With all that's been happening, I forgot to take out the organics garbage. Good thing it's not July.
Later on today is the funeral, but I got up and dressed for it right away. The visitation is still going on.
We stopped in to visit with a few people, and Mariella asked us to lunch with them. I protested, saying she's doing too much! "Piccolo, piccolo," it's just a little lunch.
Older brother Giuseppe arrived from Milano, his family still there due to work and school obligations. We chatted with him briefly, but because of the distance, he's the one we know the least (except what we see on the family chat group, which we're a part of). I believe Mariella and Vincenzo are hosting him as well as Luisa and Ciro.
I checked if anything was needed, then we headed outside for a walk to Scandura, forgetting --until we got to each-- that both Scandura and Artigiana are closed Mondays. In fact, I also forgot it is Monday!
It's finally beginning to look like autumn
I brought my umbrella, and it started to drizzle. The already miniscule sidewalks are interrupted by fruit stands, poles, parked cars.... it's not easy to both stay under the same umbrella. Although rain is at least the one situation where Joe's not 15 paces ahead of me, since I'm the Holder of the Umbrella! I am, as with many women, the default factor: umbrella, water supply, comb, pen, tissue, EDITED TO ADD: TOOTHPASTE, etc. I'm selfishly a little David Rose on the water bottle thing.
Since we are on a house hunting mission, I had a pic of my notes from when I organized them a couple of days ago, and looked up a few on the way to and from Scandura. I'm getting a feel for which areas to weed out. Honing in and around Rosalba's place, there are many conveniences as well as pretty greenscapes, a mountain trail, a full-service post office, ortofrutta stands, CRAI and ARD grocers, chioschi for our caffè, and Scandura, all within a 5 minute walk from the apartments/houses we like.
Pretty cascade of flowers, but in a neighborhood I've ruled out
Datura!
I put out a query on my online Sicilian expat group, asking about difficulties in renovating a place. Lots of good feedback. Insomma, those who did major rebuilds and remodels talk about the potential three-year process, the frustrations, the pitfalls -- and how they ultimately created the perfect house for them, blood, sweat, tears, and all, and love where they live.
Some houses on the list that we walked by today, which don't include the ruins house I'm now partially attached to, include:
Front is skinny, which is typical. There was a time when most of Europe was taxed on the width of their house at the front entry.
It goes back far to the right and has a
rooftop terrace.
This was commercial property now re-zoned for either use, residential or business
Stretches really far back and includes
a garage
One up and up expat attorney near Catania whom I've stalked for several years has renovated three successive properties, one from the ground up. He's American-born (Chicago) and lives near us, so I'm picking his brain on the house "in ruins". The good news is, the area I think we're tuned into hosts both Rosalba's apartment and the renovation house, and is a convenient and easy area in which to live.
After a nice risotto (made by Elena) with Mariella, Vincenzo, Luisa, Ciro, Elena, both Giuseppes, Alessandro, and Maria Teresa, we left to freshen up before the funeral.
By then, my expat acquisitions lawyer friend got back to me on the ruins property link I sent him to review.
My query:
His reply:
I'm pleased, humbled, and a little surprised at his response! I think it is worth a call and some questions, at least. Exciting!!
I went to a second area we use on the first floor, where I have my hair products and other things, to get ready for the funeral in an hour.
After a few minutes, there was quite some commotion that lasted for a while. I stole a glance out the window, and saw a hearse and another black car.
They are picking up Nonno. I decided, for who knows what reason, to keep spying until I saw his casket go into the hearse. Lots of noise on the stairs. More noise. Quite some minutes went by. It was a bit quieter. I took the lift to the ground floor. Nothing. So I walked up to find Joe, but saw Andrea in the hallway in front of Mariella's open living room door.
"Lo stanno chiudendo," she said, reservedly motioning inside.
I took a half step to look around the corner, and saw the family around the funeral workers, Elena in tears, as they were soldering a metal casing over the top of the casket opening, then riveting on the lid. I've never seen that. The family is involved in the whole process. On the lid is Nonno's name, photo, and birth/death dates.
Nonno with his great grandkids, 2022
We just missed this event, having to leave for a family emergency. Posting because Ciro and Luisa are pictured.
Andrea and I decided to wait outside. I had already texted Joe; he met us there. Soon there was a crowd around the hearse, with a thin aisle of space between it and the front door. Some of the (very young!) funeral workers came down the stairs, several in a row, carrying bulky blue bags that I'm guessing contained the disassembled Bier pillars and candles. Next, the guy with the blow torch, then the guy with the riveter. This procession in reverse must've been what I heard earlier.
Finally, Nonno arrived in his casket, a synchronized ballet of movements by the workers, getting it from the house into the hearse. Then we all walked in the rain to the church.
There was a full mass. Fr. Pino is usually easy to understand, but even as a kid, I had trouble deciphering words in all that marble church echoing. We caught a few things here and there, mainly from familiarity as recovering Catholics.
As people lined up for communion, Andrea scrunched in to let me pass, asking if I were going. I said I probably shouldn't, to which she replied, same here.
Alessandro's eulogy was beautiful, and even included a nod to us (translated):
"We are here today to bid a final farewell to someone who was a constant presence for all of us, an example of strength, wisdom, and kindness: my grandfather. Finding the right words to truly describe who he was isn’t easy because what he meant to us goes beyond any description.
My grandfather was a man who lived life with passion. Every poem, every story, every verse he wrote wasn’t just words; they were the pure expression of his soul. Poetry was his companion, the language he used to describe his view of the world, his emotions, even his doubts. Through his works (we’ll read one in a moment), he taught us that each person must follow three paths:
The path of beauty: My grandfather was deeply in love with beauty in all its forms. In recent years, I often accompanied him, and he always chose the most beautiful path, never the shortest one. In his poems, Biancavilla in spring was his vision of paradise, a perfect place he never tired of celebrating. He saw the world with eyes that could find wonder in every little thing: a flower, a butterfly, an olive branch. He imagined an earthly paradise, not a celestial one.
The path of love: He loved to call himself the poet of love because he understood that what truly fills life is being surrounded by people you love and who love you in return. Often, at our family gatherings, he would look at each of us, and if anyone was missing, he wouldn’t rest, wondering why it was so hard to have everyone together. For him, love was the true force that held people together.
The path of faith: My grandfather had a deep faith, carried forward with gratitude. He often sought conversations with priests, and through his verses, he wanted to convey the conviction that above all things, there is God’s love, who has already given each of us the most beautiful things, here and now.
But beyond the poet, today we are saying goodbye to the grandfather who, for my mom and dad, for us four grandchildren (along with our spouses) and for the nine great-grandchildren, was a constant presence in our lives—never silent, always available, and ready to share his opinion. His gaze reached right into our feelings. With affection, he never failed to offer advice, getting upset when we ignored it, though he knew his words had an impact—sometimes hurting, yet often filling the heart.
We will miss his voice, his political reflections (a committed communist, he was still angry about Trump’s victory yesterday and often discussed geopolitics with our American friends), his stories, and his lessons. His enthusiasm for organizing events, especially the tennis tournament he started four years ago, which has now become a cherished sports event. But we know he is here, among us, in every memory we’ve built together.
And today, before God, we entrust him with all our love and gratitude, certain that he will continue to watch over us, guiding us along the paths of beauty, love, and faith that he held so dear."
We followed Nonno out to the hearse, but it was raining quite a bit, so we piled into cars to drive to the cemetery instead of walk. Nonno was staged in a holding area tonight; his interment won't be until 9:00 tomorrow morning. We had all the parking confusion for this? Andrea asked.
Back home, Joe and I settled in, and after a short while, heard Elena yelling from two flights down. "Kahhhhhrrrrennnn!!!!! Vieni qua! Kahhhhhrrrrennnn!! Vieni qua!"
I got there ((Joe followed), and said her next career should be the opera.
We all sat around, talking, looking at pictures, sharing stories, and eating food Lilliana brought back from Tunisia. I got to spend more time getting to know Giuseppe, the oldest brother.
An hour into it, Joe excused himself to go upstairs. He's got a bad cold (most of us do, thanks to Ettore), and was coughing like crazy. So he skipped.
Then the arancini (and more) arrived from Bar Tuccio. Sadly, we're missing a great wine day, la festa di San Martino, the patron saint of wine. We attended last time we were here during November, and it was quite a celebration. But Vincenzo gave a consolation prize by taking out a few bottles of wine to have with our tavola calda.
After Giuseppe Uno egged me on with a lot of "Make America Great Again" every time he walked by me, and me telling him I prefer when he asks Maria Teresa if she made the whole dinner herself (he teases her about her cooking), I noticed Ciro catching my eye throughout the whole episode. Later, as we sat with the others, Ciro told me what a beautiful person I am. I asked to see his eyeglasses, which sent his wife Luisa into raw laughter. And Ciro said, beautiful to look at, yes, but really beautiful on the inside. Communicating with us in Italian when it must be hard, he commented. Being here with the family on all sorts of occasions.
Sei una donna bellissima. Well damn; those Napolitano men know how to speak to a woman.
On Mariella's command, I brought some arancini up to Joe, and I'm insisting I make him a hot cup of the TheraFlu I brought from home.
Tomorrow, we walk to the cemetery for a 9:00 interment. "Some people work," was Andrea's comment on that!
But we're pensioners.
RIP, Nonno. I'm so glad we had our time together. I love you.
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