Another Birthday To Remember...

 

July 16, 2008

There is an empty Colgate bottle sitting in our bathroom cabinet. It’s the type where the lid is upside down and the toothpaste flows downward. On the front, in faded Sharpie ink, the numbers 210 are written. I haven’t been able to bring myself to throw it away and Kim has been kind enough to not really mention it because she knows. She knows that it was in my mother’s bathroom apartment the months before she died; before she was no longer able to have her teeth brushed and we quietly quit trying. We brought the bottle with us to Italy in our travel bag because it was half filled and who throws away half filled containers of toothpaste? We finished it about 10 days ago, and as I’ve mentioned, it now sits empty.

It was a year ago that my mom was in the active process of dying from Alzheimer’s disease. She had less than a month to live and was in the advanced, vegetative state that occurs as the brain too slowly and too rapidly is dying. Like a slow leak out of a balloon or tire, the effects are apparent but not quickly noted in real time. She could no longer care for herself in any realm; she sat either in a large, special wheel chair or would lie in bed sleeping. When she was awake, she would look around sometimes with a puzzled look, at others with a smile that gave me courage, strength and loving thanks.

The thing about brushing ones teeth is that it takes a lot of complex movements. We first have to realize that it’s important; we have to be able to open our mouth, move the brush around and then spit out the toothpaste and finally, finish with a good water filled rinse. A couple of years before mom died, she quit being able to brush her own teeth and so began our nightly ritual of me helping her to brush her teeth. Her bathroom had a rather large mirror in front of the sink. We always began with making faces at one another in the mirror followed by mom making various “stunning” poses. ALWAYS, we broke into laughter that was truly heart- felt and filled with the special gift of knowing that time is limited but aren’t we having fun now!

We did pretty well with the brushing; either she would sort of do it and I would help guide her hand or I would just do it and guide the brush. It always got tricky when it came to getting her to spit out because of all places for her brain to shut down, the spitting, swallowing on command ability was an early casualty. While this was at times very frustrating for me, it was also quite funny because the spitting out usually took no less than 5 minutes and involved all kinds of pantomiming, spitting myself and me occasionally trying to gently pry her mouth open while she just clenched down even harder. When I’d say, “come on mom, time to spit”, she’d respond with swishing and gargling motions while smiling with her eyes brightly saying, “aren’t I doing good”? After awhile, she would finally and eventually find a way to release the toothpaste and our bedtime ritual would move onto other realms.
The swallowing difficulties also made taking pills a challenge. In time, the staff at her facility taught me that grinding them up and putting them in ice cream or yoghurt works pretty well. This, of course, meant that without access to ice cream, other forces would have to be called upon.

One such time was when Kim and I took mom on an overnight road trip to the Columbia Gorge in southern Washington. Mom loved to go for drives and was an appreciative traveling companion. It was while we were driving that Kim realized that we had forgotten to give mom her medications at lunch. So, while I was driving, Kim decided to try and give “Mamacita” (as Kim called her) her medication from the front seat, leaning awkwardly over to the back seat where mom sat happily staring out the window. What transpired was one of those moments that will always remain in my heart and will always cause me to laugh. Mom couldn’t open her mouth “on demand” and she just kept smiling and nodding at Kim in a friendly way once she noticed Kim looking at her expectantly. As I drove the miles, Kim kept saying, “Come on Mamacita, open your mouth; just a little pill for you… here, I have your water too”. This went on for quite a while with all of us laughing because that was the best response to the situation given that she just couldn’t make the connections fire. Every request to open her mouth was met with a big close-lipped smile. She was laughing at us laughing at how ridiculous the situation was. All of a sudden, I don’t know why, but I said loudly, “The body of Christ” and before Kim knew it, mom stuck out her tongue, Kim placed the pill on it, and mom took it in followed by a swig of water. Kim and I just looked at each other amazed. For those of you who may not follow this, this is how communion in the Catholic Church is taken and for mom, a lifetime Catholic, the long term memory remained intact, her brain understood and the tongue reflex appeared. Over the next few years, we called upon this ability until the day came when the air out of this reflex was also gone.

More memories...

When I was a child, Mom would often call me in from outdoors to show me what she was cooking—say rice. She’d say: “Rachel, I want you to know how to make rice”. I’d moan and groan, “But mom, you’ve shown me a hundred times…” She’d respond with, “Here’s 101”. My father used to joke and tell us that when he married mom she didn’t know how to boil water. In retrospect I have learned how driven she was toward self improvement and so much of what she did was self taught, an internal drive but also out of necessity to manage a large household. Over the years she became an excellent cook, a baker extraordinaire, a seamstress (zippers, button holes and all!), a pianist, a quilter, a Toastmaster, an administrative assistant, a student of many community classes, and more. (Whenever I hear the newest “fact” about possible Alzheimer’s links, such as exercising the body and the brain, I shake my head. Mom exercised regularly, used her brain to study, played music, and kept very active and social).

It’s well known that I love to cook and Kim and I often had Mamacita over for dinner at our house. Mom loved coming and our ritual was having her sit and watch Oprah followed by the news and a glass of wine. I would be cooking and eventually, she’d come into the kitchen to watch. On more than one occasion, she would ask, M: “how did you learn how to cook all of this”? R: “Why mom, you taught me”. M: “Wow, I did? Are you sure”? It always amazed me at what over time she lost and forgot. One other quite special moment was after the visit of her first granddaughter Monique. Monique brought Mom’s great -granddaughter, Sydney, for a visit. After their departure, my mother in all sincerity, began to question me about just how did that baby come about? Where did she come from? How did it get inside of Monique? I swallowed hard and told her—this from a woman who’d had seven of her own children.

We lived in a small town of less than 10,000 people. She’d drive to various places to pay bills, pull up and make me go inside, interact by giving them the check AND, getting a receipt. I hated to do this because I was shy. Mom saw this, I guess, and made me go in telling me that this was a skill that I needed to have and learn. No amount of moaning saved me. Years later, as she grew backward in time to a total state of innocence, I took over all aspects of her life, financial and otherwise.

My mother was an amazing seamstress and as children, she sewed many of our clothes. She took great pride in this fact, as well she should have. I remember watching her on her knees, putting patterns on the floor and cutting out the materials. She used to torture me by making me go to material stores with her and we stayed hundreds and hundreds of hours at a time. During those episodes, her hearing failed her and she was like one of those cartoons where the woman forgets that she has children. She herself was always a fashion statement; over the years I’d joke and tell her that I missed out on that gene. When she came to Seattle and could no longer shop for herself, or worse yet, care about what she wore, it became incredibly important to me to shop for her and make sure her standards continued to be met. It took over two years before I slowly began allowing staff to do some of her laundry and longer yet for me to write her name or room number on a tag or inconspicuous location. I hated that symbolism, that loss of identity that makes one become a room number.

There are so many memories that I have of my mother and our life together—from my earliest years until the day that I held her as she took her final breath. I’ve only slightly touched upon but a few memories and arenas where she greatly influenced me. As Kim and I walk our Italian journey, she often comes to mind and I silently speak and laugh with her. When I go into these great Italian cathedrals I often light a candle in her memory; never thinking “may she rest in peace” but “here is but a spark to symbolize the life and influence you had”. After she died I heard from a number of people who recounted their own stories and described how she impacted them. She lived the life of one who, upon completion, left many memories and great love behind.

No short writing could do any justice or provide a tribute to her life and her years and how important she was to me, my sisters, her siblings, and many others. A year ago, Kim and I were getting ready to have her last birthday party. My sisters had flown in from New Mexico and Texas and close friends, Lynn, Susan and Jill attended. We had reserved a private dining room at my mom’s facility. I catered and we toasted and laughed and called her siblings as we noisily shut down the facility. Mom sat looking wise and smiling; she understood our bantering and laughter as she also imbibed in a bit of champagne, cake and love. After all, she and her clan had written the book on how to party as a family.

This writing has been a work in progress over several sittings. As I finish, today is July 31 and it is her birthday; she would have been 88. Yes, I will think of her today as I do every day and yes, I will go light a candle. I know about the tendency for us, the living to tend to idealize someone once they have left us; I watched my mother do it for a year or so after my dad died. But why not; what’s the harm in putting aside the old wounds and honoring their journey on this planet a bit?

So, to finish for now:

Mom, Mama, Ma, Mamacita, Ofie, Ofelia Maria Murillo Diaz, was born in 1920 in Houston, Texas. She was the eldest living child of 12 children and during my growing up years, much time was spent in Galveston Texas with her parents and siblings, whom she dearly loved. As a child she loved to dance and……

A Fun Visit

 
 

July 28, 2008

It's been a few days now and probably someone somewhere may be wondering, "What's up with those two"? Well, a quick update is that "we two" have been "we three" as Siegy has been visiting. We've had a fun visit and later this afternoon, we catch the train to Milan so that she can connect with an early morning flight on Tuesday. She heads back to Copenhagen for a final few days with Steve.

We've done lots of walking around Alessandria, saw a great Blues concert Thursday night (see pictures above), and Saturday went back to Turin for a visit to the Cinema Museum. (Sadly, the Shroud Church was closed for the afternoon break). Yesterday, Sunday, we spent the afternoon at the local outdoor pool which was a new adventure for Kim and me as it was our first time visit.

So, that's a quick summary for now and we'll be back soon.

Ciao!

Some Things Italiano...

July 24, 2008

Here are some interesing things ala Italiano. Can you tell the following:

Which are fun sugar packets with the likes of "John Lemmon", "Vincent Van Coc", "Lawrence d'Arabica" "Banana Butterfly".....

Which is the wall heater?

What do we use to ONLY wash our feet?

Which is toothpaste and which is the mayo?

4 AM THOUGHTS

July 22, 2008

I’m sure you’re wondering by now how Rachel could have stayed with this lunatic for 24 years. A Muslim man? Paula Poundstone?? Couldn’t Oprah play me in the movie? Or perhaps Ellen? (she has her own talk show and a nice mother). In my defense: Rachel failed to mention that I was running around trying to throw a bowl over the lizard/gecko to save Rachel from worrying about the poor thing. I also consulted on the whole bridge/ramp thingy to get it out the door. I even suggested talking to it in a British accent because in all the Geico commercials the geckos are Brits and perhaps it didn’t understand “American” screams. And THEN I asked her how dinner was coming along…

And everyone knows I’m the United States in our card games so I HAVE TO win. This shouldn’t be hard to understand or something to be surprised about. I tried giving Italy a chance and it got me NOWHERE fast. I wouldn’t expect Uzbekistan to understand. What have they ever won? (BTW: in “Hollywood gin” the score is 44-38, USA; in Cribbage well, let’s just call it a “conflict” at this point…a good American euphemism.)

My sweet girlfriend meant well- she said many nice things about me- which are only partially true but I am glad she thinks they’re completely true. We do laugh a lot together or we would have never lasted this long. The Vegas odds-makers and 99% of our friends would never have guessed we’d still be together 24 years later- let alone living together 24/7 in a foreign country with nary a harsh word between us. Some might say it’s because Rachel would be played by Mother Theresa in the movie. I say that’s about right except thank god Rachel is a thousand times cuter.

Why 4 am? Because I have some bug if you must know. I was down for the count all day yesterday and couldn’t even go out to celebrate our anniversary. In a few hours we have to get on a train to Milan because Siegy is arriving tonight. I wish my stomach ache was just because I am so very excited to see her. And those of you guessing it may be gelato overload…well under normal circumstances you may have been right… but this week I have gone without, anticipating that starting tomorrow, Siegy and I may want to eat it twice a day so I thought it best to rest up. Or… uh oh, maybe what I’m experiencing now is WITHDRAWAL??! So glad I mentioned it. In that case, the cure is within reach…

Yes, this blog is called Life in Alessandria. Think about it. It never promised to be a travelogue. You get what you paid for.

24 Years!

July 21, 2008

Kim and I have a morning ritual of playing a game of Cribbage; this, along with a couple cups of coffee starts us off each day. Kim came up with this Cribbage timing as an attempt to put herself at an advantage. After all these many years of having to be at work often by 6AM, I continue to not be what one would call, a morning person. Consequently, Kim often tries to capitalize on my weakness; some mornings (such as today) it works for her and she sings to the gods but other mornings, it may not and Kim lets the world know her sorrows and the injustice of it all.

It has struck me during these times of great joy or despair, how can I convey this to others? The perfect pitch of her voice, the angst in her face; the sheer disbelief that she might not win this particular game as she throws her face onto the table? OR, there are the snickers, the joy, the exuberance of having won. It matters not, at both times, Kim is a sight to behold and actually, a great joy to be with. Kim is always telling me that I want to win as much as she does but she’s just louder about it. While it is true that I do like to win, Kim takes the desire to win to a height and place that reflects such a burning passion and zest for life. A few mornings ago, I told her that in a movie, the perfect person to play her would be either Paula Poundstone or Julia Sweeney. Probably Julia would be my first choice.

Today, July 21 is our anniversary and Kim and I have been together for 24 years; so today’s post is in her honor.

A lot changes in 24 years and for us, I can definitely say for the better. We have been through many incarnations with one another but each time I believe we’ve been lucky to have it be for the better. To be honest, I didn’t know what it would be like to be together 24/7 as we have been during this sojourn; but I am happy to report, so far, so good. What’s made it really good for me is that Kim is really quite a funny person; one of the funniest I know. She keeps me laughing with her quips and her approach towards life. She comes up with these one liners that that make us both laugh and now after 24 years I realize how much being able to laugh with one’s partner feeds a relationship with some very important nourishment.

Many of her lines are the type of “you had to be there” but I should at least try for an example. These past couple of days when I would be in angst over the little lizard that was trapped in our domain, Kim kept basically telling me to take a chill pill and that it would leave when it was ready. She didn’t get my passion, or the understanding that the little fellow couldn’t climb out and that it wasn’t hanging out with us out of desire but out of being trapped. At one point, as she was reading, she just looked up at me and said, “but how are you coming along with our dinner”? As I looked at her incredulously she calmly added, “I know that I should have been born a Muslim man”. It’s moments and comments such as these that keep me laughing and glad that I’m with Kim. Even when she says things like, “It’s always your fault—haven’t you learned that by now?” I can’t help but crack up and laugh with her. (Note, I must add that her comments come from some of the reading we’ve been doing: “A Thousand Splendid Suns” by Khaled Hosseini and “Infidel” by Ayaan Hirsi Ali).

Kim is also very smart, generous and very kind; her politics keep me on my toes and she doesn’t let me get away with things that shouldn’t be gotten away with. She’s also very stubborn and that balances out all of the nice things I have been saying about her. So, here we are in Italy, her dream adventure, and I really can’t say that I’d rather be anywhere else or with anyone else. I am quite the lucky soul and I have the nerve to ask for at least 24 more years with this very lovely person that I’ve grown to love more and more with each year.

Happy Anniversary, dear. I hope you like your present.

Love, r

What a day will bring...

July 20. 2008

Yes, I know many of you are just holding your collective breath to determine what's happened to our gecko lizard guest.

Finally, after almost 36 hours she was captured and returned to the out of doors. She kept running around the room, trying to find her way out but the tile by the door was too slick for her and she kept slipping down. We built a couple of little bridges/ramps but no luck; she thought they were a bad trick against her maybe like the bowl we kept trying to drop over her...

Just awhile ago, Kim was running water in the kitchen sink and guess who was in there? This time trapped because again, she had no traction to get out of the sink (not to mention that it took Kim a minute to realize she was in there...). So, I gathered my courage and picked her up. She wiggled furiously but I held on and got her outside and dropped her into a garden area.

Whew. I told Kim (who again ran into the other room but has been chiding my obsession with the little one since she first appeared) that I now hoped it understood that all along I've just been trying to help....

Thank you for your thoughts and prayers.

More Culture (we are in Italy after all)…

 

 

 

 

July 20,2008


Our first week here we were delighted to learn that every July and August there is opera in Verona. Yes, the Verona of Romeo and Juliet fame. The opera is performed in an outdoor amphitheatre built by the Romans in the first century CE no less and the travel agency we walked by had tickets that included the bus ride. So it was a no -brainer (or if I had some culture, I’d say “imperative”) that we attend. We tried to get tickets for when Siegy was visiting but the performances were sold out for the evenings of the group tour. Alas, she, like you, will have to live it vicariously.

Verona is about 3 hours away by bus- we left at 4pm for our 9:15 performance of “Carmen.” (As our friend Ken pointed out, we would be in Italy watching an opera set in Spain written by a French composer). But we knew the fabulous Italian setting we would watch it in could only heighten the magic of the experience. We had seats on the ancient stone steps so we knew it was important to buy a cushion from the cushion vendors outside the amphitheatre before climbing up to our seats. It was already crowded with people so we had to squish in front of an old German couple who were not at all happy with us (if I am to use the number of kicks on our butts during the performance as my indicator). There was a very nice couple, though, from Northern Ireland in front of us whom we spoke with before and during all four intermissions.

The setting as well as the set was indeed spectacular. It was a clear sky with a full moon and our new Irish friend pointed out Jupiter low in the sky as well. The set as I hope you can make out from the pictures was perfect for the space and 4 intermissions, understandably, were required to add to it, hammering and all. This amazingly old place has perfect acoustics so no microphones are needed by the singers. From time to time I wished they had mikes but I’m sure if we had been in the more expensive seats down below the sound would have been perfect. But I believe our view and general ambiance more than made up for those very few times. The music of course is wonderful and the singers-especially the two female leads -were incredible. There were times when you could have heard a pin drop in the place-and this from folks, many of whom had their knees up to their chests, who had been sitting on the hard granite for hours. The performance didn’t end until almost 1 am!

We met up with our group of about 50 (minus one it was to turn out) outside the theatre and headed to the bus parked a few blocks away. Our tour guide, Denise, had taken attendance and counted heads on the bus a couple of times but still there’s always one who turns up missing despite anyone’s best efforts- or counts. Fortunately we had only gone about a half mile when Denise got a call on her cell with a woman’s frantic voice on the other end saying, I imagine, I’m here, where are you all?? And fortunately again, she was Italian (everyone was but us) and had her telfonino with her. We all were happy that we hadn’t gotten too far without her and Denise took off to find her (along with some other guy who may have accompanied the folks from Genoa- they who had even further to go than us). We waited and waited and by now it was 2 am. A few folks got off the bus and then a few more. They were having a great old time outside the bus, smoking and laughing, while I was inside seething. I knew it would be hours before we’d get home and why were they enjoying themselves, damn it?! More time passed and Rachel told me to chill. I already had because I was watching the folks outside pantomiming and laughing along with the bus driver about what was now 3 lost companions. Finally after almost 45 minutes more, I see the folks on the sidewalk all looking down the street, trying their hardest to pretend that all their discussion hadn’t been about the poor lost soul. They all got back on the bus and everyone was very quiet, nodding in sympathy when the poor woman got on the bus, full of apologies. A few minutes later someone started laughing, and then another person started, until the bus was full of talking and laughter- not laughing at her- but with the relief you feel when a difficult public situation isn’t your fault- or at least not this time…
At 6 am we finally arrived home, our first all-nighter in a zillion years- and it wasn’t to study for an exam- but for a real CULTURAL experience. La da dee da da, la dee da dee da…

A Guest...NOT!!!

July 19, 2008

While minding my own business and cooking a pot of spaghetti sauce with meatballs, I turned around to see this guest...

They're all over the place but usually outside! Kim was no help running into the other room shouting, "you're from the southwest, do something..." Well, I am/was and as a kid encountered many of these. But now what's happened to me????!! It scared me! I did try to get it/her/him but it was W A Y too fast and it ran behind the stove.

Now what am I supposed to do? Will it come out? Will it die back there? Will I step on it while cooking? Will it find its way out? Did I mention it's over 3 inches long?????

A "Good" War

 

 

 

 

July 18, 2008
Yesterday was a bit overcast and cooler, so we decided that we would take a mid-day trek to the cemetery on our handy dandy bicycles. Off we headed with Kim in the lead; given her keen sense of direction, and my beleaguered cobblestone bicycling prowess I’m more comfortable following.

The ride is about 15 minutes through many city streets and lots of traffic. Again, we marvel at how cars just HATE (rather the drivers of the cars!) yielding for anything or anybody. Truly, it’s like it was written in their driver’s education manuals: “1) DO NOT, under any circumstances yield to bicycles and especially pedestrians. 2) If you believe that there’s a remote chance that you may have to yield, SPEED UP and 3) ALWAYS avoid eye contact”. I am not making this up.

Back to the cemetery; when you see it, you can’t miss it. It has a huge arched marbled entry way through which one initially sees rows of varying sized markers, statues and the periodic large mausoleums. One mausoleum was for the Piedmont family (of which this region is named) and another for, Borsolino, a very famous hat maker. A note on the Borsolino hats, when we were at the Ethnographic museum (no I haven’t blogged that as yet) they had a display of his famous hats. There in the mix were hats that I immediately recognized as styles having been worn by my mother and aunts while growing up. My mother and her sister always were dressed to the nines and stylish in their appearance over the years—a gene that I missed out on.

As we began our exploration, it quickly came to use that this place is really quite large and expansive and today’s posting is part one of what we know will be multiple trips. On this trip we chose to just walk around one or two areas so as to be a bit systematic.

The day was quiet and the only sounds really heard were the gentle cooing of the many pigeons that make the eaves their homes. As we walked, we noticed that in the ground, periodically were clear glassed coverings, like man hole covers. Upon further inspection, we realized that these coverings revealed an entire underground world of catacombs and as we moved further along, we came upon the stairs leading downward….This world will wait to be visited at another time.

One thing that brings this cemetery to life is that each grave marker has a picture of the deceased. One posted picture above is of a dapper appearing gentleman riding his bicycle. The pictures remind us of life and those pictured remind us that our time is short and limited. One cannot escape and so I am left to ponder just “how am I living my life, today, at this moment? This is the only moment I have and what am I making of it”? There are several scenes in the movie, “Little Big Man” (with Dustin Hoffman when he was a much younger man) where he visits with a main Native American Indian character called “Grandfather”. Each time when Dustin Hoffman would encounter Grandfather, Grandfather would remark, “Today is a good day to die…”. I’ve never forgotten those scenes, those words and their powerful message. As often as my little brain allows me, I try to remember and live that message along with the Buddhist and Taoist messages of life’s transitory and always changing nature.

Our wanderings led us to an area where many people had died on the same day(s). It didn’t take much to realize that these faces had been victims of aerial bombings and the inscriptions on their tombs bore this out. Entire families were killed at once. The bombings were carried out by the Americans and other Allies. Wikipedia tells us that:
“Alessandria was a tactical military target during World War II and was subjected to intense Allied bombing, the most serious being the raids of April 30, 1944, with 238 dead and hundreds wounded, and April 5, 1945, with 160 deaths, among them 60 children from the children's asylum in Via Gagliaudo (when the town had already been freed by the partisans)”.

(Later, it goes on to note that Hitler and Eva Braun committed suicide a year later (April 30, 1945). He realized his reign of terror had come to an end and there was no escape for him but death.

Seeing these faces of children and mothers and brothers and fathers and uncles and aunts leaves us pensive and disturbed by human nature and unending cycles of war and hatred. Kim and I quietly discuss feeling haunted by these faces and share a sense of embarrassement and saddness that this city we have adopted as our temporary home was bombed by Americans. This bombing took place we are told, during what was supposed to be a "good" war. With this we find that this has been enough for today and we slowly head out to our bicycles to begin the journey home.

While riding I remember to be careful, to try to live another day and create more moments. I reflect upon my gratitude and vow to never forget….

Art, Culture, & dare I say…TV??

July 15, 2008

You know it’s a hot day outside when both of us post on the same day. Right now it’s not so much the heat at 5:30pm as it that I’m working on my second glass of an incredibly good vino bianco, a gift from our neighbors. Massimo, the husband of Barbara and Dad of Eduardo, unloaded a few cases of this wine from his car last week (how do I know this? My busybody sposita knows all!), and we became the lucky beneficiaries of a bottle with a promise of more if we liked it. So drink we must- for good neighbors we want to remain!

Life is not all card games here in Alessandria. I felt that you needed to know that we are not complete Neanderthals. Last week we went to a free concert in the courtyard of the Palazzo Cuttica- an incongruous but fabulous setting for the blues- featuring Jerry Portnoy, harmonica player extraordinaire of Muddy Waters and Eric Clapton fame. He was surprisingly overshadowed by his (Italian) backup band, Guitar Ray and the Gamblers. “Guitar Ray” was unbelievably good and Jerry Portnoy was gracious enough to acknowledge Ray’s amazing talent, saying he is why he loves to play in Italy. The best part to us is that every Thursday night through mid August we will be singing- and hearing- the blues with a different band headlining each week. I have to say the Italians were remarkably staid- it wasn’t soccer after all- but we Americane were not. I LOVE the blues.

Then Torino on Saturday…
My favorite part was the Museum of Cinema with the China exhibit at the Museum of Antiquities a close second. Rachel may have liked the shroud but we spent hours in the other two places (I’m crossing myself now…) and “hours” were not enough. When Siegy comes next week we’ll go back to the Cinema Museum as it is right up her alley. To begin with the building is amazing in and of itself. In the 1860s it was the tallest brick-built building on earth, with its “steep conelike roof supporting several “layers” of classical temples stacked one on top of the other” and crowned by the Turin “needle” a spire that rises 552’ over the city (thank you Mr. Frommer). Originally it was built to be a synagogue but the costs during construction kept escalating, problems with the contractors mounted, and the city’s Jewish residents said “basta!” (enough of this already! NOT from Frommers) and eventually the city of Turin took over. We decided to get the grand lay of the land by first taking the glass elevator that goes up through the middle of this amazing building. We had no idea what a treat it would be- not just the view from the top (a la Seattle’s very own needle)- but what we saw inside the building. We floated past rooms where visitors were lying on individual red “fainting” chairs watching movies projected onto the walls; another room/set where a bar fight had just taken place and Westerns were shown; a small intimate room with a round red bed, where we later discovered you can lie down and watch Romeo and Juliet (and other “romantic” movies) projected onto the ceiling above the bed; another set from Dr. Frankenstein’s lab, and on and on. That was just one level of at least four. The museum chronicles the history of cinema from the early equipment of the 19th century, the shadowboxes and the kinescopes of even earlier, the earliest attempts at the filmmaking process, scripts and costumes from famous movies, old film clips, and more. I look forward to the floor we never got to!

The China exhibit was a very fortuitous find. After visiting the Shroud we saw what looked like Roman ruins right next door and a large sign with pictures of the Terracotta army soldiers announcing what turned out to be the second day of the China exhibit at the Museum of Antiquities. The ruins were not “looks like” ruins but real ones and the exhibit, outside of China, could not have been in a more perfect setting. The museum itself is constructed among the ruins, underground, and as you walk around you truly feel as if you’ve simply stumbled upon these amazing artifacts yourself. It’s not a huge space so there were only a few soldiers from the army on exhibit, a few incredible Buddha, and many, many artifacts but the overall effect was spectacular.

On Friday we head to Verona by bus for an outdoor opera (Carmen!!) in an amphitheatre built in the first century AD. Such culture, such buona fortuna!! How could one possibly stoop so low as to watch

TV!!

So you don’t think we’ve gone and gotten all high-brow on you… let me add that I was addicted this past month to a Italian game show- a cross between Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune (which are my mother’s two favorite shows in Flahhhrida which only proves that this apple didn’t fall too far from her “favorite” tree). Yesterday I was all excited to see it again after a few days off with “the other kind of entertainment” previously mentioned- and what did they do?? They replaced my favorite show with a Family Feud/Wheel of Fortune (sans Vanna White) show that I cannot understand at all. Mamma mia, I am so upset.

Rachel is still content watching “Rex” a show that is filmed in Vienna starring a German shepherd who helps his owner, a police detective (and idiot), solve crimes. There are two other “good guy” detectives with them- so this combo reminds me of a (bad) cross of the Mod Squad and Lassie (but no pretty Peggy Lipton). Rex is a real looker, though. My good friend Jean who lives in Vienna told us about this show years ago so we recognized it right away flipping through our 5 channels. She and her daughter watched it religiously and one time it was filmed in the little park right near where they live. So thank God for Rex or we would have nothing! News and soccer. And to further add to our pathetic status…we have tried downloading Grey’s Anatomy with little success. We’re only in the second season and the internet possibilities seemed tantalizing but downloading even a couple of episodes took a day at least. So far downloading “The Office’s” first season has taken most of today… but Rachel perseveres.

Yes, we KNOW we are in Italy. Shouldn’t we have something better to do?!

And finally, to add even further embarrassment, the scores:
Cribbage, 20-15; Hollywood, 34-35, Uzbekistan ahead in both games. Damn her!

A View of Turin....

 

 

 

July 15, 2008

Please note, this is not a long story short….

Our journey to Turin began with a smooth one hour and fifteen minute train ride from Alessandria. The landscape to Torino, the capital of Piedmont, consisted of mostly beautiful farm land full of planted corn and rice that extended for miles. The land appears very fertile and green and one farm slowly flows into the next with small towns dotting the way. One of Kim’s east coast friends, Barbara, has historical roots in one of the towns, Asti. So, as we rolled by we waved and sent her relatives our regards.

Turin is a large city made up of a population of around one million. Its’ roots extend back to 218 BC when as a village, the folks decided to side with Rome against Hannibal and, as one guide book puts it, “were decimated for their troubles”. Over the centuries, they were occupied by many—the Romans, Lombards, Franks, French, Spanish, and Germans….While the United States was fighting its Civil War, Turin became the first capital of a unified Italy. Although this unification movement was born in Turn, the city later lost out its star position to Florence. The guide books talk about the various piazzas and the history of leaders, fascists, student radicals, etc who met in the places that we too were about to stand.

The city was bombed extensively during WWII leaving it almost 40% destroyed. After the war, there was a huge wave of immigrants who were seeking jobs in factories, one being the famous Fiat Company. Consequently, the city is a rainbow of cultures and it’s the first place in a month that we heard English being spoken casually on the street. The train station was a cacophony of sounds as we quickly looked around, joined the masses and headed out the door to find our hotel. Kim booked a hotel on line that was just a five minute walk from the train station. Once settled into our room we headed out to explore.

The following are a few vignettes of our 36 hours in Turin:

Famous coffee house: Kim usually walks a couple of steps in front of me; she walks as though on a mission while I like to look into every window. One such window caught my eye because it had a little historical plaque placed next to it. I called Kim back and together we read about how this current coffee house was one of the favorites of Herman Melville and Mark Twain. It described how Mark Twain loved Turin, especially the architecture. It just “felt” moving to stand for a second where I knew that the likes of Twain and Melville had stood and saw the same thing we were seeing. I’m not sure why that’s important or worth noting but it just “felt” like we were part of something, like a connection between dimensions….

The Shroud of Turin! Not that I was excited or anything about being here, at the Cattedrale di San Giovanni & the Holy Shroud (it only got one star in the guide book). The Shroud is not on display but is kept in a gold, almost coffin, appearing container in a little chapel in one of the corners of the church. It’s not really marked but I knew I was nearby when I saw signs about being extra quiet, no photography and to allow people their prayer time. Above the container, they had a replica of the face of the Shroud and it made for pretty dramatic effect. I sat for awhile and pondered. What I thought about was that at this point in my life, I still don’t know just what I think about the existence of God; sometimes I really believe, sometimes I don’t. There are times when I play a game in my head that goes something like, “if I had to push a yes/no button right now, I would push…..”. I don’t just play this game when things are going badly, I tend to play it when I’m having a great time….walking on a beach, being with friends, doing acupuncture.

The thing that I really like about the Shroud is the unknown. How scientists have studied it for many years and still, they haven’t been able to figure out how the imprint , in almost photographic detail, was made. The scientists keep going back and forth about dates, calling it a very clever forgery from the 12th, no 13th, no, the 14th century. Then, some years ago they analyzed threads from the linen and found traces of pollen in the fiber making it roughly 1800 years old. Ohh, you know what that might mean…..So, it’s this mystery that we in all our advances over the years haven’t been able to solve that gives me delight and makes it a honor to stand and view the golden box.

A Simple Glass of Tea: Well, just like that infamous cab ride when we first arrived in Milan, we’d heard urban legends about the cost of drinks. A $10 beer in Copenhagen, a $5.00 Sprite in Milan….Mid day, we found ourselves tired and needing a rest. It had been a lot of walking through the Egyptian Museum and one of the Savoy Palaces and, of course, the Shroud Cathedral. So, we spied an outdoor café and read the sign that said, “No cover charge”. Well, that sounds good and so we sat. Looking over the menu I decided that I just wanted some iced tea and Kim agreed that would also be her choice. So, the waitress returned shortly, handed us each a glass with two ice cubes in it and 2 cans of Nestea along with the bill. Kim gasped and I looked; sure enough, for our two bad tasting glasses, we were charged 8 Euro, about $12. So, we sat awhile, decided to just enjoy and now we can add to the lore for future travelers.

A Walk in the Rain: After a very long day of walking, walking and more walking we decided that it was time to eat something a bit more substantial than a quick sandwich on the run/walk. “Damn, those Italians, I cried; why don’t restaurants open until 7:30PM at the earliest!”? This cry came forth after Kim and I discovered two cute looking places that we thought would be fun to try; but, we had 30 minutes for one and an hour for the other to open. So, we continued to walk around as we waited. This walk led to another piazza and another historical sign announcing that in 1453 (500 years before my birth!) this area was used to trade wheat and that some type of miracle had occurred here having to do with a theft and a magical host (as in communion). This was the most we were able to decipher but again, I felt awe and was honored to be part of it.

Finally, the restaurant opened and we were, of course, the first to enter. It was a sweet little place with good service and okay food; nothing to really go, WOW over. But, it gave us a good resting spot, had a nice ambiance and offered us a nice glass of their house wine as we reviewed our day and people watched.

Now comes the walk in the rain part. We didn’t take notice at all of the weather outside or that people were coming in with umbrellas. We paid our bill and walked outside to be met with a huge rain downpour; I mean huge. The type where you can follow a line of rain dropping and when it hits it explodes into all the puddles that have been created by this massive rain. We just stood under the restaurant awning and discussed our options: I said, let’s have them call us a cab; Kim said she didn’t want to take a cab. I said, okay, that means we walk (maybe a mile?) and we let it be okay that we get soaked. Oh, did I also mention that there were huge claps of thunder and lightning which I love and Kim is very afraid of? So, we started off on our walk, holding onto each other into the mostly abandoned flooding dark streets, trying to quickly figure out just how to get back to our hotel.

We tried to walk up against buildings, to shield ourselves from the downpour; every now and then we’d get covering under a long arcade. We decided that we’d try taking a bus and Kim’s quick eye found one that listed the train station as one of its’ destinations. As we entered, it was full of others who were escaping the rain; some soaked as we were, others completely dry (what was that long pointy thing they were carrying)? Once on the bus I looked at Kim and then the fogged up windows and asked, “How will we know when to get off”? She didn’t respond to this technical detail. After a minute, an older woman got onto the bus and she seemed easily approachable. In my best Italian, I said excuse me and asked her if she knew where the train station stop was? She replied right away, do you speak Spanish? I said yes, and we were off to the races! We had a quick but delightful conversation about the fact that she’d lived in Turin for 1 ½ years now and had moved from Peru to be close to her four children. When I said that must be nice for her, she shook her head and said something like she was here to take care of them. We colluded in the fact that Italian IS NOT easy for Spanish speaking people as she said she’s just starting to find it a bit easier. Finally, it was time for her to tell us to get off the bus and we jumped out into the rainy night with a “Buena suerte” and a happy feeling over having made a nice connection.

So, this long story does end with us finding our way back to the hotel. I was glad to have walked and had the experience; it was much better than a cab ride and we did eventually dry out.

Finale: Kim tells me that I didn’t talk about the Egyptian Museum, The Museum of Cinema, and other sites. Sorry. While they were fantastic, especially the Museum of Cinema, this is where my thoughts have led me as I write….She herself may have to write.

An Over-Due Introduction

 

 

July 14, 2008

We have been a bit remiss to not have introduced you prior to this to our other traveling companion. Given who she is, however, she is quite patient with us and her ego doesn’t get taken in but such “trivialities” as she puts it. Her name is Sister Wendy, and she has lived with us for??? We honestly don’t remember how long, nor do we remember how she came to us; she’s just been with us and usually has resided in our kitchen.

She has travelled with us to many places, including the Grand Canyon two years ago which she mentions as one of her high lights. BUT, as you can well imagine, her being in Italy is a life time dream come true that she never imagined would befall her.

She isn’t shy about the camera and you’ll probably see more of her than of us. The included photos were taken this past weekend on her first trip to Turin. She is at our hotel looking outward upon our view and at the Egyptian Museum; the largest such museum outside of Cairo. Please make her feel welcomed.

Off to Turin

July 11, 2008

Tomorrow morning we leave for a visit to Turin...off to see "The Shroud". Actually, we don't get to see TS and Kim is way too happy about it. I will at least drag her to the church. It won't be on display until something like 2020...I'll have to settle for a t shirt.

Turin is a one hour train ride away; we'll report back on Monday.

Ciao!!

PS While Kim is out of the room, we're tied in Hollywood (31-31) and I'm ahead by 3 in cribbage 17-14.

A little more about Alessandria...

July 11, 2008
Each day I find that my eyes continue to try to take in all I see while my brain tries to make sense of it. Everywhere we look, there’s a new sight, a new picture to be taken—a beautiful old massive wooden door with hardware that looks ancient and used by thousands. Beautiful tiles running alongside a building with an old facade to match; a new church I haven’t seen before. I take in these sights while simultaneously the sounds of people talking, motorcycles zooming and then slowly, with grace and balance, an older woman rides her grocery laden bicycle down the cobblestone street as she chats on her cell phone. This is Italy and I am really here!

A couple times per week I tell Kim that I still haven’t taken in completely that we are really here. Soon it will be a month and it all remains quite new. Today’s discoveries included finding the library and locating the cemetery. Over the years, we always make it a point to visit the local cemetery and we have a large assortment of pictures from Prague to Cuba that I hope to someday organize. In any case after a long bike ride to a new part of town we did locate the cemetery but it was closed. We’ll have to save that for another day. Just in looking through the gates it looks very interesting and will be worthy of spending a good deal of time exploring.

The local library was a great find. It’s been modernized inside and appears very user friendly. My favorite part is that it’s air conditioned and has lots of different places to sit and read. They have a number of keep it quiet signs and everyone just goes about their business. One of the rooms is full of magazines from all over and we were delighted to find both English versions of Newsweek and Time magazines. Also, we found a section with English print books, many of which were classics. So, once the library we dragged to Alessandria in those suitcases is consumed, we’ll get a chance to catch up on our classics.

I also found it interesting to read the British London Times (sort of English!) and learn about some of their concerns and issues. The big lead article was about the great number of teens who are becoming more and more disenfranchised and joining violent gangs. The article was spurred by a recent knifing murder of a young sixteen year old boy and his death was another of too many this year. The big issues were how to reach these teens and try to address some of the core issues. As in the US, issues of poverty, racism, and education were addressed. These articles were surrounded by other stories regarding Iran, finance, slumping housing markets, high gasoline and food prices. The news here in Italy has been very similar. Here, for the equivalent for a gallon of gas, it’s around $12-14. I have been so struck by the similarities and how many of the stories are of world-wide concern with no real answers as to how to solve them. I doubt that I’ll find the answers tonight; it’s almost 2:30 AM here and I couldn’t sleep…thus the blog. But, I’d best try so I close for now.

A Question?

July 8, 2008

Has anyone wondered why Kim hasn't been posting her scores?

The Daughter of the Engineer comes through…

 

July 9, 2008

Rachel’s always thinking. What to do? What to do? She decides she’d prefer to not be widowed in Italy and comes up with a plan…to get a bike for me that actually has brakes. Since we noticed that most of the bikes in the kiosks have “disappeared” or have been stripped down, we feel almost no guilt with Rachel’s plan to find one of the few somewhere in the city and swap it out with my loser of a bike.

The day before, Rachel had gotten all excited when she found a bike in a park near the train station, tested its brakes while still on the rack, and pronounced us good to go. I hated to have to burst her bubble but I had to… since it would be my butt on the nonexistent seat! Disappointed but undeterred, we returned home to regroup and check the map for more kiosks. We then realized we had missed a kiosk in the same park with the seatless bike.

The next day (because we don’t want to exercise too much in one day) we head there and score! There is one bike in the rack and it has both a seat and, so far so good, brakes that work. These beggars are now getting choosy: we decide we like the basket on the loser bike and Rachel says why don’t we take BOTH bikes back home and swap out the good parts from the loser to the “good” bike. After a few minutes of debate over the ethics of the situation, we decide to do it anyway. Partners in crime, we head home.

Where did she get these tools, I wanted to know, now worried that bike swapping wasn’t her only crime in Italy. But apparently, ever resourceful, Rachel had brought them from Seattle and supplemented what she didn’t have with tools from our (Italian) kitchen junk drawer. (It’s good to know that junk drawers are universal, isn’t it?) And fifteen minutes later… Voila, a lean, mean riding machine reborn! My hero always.

Okay, so that leaves us still with the loser, my new stallion, and her windshield/basket donkey waiting for us (we hoped) in the original kiosk. As we approach our earlier mecca I remind Rachel that each bike has a number on it that corresponds with a number on the rack and so how were we going to leave Bike # 365 in Bike # 255’s spot? We had speculated prior to our outing that since most of the bikes had been ripped off perhaps the rack wasn’t that sophisticated in design. Well the test came… and the design won. Our keys didn’t work. We of course said (with a chorus of Italians in agreement), but this is Italy! We should have known that they’d get it half right!!

Postscript…the two criminals leave the loser, breakless bike and make it look like it’s locked in the slot even though it isn’t, and the numbers don’t match. (Like anyone ever looks!) I ride the stallion to the donkey’s crib and pretend to lock it to the loser’s old number but really just lock it to itself. We decide to go home and take a nap as crime sprees can be exhausting. We’ll ride our new bikes another day.

Today's Quote...

July 7, 2009

As Kim and I were sitting in front of one of the many gelato places, eating our cones, she said:

"Some people watch pretty girls walk by; I like to watch the ice cream cones walking by..."

Never look a gift horse in the mouth...

July 6, 2008


Earlier this week, Rachel noticed a kiosk containing a bicycle rack and a couple of (what looked like) abandoned bicycles in one of the main piazze and wandered over to take a closer look. There was a large sign with what looked like a lot of rules but in the “headline” was the word gratuito (free of charge). There were 3 or 4 bikes missing on the numbered rack with keys inserted into the corresponding numbers. We looked at each other, could this really be true- free bikes?? And if so, how could we take advantage of such a great find? We attempted to read further. The Italian was a bit too hard for us but we were kind of getting the gist. We figured out this was likely a city sponsored (commuter?) program, allowing residents of Alessandria to borrow bikes between the hours of 7:30 am and 19:30 pm. We became very excited and decided to return the next day, dictionary in hand, to see if we were right, and if so, read the fine print.

The very next day we were motivated to get out of the house early for once and hit the piazza. We two goofy middle-aged American women stood for at least a half hour in front of the kiosk, looking up words, and carefully reading the entire, lengthy rules of the program. We were so pleased with ourselves that upon arrival here we had become legal residents of the City of Alessandria (which seemed to be the only requirement of bike use). Our next hurdle: having to find the office in a specific municipal police building in order to show proof of residency, put down a deposit, and thus obtain a key. Not to mention, explain what we needed in Italian.

With my uncanny sense of direction (which apparently only serves me out of the country as my daughter might quickly point out) and our handy little map, we found the right place. A very nice woman sitting in front of one of the offices surmised we needed help. (observation: there always seems to be at least one such person in all official places here who at first appears to be a bystander but turns out to be on the payroll, perhaps as “official greeter”). She found a partial-English speaking police officer (a little too Fascist looking for my taste- black boots with pants tucked in and all but nice) who took us to the right office after eventually determining what the hell we crazy Americans were looking for. Fifteen minutes later, we were registered, given keys and a map of the 6 bicycle kiosks around the city, and we didn’t even have to give the clerk a deposit. (I suspect this was an oversight but he was probably so flustered by all of our questions about the how-tos and wherefores that he probably just wanted us to leave, sooner rather than later).
Since our life here can be so exhausting; we needed our siesta time. Domani would be soon enough to implement “Signore Americane sulle bicciclette.” (I just love the fact that 99.9% of you can’t correct my Italian, let alone know exactly what I’m saying).

Domani came as well as our first foray to the closest (and original) kiosk. Careful readers will remember that in my first paragraph I mentioned what would turn out to be a key characteristic of the bikes and what didn’t take us long to discover. “a couple of (what looked) like abandoned” in other words should have immediately been determined as “still there” and why were they the only two there yesterday and today- where were the others?? Ignoring the obvious we decided to go on our first bicycle outing anyway. Helmets are nonexistent here; the streets are cobblestone and brick, uneven at best, missing at worst. Rachel’s bike had a front basket that wouldn’t go down all the way so she was riding with basket as windshield and I (with basket clattering on the back of my bike) flew by her only to discover when I tried to come to an abrupt stop that I had no brakes! We debated the pros and cons of our safety and undeterred we decided to continue on…

Surprisingly I did pretty well without brakes. I just had to be very careful of approaching intersections, kids, and other pedestrians. Occasionally there was a bike path but those often ended abruptly into traffic so I had to be on guard there, too. We rode quite a bit but Rachel’s concern over my safety got the best of her and she insisted we find a bike repair shop. Of course, like everything here, if you miss your window of time it may be a couple of hours until the shop opens. After the usual 2 hour wait, missing our siesta time, we returned to the bike shop where we had previously gone to price new bikes. They of course thought we were nuts to want to pay to have a “city bike” fixed. We acknowledged our insanity but we knew by then that of three kiosks we checked that there were slim pickings and assumed the university area would have been worse). “3 days to repair” was the only reason we caved and continued on…

Another of Rachel’s brilliant ideas was to purchase another fan while we had the bikes. Hmm…seemed like a good idea-what with our baskets and all- until we actually bought one. Rachel who can be extremely stubborn and a big know-it-all decided that she would carry the large fan (it was NOT in a box mind you) in her windshield/basket. She no sooner tried getting on her bike when the bike tipped and the fan crashed to the ground. Fortunately she didn’t fall (she with the new hip who thinks she’s invincible) but after a few choice words, looked aghast at the various pieces of the fan strewn around her. I so wish I had had the camera with me! I was on the other side of the street laughing so hard because I could see that she was fine. Again, not to be deterred and seeing how much easier it is for each of us to carry a fan in pieces, we continued home where Rachel successfully reassembled our newest (and very functional!) addition. Mamma mia!

Saturday Market

July 5, 2008 Last night I told Kim that I was going to set the alarm clock so that we would get up in time to make it to Saturday Market. It's a big day and begins early (for us). So, the alarm was set for 8AM and we made it out (after coffee and me moaning about all my mosquito bites)by around 10 AM.

Everyone is out; the streets are crowded and the activity and anticipation of shopping becomes easily infectious. Everyone is carrying multiple bags overflowing with treasures of vegetables, cheeses, bread, meats, t.p. Actually the list is endless.

I so have to contain myself and Kim is such a good sport as she accompanies me. It should be noted that in the US, I will not go grocery shopping with Kim; she whines too much and always wants to leave. Here in Italy (a bit different ambiance?) she accompanies gladly and rarely makes a comment about is it time to go...

In our three weeks here, we have returned to some of the same stalls and the vendors recognize us. Our cheese/prosciutto vendor knows that I point a lot and when it comes to determining the amount, I count out the number of swipes on the cutting machine. So, it's uno, due, tre, quatro....his wife smiles behind his back b/c he does act just a tiny bit grumpy. I know I will eventually win him over.

Our vegetable vendor is an Asian woman and her husband; she is always very nice to me. When we walk away from her stand we have a bag full of veggies that's always under 3 Euro (around $5.00).

We go to various other places, a fish market; this week's treat are salmon steaks. They have huge fish cut up with other creatures of the sea that we cannot identify. Always there is a huge swordfish being systematically carved away; Kim says we are not allowed to buy it because of mercury content. We stop by a fresh pasta parlor and Kim chooses spinach gnocchi. AND, of course, the bread; we have our favorite Sicilian bakery but at the market, we'll explore a new bakery and choose a loaf from there.

Then it was a trip to the Euro store where we bought a damp mop, scissors, and for Kim, hangers (she's just a bit obsessed with hangers but that's another story...). We ended at the local Farmacia (pharmacy) which are on almost every corner. About 3 days ago, I began getting bitten to total death each night by what we are assuming are mosquitoes. Kim has zero, last night I received around 18 new ones... I just knew this was going to happen so I am t r y i n g to take it in stride. We purchased 2 aerosol containers of some type of repellent (I wanted DEET and our helper said, "oh, no....")and a topical cream. Yes, I do know that this is more information than you'd ever care to have but blogging comes from a different part of the brain and so, there you have it. I let our pharmacist know that we are here for a year and she and her assistant both smiled as she replied, "then we are now your pharmacy so please come back to see us". We certainly will.

Picture Demands

July 5, 2008 OKAY, OKAY! We hear you. So, due to popular demand, we will set aside time in today's posting to show you some pictures. And what has received the greatest request?? The fan(s). I should add that we now have two and are in the lap of luxury.

The black fan, on the bed was our first purchase and will always be a little extra special. The second fan has different qualities; it's bigger, pushes more air and resides in our living/dining room and kitchen area. We do love them both.

Happy Birthday USA and please forgive this sinner

July 4, 2008

On this day of our great country’s birthday I must confess. Just a few days ago I had decided that my new land of 3 weeks needed a winner. I thought that if I could help my new country in any way, I would. When do you ever get to see Italians on the podium accepting the Gold? Rarely, if ever. Certainly not in the Summer Olympics, maybe in the winter for skiing. So in a gesture of magnanimity, I said I will become Italian so they could stand tall, too. Their goal of the Gold depended on me.

But over the last few days, I began to have serious doubts. Little Uzbekistan was making a comeback and I was having pangs of guilt. The Italians always chose the wrong side, didn’t they? In my limited knowledge of Italian history (which consists of World War ll and…well that’s about it) I believe they are always wrong while the USA is always right-give or take a few wars and coups in the last half of the 20th century. So what was I thinking? Aligning myself with not only losers, but political scoundrels as well. When little Uzbekistan, on 4th of July eve no less, took over Italy in both Cribbage and in Hollywood I knew that I needed to ask for forgiveness. While Rachel was at church meditating on her father, I was there begging for John Hancock’s and those other old white guys’ forgiveness and acknowledgement of the sacrifices they made in order for the USA to be number 1 in everything. And I had thrown it all away in a gesture of Catholic martyrdom.

Well as of today I’m back, having been forgiven in a Catholic Church, no less. We know the good old USA takes in the tired, the wretched, the poor (just not those damn folks south of the border but hey) and now Jesus, too has given his OK. So I am humbled and grateful for a second chance. I will not let my people down again. Today is a new day, let the games begin.

Ahhhh, help me! I am travelling/living with her 24/7; she’s gone off her rocker! Too much Italian sun…..

Cribbage: 12-11 Hollywood: 24-22 Uzbekistan ahead in both! (But not for long).

Happy Birthday, Dad

July 3, 2008

Today is my father’s birthday; he would have been 85 years old. Since arriving in Italy I have thought a lot about my parents—their lives, our relationship, what they would think of this journey.

My father was very much a self made man. He was orphaned at a young age and grew up in California being cared for by aunts and uncles. He knew the hard labor of the asparagus fields and when he had an opportunity to join the navy to serve in WWII, he did. While in the Navy, he showed strength in the field of electronics and was trained as an electronics technician. I know very little about his time in the Navy; he like many vets would not speak of his experiences. I know that he saw many friends die and that he probably had very painful memories from his losses.

After the Navy, he married my mom and they went to Los Alamos, New Mexico where he stayed for the rest of his life. He got a job with the Los Alamos National Laboratory and remained in his same division for the entire length of his career. While at the labs, he served at Bikini Atoll, was at Jack Ass Flats in Nevada and did “testing” at his work site. All of those experiences exposed him to radiation and who knows what else. Because of his exposure, our family qualified for a settlement through the Department of Labor.

Growing up, dad supplemented the family income by doing television repair work. In those days there were tubes in the televisions and I used to be fascinated by the assortment of tubes that were in his carrying case. He would go to people’s homes to do the repairs but also had a basement work room (which I also found totally fascinating). Now, I have to add that this basement office/work place wasn’t originally a part of our house. He dug it out from under the foundation with a shovel and pick. I have memories of watching him and certainly didn’t understand the implications of such an enormous project. But that was my dad; he could fix just about anything and did. People often came to him seeking his help and advice about one project or another. I used to watch him make repairs on the car and still regret to this day that he wouldn’t really teach me about what he was doing—it was a role thing. I do think that he also grew into the same regret when he saw me as an adult attempting to tune my own car, do electrical work around the house and whatever project. I would call him and double check that the “red wire goes…”? There are many parts of me that make up my father’s influences and I often hear myself saying, “I am the daughter of an engineer”.

Our relationship over the years took many twists and turns. For many years we fought and argued; ours was a family of frustration and discord. My parent’s relationship was a mixture of loving one another, trying to raise seven children, losing two children, trying to convince one another of their point of view. One time during an argument I let my father know that if he and mom weren’t arguing, they weren’t speaking.

Once I hit my 40’s and had my own experiences with parenting, I began to view my parents in a totally different light. I began to see that my father did the best he could given the life skills he’d acquired. He’d been traumatized since an early age and ALWAYS had to pull his own weight. I consciously decided that I didn’t want to be angry anymore AND I didn’t want to have any regrets toward him in my future. So, I began to “chill” and he met me more than half way. I also was better able to view each of my parent’s points of view and got to a point where I didn’t want to judge either of them. Life is a challenge at best and being a daughter doesn’t qualify me to judge too harshly. He never laid a hand on me, he always told me that he loved me; I always felt supported by both of my parents in their own way.

In January 2000, he was diagnosed with kidney and lung cancer. (Five years earlier he’d had and been treated for colon cancer). Five months later, he died. During those five months my sisters' and I rallied to provide care; he died in a hospital in Santa Fe during the fire evacuation from the Cerro Grande Forest Fire.
So today at 6PM while the Alessandria church bells were ringing, Kim and I stopped by a church and I lit a candle and thought of him. He would laugh about the “candles” now. You drop a coin into the offering box and poof, an electrical candle lights up. (He could easily have wired the new candle set up). I think that he would have approved of my Italian journey; he would have shaken his head at first but in time he’d been on board.

So here’s to my father, Manuel (Manny) B. Diaz. Happy birthday and thanks for giving me life and for making this sojourn possible. I am lucky and proud to be the daughter of an engineer.