Our Impact in the Digital Age

I've been thinking lately about the impact a person can make on others.  I've written before how my grandparents' quiet, every-day actions helped the people around them.  A word, a card, a pie, a hand - little things that touched their neighbors and their world.

But in the digital era, it can go even farther.  Something I say online can help (or hurt) a person I've never met.  I've been touched by others' blog posts or comments and have forged friendships with other bloggers, even if we don't know each other in person. You exchange comments, emails and laughs.  You get to know a person through their posts and pictures.

This struck me with force this past week when I heard about the death of an online acquaintance.  I knew Robert Rainey through the Slow Travel forums.  We bantered on the same topics often, and shared views or dissented travel options over the past several years.  We had friends in common, so while I hadn't met Robert, I knew him.  We'd interacted.  I knew his tastes and opinions on several subjects, as well as his sense of humor.

So it came as a shock to hear that Robert had been brutally murdered in his office in Los Angeles.  He was a chiropractor, a nice guy, full of energy and enthusiasm.  And yet he was senselessly beaten to death.  Perhaps for money; maybe a drug-crazed creep.  Who knows.  I hope they find out; I hope they find the person who did this to a 54-year old caring individual. 

I read the news on Facebook in the morning, and it stayed with me all day.  I had that gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach; I shook my head at the thought, the unbelievable thought that this happened to a person I knew.  Even if I didn't know him.  I felt sorrow for his family and for those at Slow Travel who will miss his presence and his input.  I felt despair; I felt sad.

And it struck me again how we touch people's lives without even realizing it.  So I want to tell you, my friends, how much I appreciate you.  Your words, your comments, your jokes, your emails, your phone calls.  Even if we haven't met in person, you've been here with me through the adventures and trials.  And I thank you.

Open Mic - More Responses

So we're back at the microphone with the questions from the crowd.  Diane just threw out the query about the strangest custom we've experienced.  Hmmm.  My first impulse is to say the way no lines exist, everyone just groups up in a human blob at whatever counter or office they need to line and wait for.  But that's may be more of a *lack* of a custom than a strange custom in itself!  I'd say the display of saints' parts in churches is a strange custom.  I still have a hard time understanding the appeal of seeing the finger of St. Whoever or other bits and pieces of the bodies of venerated saints.  Boh!

So Ed...you're a curious dude tonight!  Let's see...Ndrangheta, never seen them.  No shake downs, no shady deals, nothing that looks like the mob in action.  Mammismo is prevalent all over Italy, also down here in the south.  Sometimes it's for economic necessity; other times, well, life is just too good with mamma, so why leave?  (They say.)  Purses aren't quite so popular down here, though you see them.  And Bryan carries one, but will quickly point out that it's "a man's bag, not a purse."  Yeah.  Okay.  And, wow.  You're a direct kind of guy, I like that.  So...ball grabbing to ward off bad luck is something I've heard about but never personally seen.  It may be more of a Calabrian thing, but gotta say I've not been a witness to it here.  And finally, yes, I've ordered a cappuccino after 10:00 am.  Nothing was said and no strange looks given.  After 11:30 am however will get a discussion of your colon's health and the dangers of milk before or after a meal.  Get Ed another birra and give him a round of applause!

Louise.  Hey!  Thanks for coming by!  Thanks for the comments about the house.  We think it's pretty cute.  And everyone who comes says it's cozy and nice.  The dream kitchen is still in the dreaming phase.  It's a little complicated to move it and will involve trenching the floor and new drains, which aren't so easy to do in a 300-year old building.  But as soon as we have the money, we'll get 'er done!  The plaster hasn't been stripped off the stone in the bedroom yet, either.  Our mason slipped a disc and wasn't able to work for a good six months.  Piano, piano.  And the cantina is behind the bedroom and a portion of a living room, so we'll be able to bust open a doorway someday to make another big rustic space, though we're still undecided about what we'll do with it yet.

Italia in 2015 posed a good practical question about moving - what to bring.  That's a tough one as it depends on each individual and what you can't live without.  I shipped a load of books, because English language tomes are hard to come by, but...alas, they never arrived.  The post offices on both ends blamed the other, but the sad result was about a thousand dollars' worth of books that I'd never see again.  I brought mostly clothing, a few personal items to decorate the house (Nambe' ware from New Mexico, mostly), and a few kitchen items that I'm addicted to (potato peeler, microplane grater, and a cross-cultural measuring vase that is invaluable for those of us that easily convert from cups to grams or mililiters.  And yes, it's made in Italy but I've never seen one anywhere.  Oh, the irony!  Electronics cost less in the States, so bring your tablet, laptop, and video camera gear.  Plus, you'll want that English language keyboard instead of the Italian one (unless you're doing lots of translations into Italian).  Anything else with a plug that isn't dual voltage adapted can be left behind.  The rest...well, it depends on you!  I do import green chile whenever possible to get a taste from home, and am hopelessly addicted to the dark chocolate peanut butter cups from Trader's Joes, so I ask everyone who comes to visit to bring me a bag, but otherwise, I don't really miss to much in the way of food items.  Oh, except for spices.  I do bring bottles of Cajun Spice and Chili Powder back, which friends appreciate when I cook some good ol' American stuff for them.

Well...there you have it.  Feel free to holler out questions, chime in, or sing a song in the comments sections any ol' time.  See you later folks!

Open Mic - The Responses

So Janine kicked things off with a bang when she stepped up to the microphone and asked the deep, philosophical head-scratcher:  What is the biggest/most important lesson that Italy has taught me?  Well.  We've come so far from those early months when we felt like toddlers learning to walk.  We've learned a language, learned to adapt, learned to laugh at ourselves.  But I think the biggest thing we had to learn was patience.  Yes, it's the virtue that I've always lacked; but it's the most important one when living in a foreign country in general and Italy in particular.

Patience with ourselves as we spit out disjointed words; patience with others as they tried to make things clear or when the "be nice to the dumb foreigners" look wafted across their faces; and patience...oh Lord lots and lots of patience....with the burocrazia.  Investing days of circling offices, calling and being "disconnected", finding the right person who knew what we needed to do (and when and how we needed to do it) can really wear you down.  But perseverance and patience are what you need in those circumstances.
Good question, Janine!

Jennifer - cuz!  I know you're not the shy type, so glad to see you right there in the front row!  Even if you don't have a wonderful cousin who lives in Italy, you can travel around Italy without much trouble.  Yep, even if you don't speak the language.  As long as you have a phrase book, learn a few of the important phrases before you arrive, and have a sense of adventure, you're good to go!  Okay, I gotta say that down here in our parts, it can be more challenging as a lot of the smaller town are a bit thin in the English department.  But you'll always be able to get fed, find a bagno, and wander around the sights even if you don't speak the language.  Get a guidebook and go, has been our mantra from our first trip.  But definitely read up a bit before hitting the ground, so you know how things operate.  And of course, in the tourism-heavy areas like Rome, Florence, Venice, Tuscany and Amalfi Coast, you'll always find people who speak English.  (I hope this means you're planning a trip?!)

Uh...you...the shy one in the back.  The economy sucks all over, unfortunately.  Not just here.  Problem is, for us it's a bit more challenging because we're not EU citizens and can't take a regular job (no proverbial green card for us).  We can do freelance work, and that's it.  So while the cost of living is low and we don't have a mortgage to pay, there are taxes and living expenses.  And at the moment we're not filling the tank as fast as we're driving.  Yeah, the cost of gas is through the roof here.  We decided to keep going forward on our projects while bouncing back and forth to the US for bank account fill-ups.  The retirement fund is untouchable, so "si arrangia" as they say here, while hoping the economy picks up, work brings some rewards, and we can stay put and live happily, peacefully here in our village.

Thanks, you've been great!  Open Mic Night continues next time with the other find folks, and a couple of questions I get all the time...

See you then!

Open Mic Night

My first year of college was spent in Columbus, Ohio, which is where I met my husband.  We married, moved west, and I graduated from the University of New Mexico ("Everyone's a Lobo woof woof woof!") but have fond, if somewhat hazy, memories of that year living two blocks from Ohio State's party central, High Street (appropriately named for a college campus party avenue, dontcha think?) 

Anyway.  There was a low-key bar that we hung out at sometimes, a brick tavern type of place that occasionally hosted an open mic night, where they turned over the stage to whoever wanted to say something, as long as it wasn't a senseless or poisonous rant.  There were some who did poetry readings, others told jokes, or posed questions to the crowd.  It was always a fun time, and I learned stuff each time - sometimes as simple as a new punchline or something more profound, like...say, the meaning of the song American Pie.  No question was ridiculed and everyone left feeling a little high on the cameraderie that it inspired (the cheap beer didn't hurt, either).

So I'm turning the spotlight out to you sitting there in the shadows, and hosting an open mic night here at the Pinon Tree.  Throw out your questions (or your comments, your insights) and I'll answer them.  I've received lots of queries through the years, so don't let stage-fright hold you back.  (One person wrote to ask me if there are spiders in Italy.  Answer: Yes, there are.)

Are there things you've always wanted to know about living or traveling in Italy?  Anything you've been wanting to ask but was afraid to send an email?  Post your burning questions in the comments! 

Time Flies

That old song by the Steve Miller Band with the line, "Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future" has been rolling around my brain lately.  Time really has slipped away from me the past couple of months. 

You'd think living in a village would free up more time.  I mean, let's face it, you can walk the length and breadth of it in fifteen minutes, and all told there's not a whole heckuva lot to do as far as entertainment options to distract you.  But chats on the street and insistences of un caffe' can turn a quick trip to the fruttivendolo into an hour-long diversion. 

I've been busy with lots of projects, which leaves my eyes burning from the computer screen, so I've neglected some emails and blogging in an attempt to stay caught up with work.  In short, it's been all work and little play lately.

But, a few weeks back we did have a fun day of filming (again!) when a RAI television crew came to interview us.  I met the giornalista when she came to town to cover the big festa di Sant'Antonio.  She thought our tale of moving from America to small-town southern Italy was interesting and asked if we'd mind being interviewed for the regional weekend news segment.  She and a camera man came and spent about five hours with us and talking to friends in the piazza and the local agriturismo. 

It aired on Saturday, with the whole village tuned in to see it.  They were happy with the outcome and so were we.  It turned out quite nice, and gives a glimpse of our little village to others, through the eyes of the Americans.  Kinda cool!

It was a lot harder than the last filming, despite it being much shorter - it was all done in Italian!  But we muddled through without embarrassing ourselves (linguistically speaking) too terribly.

Give it a look!
RAI Regionale Basilicata

Mo' Basta!

That's a great phrase I learned when I moved to the south.  You might remember 'mo' from my Five Regional Words list.  I'd never heard it while living in Ascoli Piceno, but it's very common here, as I mentioned.  I often hear "mo' basta!" or "basta mo'!" uttered by frustrated mothers who are telling their kids, "knock it off".  It also means, "enough already!"

So after ten days of snow that accumulated and continued to accumulate; that basically isolated the village because the roads weren't passable; that brought cold wind and a non-stop week-long streak of steady flurries, I'm uttering in exasperation, "MO' BASTA!"

At first it was pretty.  A nice fluffy coating that brought all the kids out to play, make snowmen, and slide down a hill.  I even got into the fray of a snowball fight with some of my students.  Che bello! we all uttered.  That was Day Two.  Then it wouldn't quit.

The lovely landscape on Day Two

They're saying it hasn't snowed like this in thirty years; I can tell you I feel very fortunate to witness first-hand this momentous occasion.  Not.  After twenty years as a desert dweller, I prefer my snow to fall on a ski slope. We didn't give the merest thought to our charming pedestrian lanes being packed up tight with snow and ice when we bought the house.  And naturally we didn't think to invest in a snow shovel at any point in the past year and a half, either.

So.  Here I am, while Bryan is in the US at the moment.  Ten days of snow.  No shovel.  Tunnel-like streets of amassed white stuff with a layer of ice underneath.  And still it squalls (a good Ohio snow word).  I resorted to cleaning the stairs that lead to the house with a broom and a dustpan.  That worked for about a day, then it piled up too fast and deep for the Fuller brush method to keep up.  I borrowed my neighbor's shovel.  But it's not a snow shovel, it's a heavy iron pointy shovel that is very good at breaking up ice, but not so effective at moving piles of snow.  They don't show this stuff on House Hunters International, folks!

A friend took pity on me and showed up with his actual, real, heavy-duty snow shovel and went to work.  I was liberated to move about without worry of slipping and breaking my neck (or ankle).  But then the mother-lovin' squalls wouldn't stop.  I trudged about in my boots to get provisions from the shops, which thankfully are reachable in a small village.  But now the shelves are starting to get a bit bare and we're all getting a bit worried.

It's getting a little old.  And boring.  And dangerous.

Yesterday it stopped just long enough to go out and re-clear the path that had previously been shoveled.  It warmed up a bit so that it was fairly easy and things were getting slushy.  I was congratulating myself on having invested in the waterproof rubber boots that everyone wears when they do their vendemmia or work in campagna, albeit a cuter version.  They served me well in the puddles and slosh.  I slopped the mess off to one side of the walkway to keep a pathway open and came back in the house, peeled off the wet layers and the boots, and turned on the computer.  Then I heard an astounding crash.  I yanked open the door to find that a great mass of snow had fallen off the roof of the building behind ours and crashed down - right on the path I'd just cleared.

Mamma mia!  Two minutes sooner and I'd have been one crushed chickadee.  Neighbors came running out to see what was amuck, to ascertain that the americana hadn't gotten herself killed, and to point out (a little too late) the dangers of falling, heavy, wet snow from tile roofs.  Valiant friend returned with the snow shovel to dig me out, because it mounded up and blocked the street.

The terrace on Day Three

All of Italy is experiencing the same problem.  Parts of the country were without power for several days.  Some towns are completely cut off and several people have died.  In the grand scheme of things, we've been okay - electricity works, we still have food, the bakery is still making fresh bread every day, and we can basically move about the village, though some of the narrow lanes are impassable.  How glad am I that we installed that condizionatore heat pump in September?  Not having to keep a fire going 24-7 has lessened the hassle of it all.

I repayed my snow shovel-bearing friend by hosting him and his family for a chili and cornbread dinner last night, which they enjoyed.  Other friends have invited me to pranzo today.  Bryan gets back next week.  So it's not all bad.

However.  All this white and cold and wet is wearing me down.  My broom ain't cutting it, my clothes aren't drying, and I'm getting cabin fever.  MO' BASTA!

A Yummy Treat for World Nutella Day

I know; my entry is early.  But I just couldn't wait!  It's a momentous occasion, an annual decadent event.  A chance to gorge on chocolate-hazelnut goodness for an entire day, and look through inspiring recipes and read emotional or funny tributes to the simple spread that brings smiles and soothes the soul.  As I've said before, it's the little things in life...

Anyway.  I'm posting early for a few reasons.  One, it's been cold here and there's not much else to do but sit inside and think about ways to stay warm.  Which starts with hot chocolate made with Nutella, which naturally turns thoughts to other ways to use the yummy stuff.  I kind of a have a Nutella dossier compiled now, with scribbles of possible combos and concoctions for future reference.

Second, as a contientious blogger I feel I should participate in good will efforts such as this, and so I offer a reminder to those of you who may have forgotten about World Nutella Day on February 5.  (Says she who forgot last year.)  Join up with Michelle of Bleeding Espresso and Sara of Ms. Adventures in Italy to participate.

Then there's the Mom factor.  My mother's birthday is February 6 and, being a good mother, she deserves the best darn Nutella-infused treat possible for her special day.  But I'm not there to make it so the chocolatey task falls to my sister.  Who is (she freely admits) the "non-cook" in the family.  She used to refer to the kitchen as "the room you walk through to get to the back door."  While she's come a long way in the cooking department, she still utterly refuses to bake.  Anything. 

So.  I devised a cake-like treat that even my sister can make easily, without fuss, and without turning on the oven.  And I'm getting the recipe to her well in advance so she can prepare herself.  I'm pretty sure that the first jar of Nutella is going to go down with a spoon before she starts the recipe.  In any case, I know that Mom will be happy with the results of our collaborative efforts, and I think you'll enjoy the orangey-chocolatey combo, too.  It was a bit hit with my taste-testers.

Orange-Nutella Tiramisu

1 container mascarpone cheese

2 4-oz. cups vanilla yogurt
2 TBSP sugar
zest of 1 orange
Blend everything together until smooth.

1 cup orange juice
1/3 cup rum
Combine and set aside.

3 to 4 oranges, peeled and sliced crosswise

1 cup Nutella, warmed to soften

Savoiardi (ladyfingers)

Assembly:

Soak the savoiardi in the orange juice/rum and layer in a pan.  Spread on half the mascarpone mixture to cover the cookies.  Arrange orange slices on top.  Drizzle generously with Nutella.  Repeat the layers.  Cover and refrigerate several hours or overnight.  Tiramisu is always tastier the day after it's made when the ladyfingers have softened to a cake-like texture and the flavors have melded together nicely.

Happy Nutella Day!