Halloween Prep
Ah. Sore throat abated upon wake up!
Joe and I had our coffee and breakfast at home, then had a plan to get pumpkins. We will take the car since, a) pumpkins are big and heavy; b) we will look stupid, walking in a small town, carrying pumpkins.
It seemed Option B was in order. The Cleo was gone, Mariella's car was gone, and Vincenzo wasn't home; his car was gone. Oh well. Off to an ortofrutta or Lidl, whichever pumpkin showed up first.
Yesterday, you could not swing a testa di mora vase without smashing a pumpkin. Today-- no sidewalk vendors, no pumpkins spilling onto the sidewalk from the ortofrutta, no 3-wheeled Ape Trucks hawking pumpkins. At Lidl, in fact, still no pumpkins -- except the ones labeled "Zucca Americana".
The usual Sicilian pumpkins are a beautiful beige-y orange; large, squat, and fat. The "American" pumpkins are, I guess, pumpkin orange, as we all know it. Here, they are about 1.5x the size of Minnesota pie pumpkins. We put two Zucca Americana in the cart, got some carrots to make noses, and looked for the equivalent of Dum Dum lollipops to make 'hair'. No luck. I perused an end cap of Halloween treats... and there was Mariella! She had been in the checkout, when she remembered she had to pick up a cake decoration for Elena, so held the line up until doing so.
We asked if she'd drive our pumpkins home, and she said yes. The checkout line was long; she had to wait. As our pumpkins were rung up, the cashier looked at me, wagged his fingers, and said Non si mangia. They're not edible. LOL.
Mariella was at Lidl with her Aunt Fina, the one who sews for Fendi and Louis Vuitton. We paid up, put our goods in the car, and agreed to a ride home via Fina's house. As we drove, I told Fina that the cashier was wrong; we eat these pumpkins, usually cooked with sugar and put into a pie. And the seeds are roasted and salted; eaten like sunflower seeds. She turned to Mariella, saying wow; she really speaks Italian! Mariella nodded, "Lei... sì".
After dropping off Fina, we started home, but were temporarily blocked by a van. "Volete ossi di morti?" Mariella asked us, somehow knowing this unmarked van had Day of the Dead cookies inside of it. She jumped out to buy some, but the vendor said, "È finisce. Vuoi pane?" It (the batch) is gone. Want some bread?
She shooed him along, and we drove home in the Cleo, Mariella explaining her car is in the shop getting a new pump. She said we should take the mini car, which we call The Clown Car. Mariella gave Joe a refresher driving lesson.
She then left us to prepare lunch. Alessandro saw us, asking if we have cars like this back home. Only on the golf course, I said!
Lunch was pappardelle with smoked salmon, a secondo of salmone and lemon, Nonno's olives, then fruit, and ossi di morti and grappa (for the guys) for dessert.
A long discussion of Plato's Republic started at the fruit course and continued through the grappa, until Mariella interjected, suggesting Elena could use my help setting up for the party.
Elena, embracing all things American, is throwing a Halloween party (Halloween doesn't have the fervor here as it does in the States) for around 14 people, most of whom are children. I was assigned to demonstrate American Halloween pumpkin carving.
We scurried around, getting her house in order (it's Andrea's day off), setting up the table, putting up decorations, etc. Giovanna stopped in to help, fanning herself and saying these days she must "dress like an onion" (in layers). Cooler, but not cold, nights and early mornings; hot days.
At one point, Elena disappeared, evidently to pick up the merenda; the snacks between a 3-course lunch and dinner, since the cakes, cupcakes, muffins, cheese puffs, and chips weren't enough.
At that moment, Ettore told me to go home (upstairs). What? Why? He said I can't be at the party. Vai a casa! I don't know why you want me gone, but if that's how you want it; fine. However; right now I must wait until your mom returns. I'll stay with you until then. Mariella came in and heard some of the end of this, and then Elena arrived to hear the rest.
She had a discussion with Ettore. "This is in poor spirit. Why do you say this to Karen?!" He went on and on, insisting I leave. She took him aside, then came back, sitting him on the counter. "Now you look at Karen and tell her what you said to me and what you really meant. Because the way you said it to her is not correct. You were killing her heart! KILLING HER!! Now explain to her!" She was the most emotional I've ever seen her.
It's really kind of sweet. Ettore thought that the pumpkin carving, which we've talked about for days and to him was the party, would mean just he and I "played" together at his party. And though he thinks I'm super fun and he loves me, he just wanted a little time to play with all his friends.
"Ettore. You are correct in wanting to play with your friends. This is your party, and their party too. We can always play; the two of us. But at your party, I will be here with the mommies" (I motioned toward the end of the room). Things went more smoothly after that point, and after a hug.
Then, suddenly, the door opened, and I was reeled back in time, remembering the Extreme Party mode of a bunch of children. Whoa!
Maria Grazia, whose daughter is Marta, both of whom I met at Ettore's school, is perhaps the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. A modern day Cleopatra. She is beautiful in her heart as well, and works as a school psychologist and speech therapist. I feel like a frog.
I started carving the two pumpkins I cleaned, and I swear they all thought I was some sort of magician. Soon I had requests to do many of them. Elena took a knife and joined along, cutting another pumpkin. That is, until she made the eyes and nose into one big polygonal hole. "It looks easier than it is," she said.
Much cacophony and detritus later, the party ended. I'm impressed that all but the wee little ones came up and thanked me, and of course Elena, before they left. And Elena hugged and thanked me for being the Pumpkin Queen, and sent me home with a plate of food.
All this time, Joe played tennis at the night-lit vigna courts with Vincenzo's Saturday tennis team. He apparently held his own, and came back looking energized and happy.
I'm cutting off here; it's late, and tomorrow there are more activities for which I need to rest up!
Buonanotte.
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