Meet the Micio

He arrived by surprise...a furry, orange, stripey ball of fur with a purr-motor that wouldn't turn off.  We have seen plenty of cute kitties around the streets of Lucanella, but hadn't expected to have a kitten of our own; however, a friend decided otherwise.  On Thanskgiving, Antonio was bursting with excitement and I couldn't figure out why.  Surely the turkey couldn't elicit such child-like glee, but with 27 other guests and cooking and serving to do, I didn't ask him.

Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore and, like a kid who can't keep a Christmas secret, he motioned me over in the Italian way of flipping his hand downward to signal come here, I want to tell you something.  Va bene, che c'e?  "We have a surprise for you.  My sister brought it from Napoli.  Wanna guess?" He and his two kids were glowing.  The sister had already presented me with a gorgeous, enormous baba', a decadent liquor-soaked sponge cake, so it couldn't be that.  "It's a kitten!" he exclaimed.  "The brother of Gino."  They had seen us go ga-ga for Gino, their kitten, procured from his sister's garden, and asked her to bring Gino's brother.  He was the runt of the litter; a little on the skinny side and shyer than the others.

Maria, upon seeing him burst the secret wide open, rolled her eyes in exasperation and chided them, "You told her?  What do you think sorpresa means?  Mamma mia!"  No problem, Bryan doesn't know yet.  We'll keep it a secret from him. 

The next day we found an excuse to find ourselves at Antonio's house so he could present the purry present.  Bryan was definitely surprised, and while he cuddled the kitty, wasn't sure if we could take him.  The house is piccolina; we'll be traveling over the holidays; other little excuses that Antonio immediately disputed one by one: Cats don't have to be always in the house; you live in the most cat-friendly part of town with no cars to worry about him getting hit.  I'll take him for the holidays.  He can sleep in your cantina. 

A few days later we brought him home and he's become a very grateful (and spoiled!) little boy every since.  He went from a garden in Napoli to a garden and garage at Antonio's, to a couch-and-cantina trade-off here.  He developed a rather nasty cold so he spent more time inside the house than initially planned on, and got rather comfy with the living arrangements.  He doesn't venture too far from the door or the cantina (which he can enter and leave freely through a special hole built in the stone just for cats!) and now that he has recovered from the cold, he's rambuctious and playful.

We learned that Lucanella has a traveling vet; he comes to town about once a week or so.  Imagine...a vet that makes house calls!  And while he came to check on Lucano (or Luca for short), gave him an inoculation and did a generaly once-over on him, Mr. Traveling Vet didn't charge us anything.  "Pay me next time, or when we neuter him.  Whenever."  That was more of a surprise than the kitten's arrival!

He has a pretty collar so people don't think he's a street cat.  Our local supermercato owner procured it just for Lucano.  In fact, he  bought it himself while in Potenza, and brought three colors because he wasn't sure which I'd prefer.  (Spoiled kitten, indeed!)

Lucano is on my lap sleeping while I type this.  He still purrs up a blue streak and all the neighbor say he is "molto bello".  He has made himself very much at home here in Lucanella...and in our hearts.

America Feasting Comes to Basilicata

Happy Thanksgiving Day everyone!  First, let me say how thankful I am to have such wonderful friends as you, who come along for the ride and read about our everyday adventures here in the mother land.  Grazie a voi!

Remember a few years ago when I gave you my top ten reasons for not celebrating Thanksgiving in Italy that year?  Go ahead; give it another look.  I'll wait.

So anyway, that was then.  This is now.  We're paesani.  We're part of the village.  We're throwing a Thanksgiving feast.  For a tribe. 

It all started innocently.  A friend inquired why Americans go pazzi for tacchino.  We talked turkey and discussed the fact that, unlike Italy where every holiday and saint's day has a special meal attached to it, Thanksgiving is the only American holiday that really centers on food.  Well, why don't we show you?  We'll cook up a turkey, it will be fun, said we.  Just a few friends and the cousins who live nearby.  Va bene.  Then more friends needed to be included; don't want them to feel slighted.  Then we thought, why not send out a general invite and see who wants to come?  All told, we will have 27 guests.  At least, I think we're holding at 27 and not edging up any further.  Some friends are even making the drive down from Ascoli Piceno.  We're thrilled. 

And tired.  I've been making rounds of stores in Potenza to procure all the necessary provisions.  But the preparations have been made a bit easier, thanks to our friends.  One has a brother who is a butcher and he has procured a big ol' turkey for us (not an easy feat in much of Italy, lemme tell you).  Another friend's dad gave us a big pumpkin, which I cut, cooked, and crushed into pie filling.  Our neighbors are giving us fresh fennel and lettuce from their garden.  Another wants to give me the apples for the pie and the potatoes for mashing.  Our friends who own an agriturismo are letting us hold the party there and use their commercial kitchen to cook it all up.  Maybe the adage that "it takes a village" is true; they all want to contribute something to the meal, so when it's all said and done, this will be an American holiday but a very local feast.

While you're eating your turkey and fixings, I'll be baking pies.  We're holding our holiday on Saturday to accommodate everyone's work and school schedules.  But I wish you all a very happy day, and hope you have much to be thankful for.

Tante belle cose, my friends.

To Be a Paesana

What does it take to be considered a paesana in a small Italian town?  I've been a formal resident of Lucanella for two months now and have learned through various whisperings and conversations that I am considered a Lucanellese, una vera paesana.  My neighbor recently told me that she was thrilled to hear others say what she had already noticed, that I've "inserted" myself into village life in a very short time and become a "local".

The fact of my residency status was confirmed about a week ago when we attended a festa in a nearby village.  As we pressed through the crowded streets to see the various vendors and displays, we were joyously surprised to run into about ten people we knew- from Lucanella as well as from my ancestral village.  Our names were called out from across the piazza...'Eh!  Valerie....Bryan!  Ciao!'  We were invited to join one group as they made their way through the food stalls.  We stopped for aperitivi with a friend and her husband.  We chatted with a local carabiniero of our acquaintance.

After we had sampled many delicacies, sipped some good local vino, and enjoyed a performance in the piazza, we made our way to the car.  We looked up and saw the outline of the Milky Way painted across the sky.  A shooting star dipped toward Lucanella, across the valley.  We smiled all the way home, elated at the cameraderie we had enjoyed after such a short period of residency.  We felt that we had been truly accepted and a part of the local landscape.

So how did I do it? 

My Five Tips For Becoming a Paesana

1) Smile and greet everyone you pass.  Even the curmudgeons will start to return your buongiornos.

2) Never decline a caffe'.  I've been terribly overcaffeinated, but if someone asks me to prendere un caffe', I don't say no.  The short chat while we drink them in compagnia has let them get to know me.

3) Shop locally.  I buy as much as possible at the local stores.  They see I'm dedicated to the village and its well-being.  Instead of automatically heading to the big grocery stores in Potenza, I buy my provisions, my fruits and veggies, my bread and hardware right here in Lucanella.  (Besides, our baker is one of the best in the province.)

4) Take time to talk.  It can sometimes be hard when I have things I need to get done, but when neighbors stop me and want to chat, I give them my time.  Sometimes they're lonely and want someone to talk to; other times, they just want to get to know me better or discuss the weather and the bad grape harvest.  Either way, a few minutes goes a long way to becoming a paesana.

5) Get involved.  I jumped at the opportunity to organize English lessons.  The notices posted around town told people not only that I was an intelligent human being (contrary to my accent and stumbling for Italian words that they may have noticed), but that I want to be a part of the community.  I don't know how many people have told me how happy they were to see that I was participating in village life.  We also drove to another town nearby to hear the local choir perform (three of my students sing).  They were thrilled to see me, and news of our attendence was passed around town the next day.

Now that I think about it, these are things I've always done...they're just more noticed in a small village setting, and they've given me the benefit of acceptance.  It's nice to be a paesana.

The Cycle of Life

The bells sounded out two tones, a solemn bong which faded before a higher-toned clang followed.  They tolled mournfully like that for about fifteen minutes, telling everyone in the village and the surrounding countryside that a funeral would be held shortly.  We've heard the funerary bells before, but it's somewhat chilling when you know the person they're tolling for.  It gave me goosebumps.

Our upstairs neighbor passed away last week.  He had been in the hospital for several days in a coma after fluid had built up in his brain.  He died on Thursday and the funeral was held Friday, a very fast transition compared to our American rites.  When my grandparents died, the funerals were held three or four days later.

Signore Fabrizio was unwell since I first met him in January.  He was mostly solo, alone; his kids didn't come to visit him though his brother, also elderly and not in great health, did stop by a few times a week.  The barista would dole out his medication to him in the morning, and another lady brought him lunch every day.  He scuffled along slowly, but when we were heading toward the piazza at the same time, I'd slow down and walk with him, chatting along the way.

He was, according to most of our acquaintances, a bit of a curmudgeon, but he warmed up to me and would smile broadly when I waved or greeted him.  He even offered me a caffe one morning, which made the barista stop in her tracks and look at me in surprise.  "Ma, Fabrizio doesn't pay for anybody's coffee," she exclaimed.

Sometimes I'd find him on a sunny bench in the piazza and he would wave an American-style wave back at me, even when sitting with other elderly gents.  They've since picked up the habit and it makes me smile when I see them waving their arms at me and wishing me a buongiorno.

I didn't know him well, but I did become fond of the old guy, and I hope that in some way I was able to brighten his last days a bit.  After the funeral we were introduced to the parish priest.  He greeted us warmly and said how happy he was that our village had two new residents.  A villager had passed away but two people had recently arrived...the cycle of life.

What Day Is It?

What month is it, for that matter!  Mamma mia, I can't believe how much time has past since my last post.  I've never left the nest empty for so long before.  It's not that I haven't wanted to write; it's just that I haven't had more than a few minutes to sit down and blog.  My Facebook page has been neglected as well, so please don't feel bad.

So what have I been doing?  Well...I found a job and was working late afternoons/evenings in Potenza, which I passed off to Bryan upon his arrival because in the meantime I'd picked up new freelance work.  I have made upteen trips to the hardware store, the ipermercato, and various home furnishing stores, while also making upteen trips to our bank to straighten out a glitch about transferring our account from Ascoli Piceno to Potenza.  You wouldn't think it would be so hard to transfer an account within the same nation-wide bank chain, but four visits, numerous emails and several phone calls finally got it done. 

And then there's the burocrazia.  Despite many trips to the immigration offices of the questura and the prefettura things were still hazy about how we were supposed to renew our paperwork, the very important documents that allow us to reside here legally.  Finally, with the assistance of a labor organization, we printed the paperwork and mailed it off with all the necessary photocopies that tell them we are upstanding citizens who own property here.

Our local community center asked me to organize and teach a weekly English class, so I spent a lot of time planning and initiating it, which has turned out to be a fantastic thing because I've met so many people in the process and have a great group of eager students. 

And, now that it's finally grape harvest time up here in the high hills, we spent the weekend helping friends with their vendemmia.  We spent hours in the beautiful, pastoral countryside enjoying the chatter of birds (and the chatter of our fellow harvesters), with the click-click of the clippers while tasting grapes, playing in the mud, and getting some good, honest excerise.  For our efforts, we were rewarded with three fabulous, abundant meals that left me wanting to a day of fasting today.

I'm taking notes and have stories to tell; I just need to find time.  Who knew life in a hamlet of 600 people would be so busy?

Vivo Ancora!

Yes boys and girls, I'm still alive!  I arrived in the Motherland sana e salva and am living in my piccola casa.  I apologize or the lengthy absence from the blog; it has been a busy coupla weeks.

I found that my house had been happily inhabited in my absence by a whole load of spiders who had apparently decided to take advantage of Italy's squatters' rights law and make the place their own.  They didn't like my intrusion and have been reticent to leave.  I've been insistent and their numbers are finally dwindling.

My temporary kitchen set-up is working pretty well and I was greeted with a jar of fig jam, a jar of honey, and two bottles of wine - all homemade by friends, who had also taken it upon themselves to provide milk, eggs, coffee and tomatoes from their garden.  A much warmer welcome than I could have imagined!

We will eventually move the kitchen to the other side of the room and make it an old-world rustic type of cucina, but for now I can boil up the pasta and offer my neighbors a caffe without too much trouble.

Internet has been hooked up and I bought a router to give myself some wireless freedom.  It took me the better part of two days to get that functioning properly; why technology hates me is still a mystery, but in the end I conquered the sucker and am surprised that the signal carries through the thick stone walls.

The stone mason returned to finish some plaster work in my bathroom and I've acquired another cantina, a long story I'll recount another time, but for those of you keeping count, we now own four (count 'em!) cantinas.

When not battling spiders and trying to organize the casa into some semblance of orderliness, I've been making countless trips to Potenza to hunt down things I need, hit the bancomat, fill the gas tank, and look for work.  I've had a few writing projects I've been working on, and have made a couple trips to the other side of the hillside to visit la famiglia...so you see why I've not been around the Pinon Tree for a while!

Things are taking shape and I hope to post more regularly.  Thanks for hanging around. 

Getting out of Dodge

You know how much I hate packing.  I love to travel but I don't like the getting there part, and I definitely don't like the packing part.  I fret about taking too much, taking too little, the possible weather fluctuations, the dressy-enough factor, the comfort factor - just don't like it! 

This time around, I'm still fretting but I'm not minding it so much, because packing means...I'm getting the Dodge out of Hell and heading for home!  That's right, next week at this time I'll be tucking myself into my own bed, in my own house in Lucanella.  Can't. Wait.  Non vedo l'ora!

No offense to you northern Viriginia readers, but this has not been the life for me.  We went from traffic jams that were caused by sheep in the road to the Capital Beltway, and the adjustment just wasn't pretty.  In fact, the adjustment just didn't happen.  Too much culture shock for a small-town girl who wants to live in her village of 600 souls.

Besides, our bureaucrats beckon; our Italian paperwork needs to be renewed.  The process is simple enough, just time consuming, so we'll be spending the remainder of the year in Basilicata.  Bryan will be coming in a few weeks.  I'll go get the house put together and start job hunting (because while it's nice to stay through the end of the year, it would be even better to just...stay!)

The pinon tree will be empty for a week or so while I'm in transition.  This little baci bird is flying home to nest in Italy!