Zio Americano

In this part of Sicily — I don’t know; perhaps in Italy in general — there is an expression when a rich man (who doesn’t necessarily need to be rich, but spoils with attention and/or gifts) takes you under his wing: Zio Americano, the American Uncle. After today, that’s what Elena (and now everyone here) began calling Joe. He spent the whole day playing with the kids. We guessed he burned 15,000-20,000 calories today, between table tennis, tennis, volleyball, trampoline jumping, and swimming. I feel as if I’m forgetting one or two things.

“Joef-fef! Swing with me! Come heee-eer!”

“Et-tor-e! I’m eating breakfast! But soon!”

From that point, he went to play tennis with Rachele while Ettore and I hit the trail for the treehouse again. Elena, Mariella, and Matteo went to the doctor for Matteo’s check-up, so there was a brief rest time for Joe while Ettore and I played. I am starting to introduce the concept of astronauts to him, although I feel he probably knows about them already. I need pictures to get the conversation going. We hung out inside on this nearly 100°F day, and spent a little time watching cartoons. What a great way to study Italian and English! The language is kid-sized, they speak slowly and repeat often, and there are Italian sub-titles. While Ettore and I were inside, we watched Joe and Rachi playing paddle ball outside the window.

Ettore pitched a toddler fit sometime between all that and lunch, because he wanted a candy instead of his panino. Elena said, you choose: you can eat your panino and have a candy afterward, or you can go in the corner and scream and cry, but it must be silent, like this (arms waving, mute mouth contortions, eyes scrunched). Eventually, he ate the panino—and forgot about the candy!

Rachi playing paddle ball outside.

Joe and I both took a swim. I caught Agnese making a video of my dive. I will need to swipe her phone later, as she is YouTube proficient.

Spot the Pingatore.

After our lunch of linguine with tomatoes and pistachios, we decided to go to the house in Biancavilla to get a few things, then stop at the store for a couple of random items.

Entering the apartment, it became evident that pigeons had a wild party inside while we were gone. I have no idea how. The windows were open a crack, and I mean a crack. That would take some pigeon morphing. Perhaps the tight squeeze was like using a mustard bottle, since their insides were now all over our inside! We will need to run errands tomorrow. Today was a sweaty scrub-down of the apartment for one of us.

We promised Rachi we’d be back around 4:00, to walk to the Casa delle Fate; the abandoned house they call the Faerie House. But, it didn’t happen. We were to go with Alessandro, but he had a sad day in his Deacon role, dealing with an incredibly awful tragedy; he just wanted to chill when he returned. We will go there another time.

There were more sports, more kid time, and Mariella giving me a lesson on making the perfect Moka. Hers is always perfect. She has a little trick—add about 1/8 demitasse spoonful of espresso to the water before assembling the filter and adding the espresso to the chamber (8 heaping demitasse spoons). She demonstrated this in ‘our’ kitchen, while intermittently playing soccer and volleyball with grandkids who wandered in to the sala.

Volleyball (chalk lines for net, court

Soccer

Trampoline

Coffee lesson

Incidentally, the word ‘salary’ comes from the Italian word for salt, sale. Being more precious than gold in Ancient Rome, payments were made in salt. Vincenzo, who was missing yesterday and today due to some extensive hospital health exams, filled us in on the historical etymology a few days ago. I gave you only the Cliff’s Notes version.

Visitors arrived; friends of Elena and Giuseppe who we’ve met before; Vincenzo, Alessandra, and 4-year-old Gaia. We had a good time talking with them while dinner was served. Tonight, chicken legs cooked in wine with sage and rosemary, roasted potatoes, fresh rustic bread, and a platter of mozzarella and another of assorted salume.

There was one chicken leg left, and Elena said I must go “sell” it to friend Vincenzo. I went out and said my boss says you have to eat this, or I’ll be fired. He politely said no. Returning to the kitchen, Elena said (with friendly sarcasm), “Really good job, Karen”. I said I couldn’t force it on him! So Elena went full gangsta on me, index/pinkie fingers pointed, knees bent, saying, “You had to do like this— Yo, Motherf#€£*r! Eat that chicken leg!” I said, he doesn’t speak English, and I don’t know the Italian word for Motherf#€£*r. So she yelled it at me, but at that moment, Mariella entered the kitchen and asked what the heck was happening. I didn’t catch the word—but don’t think I’ll need it!

Bar has an orange engraved on it in honor of one of the family’s businesses

Better Trinacria pool photo than yesterday’s 

Rock chalk

Off to sleep after a very active and sweaty day.