the apartment---has been ignored for five, yep, count 'em, five years, so there was a lot of work to do...repainting, repapering, fixing the plumbing and the electrical, changing out lighting fixtures, redressing it, and, oh yeah, a MAJOR cleaning....none of this terribly difficult, but it consumed 2 weeks of planning & shopping and 1 week of work.  and the results??

       

Isn't it adorable??? 

Life here is not easy...we can't pick up a phone and order tile, we can't easily put a nail in the wall, we are constantly fighting weeds and insects--we are in the country, after all!--, we are desperate to fully understand our neighbors, mail takes 7-10 days to arrive to or from the US, stores are closed from 1-4 daily and Sundays, the electricity could go out the next time it rains and stay out for days, we don't see the sun for days/weeks on end ... and the list goes on ad infinitum.  We are creatures of convenience, we've learned (and continue to learn) hard lessons about self-sufficiency and creative problem-solving.

BUT...we have a wonderful opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to pursue a dream.  When the whine rises in my throat, I tell myself, "shut up, savor the moment, embrace the experience"...but sometimes it just feels good to whine.

So, I have a glass of wine, look out over the terrace, and imagine Home Depot is closed on Sundays!