ABCDEFU, Covid
A-B-C-D-E, F-U
And your mom and your sister and your job
And your broke-a$$ car and that sh*t you call art
F*** you and your friends that I'll never see again
Everybody but your dog, you can all f*** off
[Song by Gayle]
When we drove to the sea last weekend, Alessandro and family had this song playing in the car. The tune is in my head today.
In the wee hours of the morning, Elena was in tears, Ettore was still awake, and I saw Giuseppe G pulling the car around and Elena bringing out Matteo. The baby’s temp had spiked to 104°F, and he was convulsing. Alessandro had Ettore in the swing, I ran to him and got that information as Elena and family headed to the hospital. Conclusion: Baby Matteo and Elena have Covid.
Today is a day of keeping Ettore content and entertained, as he misses his mom.
We played and had happy diversions all day. Pasta convento and salad were our quickly prepared lunch. Ironically similar to Pasta puttanesca (pasta, prostitute style), which is made from ingredients already in the cupboard and is quickly ready to eat after a long night of work, Pasta convento uses what is already in the fridge (and cupboard). It’s name means being content with what passes for a convent meal; a little of yesterday’s leftover cooked pasta, some ragù, tinned tuna, or any of the riches from right off our land. Simple but good. I guess I cook a lot of pasta convento back home!
We swam and dried off, heading then to Biancavilla to run errands, wash a few things, stop to have a drink together (just the two of us), and buy Matteo’s baptismal gift. We heard, “Eh! Minn-e-so-ta!” —Giuseppe G greeted us on the street as we were leaving, and Giovanna called down and blew kisses from her balcony.
The woman who waited on us at Caffe Cristal remembered we were from Minnesota (we saw her only once before, in early January), and that I bought a pastry to eat the next morning (a soft Sicilian version of sfogliatelle)!
Joe covered the bill while I went next door to the surprisingly always crowded Valentina Gioelli, a fashionable jewelry store. I patiently waited my turn, and a handsome man helped me choose an attractive silver baby’s bracelet with a blue and gold charm; Matteo’s name will be engraved on the small flat medallion. Signor Bello, the man helping me, quizzically asked if I’m here on vacation (Biancavilla isn’t a touristic hot spot)? I gave him our explanation spiel, and he said, your Italian is very very good. I swear someone trains every associate in any business to say that here. But, our conversation caught the attention of part of store’s throng, including a woman who was eyeing the Christmas gift I bought for my daughter. She struck up a conversation with me, and others joined in. I really don’t know to what kind of vibe to compare this back home. It’s kind of wonderful and chaotic, all at the same time.
We arrived at the vigna, and Ettore greeted me. A large box was delivered—a billiardino (foosball table)! Maria Teresa, Alessandro, and Joe dug into assembling it. Teresa wielded the drill and seemed to be in command. They worked on this while Ettore, Agnese, and I went to the play area under the treehouse.
Mariella called us to supper; again, simple, since the household is topsy turvy. Elena waved and spoke to us from her second-story window, like a princess locked in a tower. The poor dear has had a rough run of things for a couple of months. She handles it well, and is always patient, kind, and grateful.
We had really good grilled burgers—again; how does Maria Teresa pack away two of them and stay so thin? Alessandro tapped on the side of her neck, stating, “tiroide” (thyroid). Salad, roasted vegetables, and hamburger accoutrements filled the table and our tummies.
Ettore was in a good mood tonight. He laughed and smiled from across the table, came around and sat on my lap, then curled into me, putting his arms around my neck and chest, and breathing as if he were about to sleep. Teresa watched all this, sounding out a few “ohhhhh”s, and putting her hands to her heart. I wasn’t so sure Mariella was loving this moment; I couldn’t read her expression or mood. The second to the last thing I want to do is piss her off; the last thing I want to do is end Ettore’s comfort and attention when he needs it most. But, I understand any consternation. Here I am, just playing with Ettore all day; swimming and shopping, taking care of little else, while she’s worried for Elena and Matteo, adores Ettore’s attention to his Nonna, and she runs her butt off day and night for everyone. Hardly an equilibrio.
I tried to take over clean up, but there wasn’t that much to do, and Nonno was taking forever to eat his dinner.
The foosball-playing sounds begged attention. I learned that Teresa was quite a champ in her youth, playing foosball at the church rec room. She is fiercely competitive.
I coaxed Mariella to go watch, while I hung back in the kitchen for a while. Vincenzo soon jumped into the game. Agnese, to no one’s surprise, is also competitive. Rachi is good at playing, and keeps her sweet smile covering her sporty technique. Ettore threw in the ball from his post on the chair.
We hung out until far too late, bid our good nights, and retreated to our separate places to repose.
Sorry for the expletive deletives. But—it IS a catchy tune.
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