Guess Who Is Getting a PUPPY

Guess who is getting a puppy?

For the last few weeks, an increasingly pregnant looking dog has been wandering around the apartment area. Well, she finally dropped her puppies under my neighbor Totò's terrace. She leaves them there as she goes foraging for food, and they are pretty well behaved (so far).

And yes, I love dogs. And yes, all new borns are just so darn cute, from humans to armadillos, but most of all puppy's. And these puppy's would probably win any cute puppy contest in Sicily, perhaps in Italy, maybe even in Europe, or the world, or, who knows, the Universe.

So guess what. I talked to Totò about them, because they are on his property, and so therefore are nominally his. He wanted the 'pick of the liter' for his sons. Oh well, one gone.

Now I wonder what he is going to do with the other three. I will tell you this, with the amount of traveling I want to do, none of them are going to live here with me. So if you KNOW who is getting a puppy, or if you have a good guess, or if you want one of them and are willing to come and get it, just let me know. Because I am not the one who is GETTING A PUPPY. :-(

The Sea Tilted Today

The sea tilted today
After the breeze stopped
After the mist sank to the ground
Depositing sand and silt
On once shiny cars

With no breeze
High clouds replaced
Yesterday's closeness
The surf came up
And it never does

Perhaps Empedocles
The underwater volcano
Was burping again
Casting out mini tsunami
To go with the sulfur smell
Suddenly in the air

Perhaps the wind had come up
Elsewhere
Sending us its waves
As falling sand
Turned the still waters
Further from shore
Pale brown and soft

Perhaps the sea tilted today
After the breeze stopped
After the mist sank to the ground
Depositing sand and silt
On once shiny cars

SUNSET POINT

One of the places Fran and I often walked to we named 'Sunset Point'. It is actually Capo San Marco, and used to have a Greek Signal Tower above it, and used to have an old fashioned light house, and now has a modern, automated light house. It is also the site of many ship wrecks, as the rocks come up near the surface in what many boats thought was deep water. They were wrong.

From sunset point, we could see old, unkempt olivetti, still producing a few olives, but not many. The trees were old and had not been trimmed, the soil had not been turned to cut down the competition for scarce summer water, and they had not been irrigated like the well tended olive groves in the area. The olivetti was still beautiful, with its old gnarly trunks and broad umbrella of branches.

From the point, we could see Tre Fontana in one direction, and Capo Bianco near Agrigento in the other. There used to be the hulking remains of a burned out car down there, although someone hauled it away. The path down to the point does not allow for easy access to walkers, no less cars or tow trucks, so I am not sure how it was taken out. The flat area is always overgrown, as no one trims it. The winds apparently have discouraged taller brush from developing , so there is just a low ground cover, and it usually has plants in flower each of the seasons, brightening up the surroundings. Occasionally there are young folks who have climbed down the steep cliff to reach the small beach, which is often littered with empty water bottles that have been jettisoned (or is it flotsamed) from passing boats and driven to shore by the waves.

I finally felt up to walking down there the other day. It was not a particularly clear day, and the sea was calm, except near shore, where unusual waves built up to almost surfing size, and worked to rearrange the coast line. There was no breeze, which was unusual, as usually Fran would complain about the strong winds blowing ashore as the tried to take her pictures of the sea, the land, the waves, the trees, and the beach.

It was beautiful there, and I could not help but imagine that she was with me.

Che Bravi Ragazzi

What great kids. Over Easter, when there were twenty or forty adults visiting their apartments next door, they told me that I could expect Frederica and Francesco to come this weekend for a big birthday party to celebrate Frederica's compleanno. I thought of the kids who were in their late teens and early twenties getting together for parties in the states, and did not look forward to the drinking, the loud, awful music, the noise, etc etc.

Was I wrong. Late Sunday morning, five cars pulled up and disgorged about twenty kids. They unloaded the groceries, the party supplies, the soccer balls, the music system, and got themselves organized. First came the music: Chicago Blues and vintage rock. I loved it, except that every time they turned it up loud enough for me to hear it well, someone said something about bothering the neighbor next door, and they turned it down, so I had to go over and ask them to turn it back up.

The the kids started playing soccer, and they even stationed someone to keep errant balls from hitting the cars parked above the soccer pitch. Other kids went for a walk. There was a constant buzz of conversations, however it was not the constant roar of shouts that I had feared.

After I had already finished my pranzo, Francesco came over bearing a plate overflowing with meat that they had grilled and that they could not finish. They did not want to take it home, so I added the secondo piatto to my meal. They scurried around making everything clean before they got back to their music and soccer. What a neat group of kids.

Just before I left to watch the Inter-Palermo soccer match (2-2 tie) at a friend's house, Frederica came over with a huge piece of birthday cake for me, and told me that when they opened the spumante wine, they would bring me a glass. I told her that I was leaving so I would not be able to partake, but I thanked her, and told her how nice it was to have such a great group of kids next door.

I thought about parties that have been next door to me in the US, and how the kids can not wait to get into the booze, how they care so little about their neighbors, and generally what a pain in the butt they can sometimes be, even when they are chaperoned by their parents. Here, kids can buy wine, beer, and liquor from the time they can take their pennies to the store, and they do not abuse the privilege. Not only that, but too a person, they were polite and considerate. Che Bravi Ragazzi, and Happy Birthday Frederica!!

Fran's Garden

Every morning, as I would head into town, Fran would be putting on her gloves to spend a few hours with her friends the plants. She had a green thumb, and green fingers to go with it. The front garden was mainly flowers and herbs, and the side garden was flowers and vegetables. I knew that when she died, I would have a hard time doing what she did with the plants.
And indeed, I have. However, she took such good care of them, and listened to each one as it told her where it would grow best, and how it would return year after year, there really was not a lot for me to do, or at least not a lot that I could do to undo all of her work.
So a few weeks ago I talked to Paolo, and he talked to one of his contadini, and the man came over for a day of working in the gardens, getting rid of all of the weeds, and giving room to the plants that Fran loved to care for. And I have been paid back in spades. The flowers are coming out more and more, and the three types of lavender Fran had planted, each a different size, each with slightly different colored leaves, look beautiful.

Indeed, even Bridgette, who loved Fran and loved Fran's garden, had to admit that the garden did not look too bad, and while it was certainly not up to Fran's standards, it was making it as some sort of memorial to her. . . a memorial I can look at and learn from each morning as I sit on the terrace sipping my morning coffee, listening to Lidue sing his little canary brains out.

To Fran, Four Months On

To Fran, Four Months On

Old photographs
Filed in my memory
Not so clear or right
As the ones in the computer
Saved with your love
Against a time such as this
When you have been gone
These four months
And I am left

Lonely mornings
Broken by gardeners
Daily shopping
Bitter espresso
News of a world
That no longer seems to matter

I sit like your father did
Enthralled with your images
And the beauty you found
In the world we shared

Pasquetta, A Time for Friends

Pasquetta, or little Easter, is celebrated in Sicily on the Monday after Easter. While it is not a religious holiday, it is indeed an important holiday, when everyone who can heads into the country or to the shore for a picnic. A big picnic. Fran and I had attended Pasquetta with Cousin Angelo and family in Pietraperzia, as well as with Fabrizzio and his family in the country outside of Sciacca. Today, I would share Pasquetta with Petra, Lute, and Klaus from Germany, and we would go to Fabio's new restaurant in Tre Fontana.

But first, we stopped at a view spot that Fran and I often walked to. She would get there, and take out her camera, and take pictures and pictures and pictures. Always of the same view. She loved it there. We stopped for a short time to remember her, and to look out over the sea, and to shed a few tears together.

It was a wonderful clear day, and looking to the east one could see Sciacca, and to the west, we looked out beyond Menfi to Selinunte and Tre Fontana.

On our way to Tre Fontana, we stopped at Cava de Cusa, where the stone for the great temples of Selinunte had been cut, and where the stonecutters put down their tools and walked away, instead of having to face the invading Carthaginians in 300 BC. It was wonderful, and until a tour bus arrived, it was peaceful.

Then we drove to Tre Fontana, a beach resort, where our friend Fabio had opened a restaurant, and had promised a wonderful meal. His restaurant is on the water, and is right on the main piazza of town. Downstairs, there is a gelateria and bar, and with five people working behind the bar, there was still a line of people waiting for coffee and ice cream. We went upstairs to the terrace dining area, and were treated to a wonderful view of the beach, and the ancient signal tower a few meters away. If the first three rules of running a successful restaurant are location, location, location, Fabio has it made. But the food is also important.

First they brought us a pre appetizer of olives, peanuts, and crackers, with an aperitif. That was followed by the antipasti. All of the antipasti were fish, except for the mixed fried platter, which included ceci flower panelli, deep fried olives, fried mozzarella, and French fries.

Then came the risotti. I had risotto with Gorgonzola, and my friends had a shrimp risotto. Then there were the calamari stuffed ravioli. This was followed by platters of grilled sea food. Huge calamari, octopus, two large fish, swordfish filets, and more large shrimp than you could shake a net at. Oh my. And I had some fried calamari as well. We were so happy when they took the platters away and brought some lemon granita for desert.

But wait, it was not desert. First, we had to deal with a fresh platter of grilled lamb. A mixed salad of course helped, as did the always full bottle of wine. Then we finally had a fruit cocktail of fresh fruit, and an almond cream desert that was to die for. We finally stuggled out of our seats and went to the bar, where we got a coffee to try to keep us awake for the ride home.

If I thought I had eaten well for Easter, I now realized that I was simply in training for Pasquetta. Oh my. Home and in bed and asleep again before ten o'clock. Today, I will diet.

Easter, a Time for Family

It was an Easter morning just as I had imagined all Easter mornings since my childhood, with a clear sky and beautiful sunrise. I looked forward to Easter Dinner, as I had been invited to dine with Paolo and his family - including his four children, his ten grand children, his in-laws, and a few others. Easter Dinner was to be held at a party house in Sciacca, Reggio Kokolas, that sits on a hill overlooking Contrada Foggia and the sea. Fran and I had wanted to eat there at some point, however the one time we went to get pizza there made by a friend of ours who had just gotten a job there, it was not possible, as there were three birthday parties going on, and they did not have any place quiet for us to eat, and the pizzioli were too busy making pizza for the kids.
The restaurant lived up to its billing as being very good, and everything from the antipasta to the pasta to the meat or fish course to the deserts to the coffee were excellent. They served 500 guests that day (only about 25 of them were Paolo's), and the service was always polite, always on time, and always there to make sure that everyone was having a good time. Everyone indeed did have a good time.

I learned later that the proprietor was an old friend of Paolo's (I should have known), and when everyone was done eating, Paolo was able to get them to bring him ten kilos of left over fish for his cats. And the left overs really were for the cats. Oh my, they must have feasted.

Of course I missed Fran while I was with this wonderful family, and indeed I had to excuse myself from the table a few times so that they would not see my tears. But it was a wonderful time, and as we were walking out to the car, Ignatzia took my elbow and said; 'See, you are a part of our family.' She is so sweet, because that is just how I felt.

It was evening when I got home, but there was no question that I did not feel hungry enough to have anything for cena. Such a wonderful meal. I went to bed to read, and woke up in the morning with the book where it had fallen on the floor. The last I remembered was that it was nine at night. Oh well, there is always Pasquetta.

The Rhine Valley

The Rhine Valley

The flat Rhine Valley
Greens under threatening skies
Then climbs out of itself
Into the hills of the Odenwald
That echo with rolls of thunder
Or almost forgotten hoof beats
Of the Knights of the Nibelung
Out for their spring hunt.

Rain starts on the opposite hillsides
Covered with hardwood forest
And gray rocky outcrops
A rainbow is exposed mid-flight
Lying low, near the ground
Unsure if the beggar's riches
Lie in the ruins of a crumbling castle
Or in the vineyard at the feet of the windmill
That turns in the breeze of time.