Firenze

I recently had the opportunity to meet Jane and Woody (left) and Wendy and Mike (right) in Rome, where we stayed one night before setting out for Florence by train. We had rented an apartment that held us comfortably just a few blocks from the Duomo, with its beautiful baptistry and Bruneleschi's Dome. Among other things, we visited the Duomo, the church of Sta. Maria Novella (wonderful paintings), and Palazzo del Bargello, which held a treasure trove of sculptures. As you can see above, the sculpture tried to copy the poses of my friends for outdoor sculptures, which were the only ones that one could take pictures of. Inside there was a collection of absolutely wonderful sculptures.

Of course no visit to Firenze would be complete without a visit to the Palazzo Della Uffizi, and Mike had thought ahead and bought us tickets for entry when it opened on Monday morning. Of course when we got up early and walked there, they were closed for a strike, and it made everyone sad.

We were able to go in three days later, and of course saw some spectacular art.

We continued out walk over the river to the Boboli Palace, and walked around the neighborhood a bit before taking a tour bus which showed us the other neighborhoods of Firenze, including giving me a spectacular view of the Ponte Vecchio, the only bridge that was not destroyed in the Second World War, under direct orders from Hitler, because he apparently liked the looks of it. That of course did not mean that the bombers could not take out the roads on either side of the bridge, making it unusable. Smart.
Whoops, sorry, This picture may be upside down. Anyway, we were able to make it across the bridge and back without buying any gold at all the jewelry shops that line the bridge.

In the evening, after enjoying as well as we could the northern Italian cuisine (yeah, I know, it is good for gourmets, but I have gotten used to and love Sicilian food much more) we ended up staring into the bottom of empty wine bottles. You can see, there is just a little chiani left in the bottom of this one.

More Destiny

I should begin at the beginning. But I didn't, so this will be at the beginning.

My dear friends Jane and Woody from Westchester, and Mike and Wendy from Maine, decided they wanted to tour Rome, Florence, and Sorrento, and invited me to tag along. I was to meet them in Rome, then we would go to Florence, return to Rome, and then Mike and Wendy and I would go on to Sorrento.

But this is not a story about them.

When I got to the hotel Mike had picked out in Rome, the Smerelda, near Camp di Fiori and Piazza Navona, I did my usual thing. I took a quick walk around the neighborhood, even though I was feeling really hungry, as I had not eaten breakfast, as I had to leave my house at 3:30 in the morning. Besides, I had missed my connection with Mike and Wendy at the airport, and was not sure when the other folks would be getting there, but knew that they would.

After walking over to Piazza Navona, and basically getting my bearings, I walked back to the hotel. As I was about to enter the door, I heard someone call my name. Sitting at a little restaurant across from the hotel door was Lloyd Portnow. I actually recognized him. He actually recognized me.

Lloyd had wanted to come to Sicily in the spring of 2004, and had made arrangements to live in Gaspare's house, which we had just left because we had bought our apartment. Lloyd knew about me because I had met his friend Dave in Erice one day, and then he showed up at Castelmare de Golfo later that day, and we shared some cold pizza.

Anyway, Lloyd and Fran and I wrote back and forth about making arrangements for them to come over, and to bring their dog Asa. In fact, Dave even drove from Burlington to Fort Ticonderoga one day when Fran and I were in the states, and were in Fort Ti to get some dental work done, and we had lunch together. We got to meet him face to face, and also to meet Asa, who is a beautiful and bright standard poodle.

Unfortunately, Lloyd'sw brother took ill, and Lloyd made himself completely available to his brother and his brother's family as he went through the cruel passage from life to death. He had to cancel his plans to come to Sicily. Since then, we have written back and forth a few times, and he offered to help out with the probate of Fran's will. He has also, apparently, been keeping up with this blog.

Finally, I got to meet his wonderful, bright, and charming wife Nancy. It was like the three of us had known each other for ages. It was old friends getting together, without losing a beat to time. We kept talking about the destiny entry in this blog, and how our meeting, and our staying at the same hotel in Rome, was indeed another form a destiny.

Here is to the two of you, Lloyd and Nancy, and to your super dog Asa. It was good to see you, and I look forward to our next reunion, as well as a trip to Sicily at some time in your future.

Dov'è Lester? Ecco Lui!!

I really do not know how to start this post, but I guess I just will. Fran and I first came to Italy in 1999. We flew into Rome, where her niece Amanda met us at the airport, and she drove us through fires and smoke in 100 plus degree weather to a beautiful hotel she had found in Naples. After taking a ferry from there to Sicily, and touring, some of the time with Amanda, we returned to Naples and the same hotel. I had wanted to see Positano, where my grandmother, Irma Jonas, had run an art workshop. We hired a driver for the day, and after seeing the Pompei ruins, as well as we could with Fran's sciatica problems, we stopped in Sorrento for lunch. While Fran was in the bathroom, I looked up and saw one of the peripatetic African traders outside the restaurant selling drums. As the church bells announced noon, our eyes met, we smiled at each other, and when Fran came out, I wanted her to look at the man, because he looked exactly like Lester. Of course, he had walked off by that time, and I could not find him on any of the other streets.

Who is Lester? This is the other start to this story. For years, and it felt like a wonderful lifetime, Lester worked with me in my classroom with behaviorally different junior high school, and later, high school students. In our case, the students were acting out, junior criminals. We worked well together. It was as if both of us were born for the work, and born to be partners. When a student decided to act out, we each knew what we would do, and how we would back each other up, without saying a word. When it came to the kids, our minds were one. When a white student used racial epithets, I would not talk to the student, only Lester could give him his work, correct his papers, or do whatever needed being done. When one of the black students used racial epithets, they were mine to deal with.

Lester was a large man. He was about six and a half feet tall, dark skinned, and weighed about 300 pounds, or a little more. He was a gentle man, and cared about the kids in a truly marvelous and loving way. I had visited him about a week before leaving for Italy. He and I had gotten out of the teaching game, and he was a much better paid reservation clerk with USAirways, and I was an administrator in Fulton. He would come to the graduate classes I taught at Oswego State to give guest lectures about dealing with behaviorally disordered children.

Now back to the main thread. I could not find this wonderful drum seller who looked like Lester. When I got home to the states, there were five phone messages for me. Four of them were from friends in Syracuse. Lester had died at six o'clock in the morning on the day I saw the drum seller in Sorrento. It was as if his spirit had visited me. Six in the morning in Syracuse is noon in Sorrento. It gave me chills, but I refused to belief in such stuff.

Now, I am just back from a trip to Florence, Rome, and Sorrento with some friends from the states. Of course there was no sign of the drum seller in Sorrento when I looked for him the first two days. On our third and last day, I saw him sitting in the main square, without any drums. I asked him if he sold drums. He did. I went to the place where he stored his wares, and bought a drum from him. I told him about Lester, and told him how I had kept my memory of the drum seller alive, and that I was so glad to see him again. He is from Senegal, and has a wonderful warmth and gentleness about him, just like Lester.

He gave me a Lester like smile. Now I have to learn to play his drum.

Caption This

On Sunday morning, I went swimming and reading on the beach for a while. All of a sudden, I heard a loud noise, and looked down to the other end of the beach, and saw a car on the beach. We all went down to see if we could help out, and by the time we got there, the woman who had been driving had been helped out of her car, and was sitting in a beach chair waiting for an ambulance. She was shaken up, but basically alright. The police and the coast guard came, with the coast guard officer arriving first. I think he was checking for beach pollution. Within an hour, a wrecker came and lifted the car off the beach and took it into town, and things were back to normal. Anyway, I got my camera, and took some pictures. Then I started wondering about how to caption the pictures. So I will include one picture here, along with some ideas for the captions, and please, feel free to suggest others in the comments section.



















But the sign said 'Beach Parking'
Most folks use beach chairs, hats and umbrellas, but some like to sit in the car.
So what do you do when there is ice on the road?
Has anybody checked under the car? (the answer is no, but there was no one there).

I think you can probably come up with better captions.

Where are they now?

On the morning of September 3, a Monday morning, I looked out at the parking lot. The morning before, all of the parking spaces had been taken. Now, there were just my two cars in it. That quickly, all the folks that come down in the summer for a few weeks or a few months of relaxation on the beach had disappeared, as if abducted by aliens, who had hundreds of special probes ready in their spacecraft.

After nights of wonderful entertainment in the 'cavea', and wonderful food afterward, and noise into the wee hours of every morning, and the smells of fresh coffee brewing coming from all the apartments starting around ten o'clock in the morning, everything was still. Everyone had left.

I started to really miss all the friends that I had spent time with over the summer. Then, five minutes later, I started to really enjoy the peace and quiet. I returned to my library and started reading at a fantastic clip. I took solitary walks to sunset point. I drove down to the beach, jumped in the water and swam around for a little while, without having to then stand on the beach and talk to all the guys about how nice it was to stand on the beach and talk to all the guys.

Monday night, I fell asleep reading at about 9 o'clock, and did not wake up until about 9 o'clock. It was wonderfully peaceful. A wonderful change. Ignatzia called me on three different days, with fresh lentils, then fresh eggplant, then fresh bread. The stores in town were no longer as crowded. Things had returned to normal.

When Friday night came, half the people came back to again enjoy the sun and the beach. The pace picked up. Pranzo with Franco and Giusy. Then Emilio and Mariarosa made pizza for their friends. There were about thirty of us, and they made about twenty Tabisco (family size) pizzas, and then calzones to go along with it. Then there were of course the sweets and the grappa, which I think they pump out of the diesel pump at the gas station.

The next afternoon, another friend stopped by. Her daughter was having trouble with an assignment in school, and wanted my help. She is in first year of University, and one of her courses has to do with the History of English. She was having trouble understanding two of the essays she had been assigned to read, so I read them over and explained the main ideas to her in Italian. She invited me to her family's apartment for coffee.

There was coffee that night, and the next night, there was more coffee, along with grilled pancetta, grilled pork chops, grilled sausage, grilled eggplant, grilled onions, and a wonderful salad. Vita, the mother, and Ninni, the father, have two daughter, and they were their with their boy friends. Their neighbors, Lillo and Mirella, were also there, with their son and daughter, also college students. And of course they had their findanzati with them. Then some other folks just seemed to drift in. I think there were about twenty of us when the kids got out a computer and started karioki on the terrace. Singing and dancing, and they asked me to sing 'All You Need is Love', and once they heard my voice, they switched to Italian songs. Mirella asked me to dance, and I did, after protesting. After a few minutes, she believed me when I said I could not dance. It was indeed a wonderful evening, and it was fun watching the kids, even if they were constantly distracted by their raging hormones.

And now, now it is Monday morning again, and the parking lot is empty again, and I can sleep late and read again.

Because of this duality, it is not a wonderful life, it is wonderful lives.