House hunting, Harvesting
I woke up extra early, to shower and be ready at a moment's notice. I wasn't sure what time Vincenzo would call to go look at the apartment this morning.
While waiting, I grabbed the blueberry muffins to bring to Elena and Mariella. Mariella and Andrea came off the elevator just as I hit the landing. Inside Elena's place, we went to the kitchen. Mariella said Vincenzo will soon take us to see the apartment, then asked about the tenerumi, so I ran back upstairs to get it. Andrea reiterated that Nonno would clean it, then I needed only onions, olive oil, and tomatoes to make the brodo, before adding the broken spaghetti.
When I came back, Elena, wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and looking a bit bedraggled (but still darling), shuffled sleepily into the kitchen. Joe an I heard Matteo crying several times throughout the night, so we guessed she'd be exhausted today. "Matteo wanted milk, then threw the bottle; wanted to be cuddled in a chair, then screamed to go to the living room; wanted hugs, then pushed me away. I know he's sick and a baby, so I was patient. But at the same time, I wanted to (makes a crazy scream face and a throwing out the window gesture)!" We've all been there, as parents.
Vincenzo arrived to play real estate agent. We walked to his sister Rosalba's place, which is directly across from the renovated palazzo, the Villa delle Favare. The palazzo is where Nonno was honored for his Sicilian poetry, and where the Etna Wine Forum will be held this weekend. The apartment also sits above the first floor bridal shop (a space owned by Vincenzo's brother) where Elena bought her wedding dress, and the second floor, where Rodi and her family live. I may have mentioned in an earlier post, Rodi is from Romania. She and her husband cared for Vincenzo's mom, whose final years were clouded in Alzheimer's Disease. Because of them, Angela, Vincenzo's mom, was able to stay in her home. Rodi is really a saint, and another Romanian beauty. Because of all they did as caregivers, Vincenzo gave them Angela's beautiful apartment. So "our" place is on the top floor.
In Italy, I've found there are three types of abodes: classic, usually Baroque style antique structures; rural stone, stucco, or brick homes with converted (or not) carriage/animal stalls underneath and anything from a pretty courtyard to an expanse of land; and the city dwelling I can only describe as Italian Mod -- chrome, leather, etc. Of course there are variations between them, but these listed are what I see on the market. The first two are either fixer-upper$, or are already renovated and way out of our price range. Rosalba's home falls into the last category, although in a tasteful fashion. We'd only make a few cosmetic changes. It is more than I could afford alone, but Joe is interested in joining in. We need to look at all the details, weigh them, and think about it.
Here's a peek.
We stopped at the chiosco across the street afterwards to grab a caffè. Vincenzo introduced a colleague he saw there, who also happens to be Giovanna's younger brother. We met the baristo Salvatore, but Vincenzo had a temporary brain lapse on Giovanna's brother's name. I told him not to worry; it will come to him at 3:00 in the morning.
I made a quick trip to CRAI to get a few things I forgot yesterday. They didn't have fresh basil, and I noticed the ortofrutta across the street was still open. Leaving there to go home, I saw window shades being pulled, and looked to my right to see a crowd of people slowly walking, then noticed the hearse. I remember Davide told me it is a sign of respect to pull the shades. It secures the intimacy for the bereaved family; it is non-voyeuristic. I also remember he said that pedestrians stop, bow their heads down, and wait for the procession to pass. So I did. What a peaceful, beautiful, sombre tradition.
Back home, Joe and I ate an early lunch of Mariella's leftovers and a caprese salad. Halfway into our lunch, Mariella arrived with a pasta dish of Pipette e fagiolini con le patate (pasta with potatoes and teeny tiny string beans), and my tenerumi cooked into a broth with tomatoes, olive oil, and onions. I thought Nonno was cleaning the tenerumi ("It gives him importance," Andrea explained) and then I would cook the dish, but Mariella absolutely cannot do anything halfway or even 100%-- 1000% is her "normal'!
Vincenzo called Joe, inviting him to the vineyard to harvest grapes. I said great; Ettore is probably coming up to play anyway. Five minutes later, Elena arrived and asked, Aren't you going to the vineyard? What?, I responded. It's not a guy thing?! No, not a guy thing-- Mommy, Ettore, and even the dog are going. It's an everything thing. So I folded myself into the car, and off we went!
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The vigna. Oh, I love it here! And Vincenzo built a new "hut," with two bedrooms and a bathroom between them. It's "Italian Mod" in a rural farmhouse setting!
While Vincenzo and Joe harvested the grapes, Mariella, Ettore, and I harvested the pears. Mariella is going to dust them with sugar and bake them.
Rachi's tennis coach uses the courts at the vigna to give lessons, and he showed up with a few students. He will also take on Joe as a student soon!
We wrapped it up at the vigna, sitting outside on this sunny warm October day, as Vincenzo prepared a tray of beer and snacks and brought it out to us. Ettore drew on the cobbles with a white rock and played on Agnese's skateboard. We talked about houses and taxes and roofs and insurance, and sunned our faces and munched on snacks. All of which felt pretty close to heaven. Vincenzo said that their friend has a real estate agency and will show us a few other homes tomorrow morning.
On the way back, we made a quick stop to see Giuseppe Uno's workplace in full swing. Andrea, who works there in the afternoon, did a surprised back step when she noticed the car pull up. This marketing fabrication place was humming tonight, yet in true Italian fashion, Giuseppe's first question: Volete un caffè? No, we don't need a coffee, but thank you! I remember the first time I came here, I was impressed by the quality espresso maker propped on a crate, that rivals anything my friends or family have back home. The company is currently making all the swag for the Etna Wine Forum this weekend.
Home. Ettore followed us upstairs to play, and was his now-usual 80% attentive, curious, and calm, and 20% wild enough to obliterate the 80%. When Elena came to get him, she spent some time having Ettore show me his writing skills. It's so refreshing to hear someone gently say, No; that is wrong. Do you want your letters to look as if they're falling off a boat? Ettore giggled. Here; eat Mario's power mushroom (on the Mario and Luigi pencil bag) and see if it helps you do better. Ok. Now you wrote it. Circle the letter you are most proud of. Ah? That one? Ok. Now circle the ones you can improve. Bravo. Ok. We will work on those.
So this is how she operates as Sleep Deprived Mom. I feel retrospectively sorry for my kids that I was not half as good as a fully rested one. Although I'm not sure I was ever fully rested back then.
They left, and I finished preparing the tenerumi, made a salad, and sliced some thick good bread. Porchetta slices were served alongside it all. Joe had a nice frappato and I had sparkling water. Stuffed to the gills, I started waddling dishes to the sink. Washing and drying and loosening my belt were interrupted by a recurring Ettore. He was wound up, and I had to move quickly to reposition glass objects!
Elena appeared, saying Ettore had told her he was coming to get one toy from upstairs, but neglected to tell her he wasn't coming right back.
With all quiet, I began to write this blog entry. Joe said he may be getting a cold, and was heading down to bed. I said I'll put on my Pj's and write down there.
Water bottle filled, earplugs in (church bells, early street vendors), lights off, and thumb typing these last few words, I'm ending a promise-filled day.
Buonanotte.
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