Memorial Day
As today is Memorial Day, and Elena works for a US company, she had the day off. I went to her apartment, where she was finishing getting ready. But as always, first a "Karen, you want a caffe? Did you sleep well? Did you eat breakfast?" No, yes, yes, thank you.
As I waited, I had a call from John. Being a slight bit sleepy yet, I hadn't done the math. "You're at work?" I asked. "Mom! It's 2:00 am here!" Ahhh duhhhh. Good Lord; I'm turning into my mother. John had just arrived home from Peru (PAYru here), and found an all-night grocery to pick up something to eat before he went to sleep, and used the time to call me.
Together with Mariella and, at first, the boys, we all piled into the Cleo. Elena brought the boys into the school (Matteo, now constantly stopping to stick out his hand, wave, smile, and say "Ciao," be it in the middle of the street or not) as Mariella and I waited until she returned. Elena is taking over the driving until the brigand gets her renewed license, exclusive of a few sneaks behind the wheel on Mariella's part. Although, Elena, as we rode along the main route to Centro Sicilia, muttered, "I THINK I was going the correct speed. I just saw a camera." We are still trying to find out how much Joe's fine was for such a transgression. Vincenzo had paid it, and my guess is, it was steep.
We made a whirlwind shopping trip, and I spent too much, but everything is timeless and lovely, and full of color. I remember Joe saying how he loves color -- from choosing intense blooms for the window planters in our old house, to picking out earrings for me for my birthday, he's said, "I just love color; that's all". Anyway; I made a haul and love it all. Geez I haven't even been here a week!
As we drove, I remembered that a woman in an online Sicily group had randomly asked if anyone was from Biancavilla. When I told Elena that, her eyes became a Precious Moments doll's. "Biancavilla? Someone has heard of it?!" It turns out, this woman wants to put a vase with flowers on her grandpa's grave (the woman and I share many other strange connections, with families' voyage stories, and relatives in DC area), and can't get ahold of anyone in charge at the cemetery. Both Elena and Mariella waved their hands over their shoulders at that one, as if to say, of course she couldn't. They gave me the criteria; there's a certain protocol to follow and, because it's Sicily, there's a backup plan. So I'll do some investigating tomorrow. I feel there's a reason I saw this woman's random post, and that I happen to be in Biancavilla. I will do what I can.
Back home, we couldn't get into the garage. Elena had said the light is out, which I later understood to mean the power is out. So I spent a lot of data today as well. But at least I could leave mom a message (she didn't answer), call Lori and Doug, and talk to Joe. I'll just have to watch it for the next few days.
Joe asked what I did today, and I said, so far, just shopping! But, because you love color, I bought many colorful articles of clothing for you to see me in! (This is my own €€$$ being spent... cough, cough... charged; not his). "Nice to know I like color; I hadn't realized that. Thanks for telling me what I like," he said. Naturally, as his loving wife of not even a year, my heartfelt response, which stayed in my head, had some expletive deletives, ended with the endearing phrase "...asshole". But that stayed and is still nearly visible in the air bubble above my head! Good thing I have my Dining Club dinners to wear these things to; I'll reserve the black white gray and occasionally navy for home. I do love him, and he puts up with so much worse from me. But now I have what's a very unusual (for me) closet palette.
I wanted to get something for Alessandro and Maria Teresa, who often generously host the family, as they did last night. And of course, a thank you for Vincenzo and Mariella, for a beautiful weekend. I remembered that a sweet enoteca opened just last April on viale dei Fiore, and, being closer to the apartment than Deco, I changed into my new skirt and a black top (easing into this color thing gently), grabbed a sturdy reusable bag to tote heavy wine bottles, and headed there on foot. It was that time of day when older gentlemen sit outside, whether at home or with friends for an appertivo, and I got many a buonasera, a smile, and a nod as I walked by.
The small enoteca was full of people (it's a small shop, so full means 6 customers, 2 owners, and a clerk) in a cluster, so I asked the clerk if a private event was happening and the store was closed? She said no, they're open, how can she help? I explained wanting some gifts, settling on a slightly overpriced and already spendy Ben Rye, and a superb Firriato red. They're a family-owned shop, and I didn't have to walk an extra mile to Deco, plus they gift boxed and wrapped the wines for me, so I came out ahead. One of the owners (wife) recognized me from last year, as Joe and I were some of their first customers. They're exceptionally sweet, to the point of hiding their laughter when I asked which type of eggs the red wine was made of. Eggs and grape sound a lot alike in Italian. I knew my error before the word was finished, so we all laughed together. They gave me the pretty packages, and handed me some delicious torrone as a little thank you, which I crudely ate like a Barbarian -- publicly-- while walking down the street. But, yummm.
On the way back, I stopped at the ortofrutta between the salumeria truck and the panino truck, near the park. They too, recognized me; where have I been?! I asked for one tortorella, and one bietola rossa, and got celery, parsley, two tortorelle, zucchine, four bietole rosse, and some sprigs of wild fennel fronds. "Un regalo," she said to my surprised face. A gift.
Back home, I stopped in to Mariella's to drop off the wine gift, and ask if the boys wanted to play. Ettore looked "KO'd," and said as much. He started Tae Kwon Do after school today. "Vabbè," I answered, and said I'd be upstairs if he changed his mind.
I started preparing my supper early, when suddenly, Ettore and Agnese came in. They had to have had several chilo of sugar ten minutes prior. Ettore had more vinegar in him than his kid frame could hold! Nannies, teachers, young mom's, old moms--anyone? All of my hat tricks have failed! Ettore, challenging velocity and gravity, was strewing things everywhere, including his favorite toy rabbit, which he swung upward so hard, it landed on a ceiling crossbeam.
"Bravo! Now you have time to clear the floor of all these things while your rabbit watches. I will then bring him back to your arms!" I didn't insist he clear the smashed potato chips or spilled juice. I'm cool that way. Honestly; not an excuse, but rather, a reason--this kid has so much going on upstairs, it's frightening. He remembers everything, from when I met him before he was two, to how my basement in Minnesota is laid out. Where Rachi is quite intelligent, athletically gifted, beautiful and charming, and Agnese is wicked smart, clever, sassy, and cute as a button, Ettore could, I believe, better explain rocket science to a rocket scientist. Not that I'm biased. But, as I've said before, and paraphrasing my own kids' pediatrician: It's harder to raise the smart ones. Anyway, Agnese started to pull a chair over. No, I wagged my finger. I'll get it, but the lesson here is to first take care of one's own mess. Ettore ran off, and I followed, expecting more destruction from him. I came back to the rabbit scene to find a pile of pillows on the chair and the rabbit on the floor. Thank goodness Agnese didn't fall and crack her head open. I don't have time to mop!
This was aside from scrunching Ettore into a "caterpillar" tube and bonking him on the head with a thankfully hollow plastic bowling pin. I mean; I heard the crack. Again... help?
Miriam, an 8 year old somehow related to Elena through Nonna's side, came up to get the boys (Matteo had joined in up here) and Agnese. I said I'd help walk them down. Matteo did the classic arms-up-carry-me, to which I happily obliged. Mariella was at the door, and beckoned me in. Giovanna, Elena, and Nonno were in the dining room, chatting. I leapt into the conversation. Soon, Mariella's (and my) friend Fina arrived. She's always delightful, and speaks very clearly and deliberately for my sake. At one point, Giovanna pointed to me, then to her ample stomach and thighs, and asked what she could donate to me from there. " Your boobs!" I replied, wiping my hands down my flat chest. She nearly had a heart attack, laughing, and pointing to Fina, whose breasts enter the room long before she does! We were contagious with each other's laughter. Through all this, Mariella decided I need more food, and sent half a loaf of fresh Biancavillan bread up with me.
So my early bedtime is now me, at 11:25, writing this while I still have dishes to do and a few things to prepare for tomorrow. But the floor is swept, and the cushions and pillows are back in place; my supper was delicious (including the bread), and my stomach is full.
A darn good Memorial Day, overall. I hope you who observe and honor it had a good one, or at the very least, enjoyed a grilled burger or a free parking meter.
Comments
Post a Comment