SicilianMama

MEAT

2010-05-01T08:12:00.010+02:00

This is a story about my local butchers, or where I buy meat when I do buy meat. I should start out by saying, I supppose, that I do not buy meat nearly as much as I used to, and have actually looked back on a week and realized that I had eaten as a vegetarian (not a vegan, mind you), and did not miss the meat. But when I want sausage, or pork chops, or beef fillet (now that I know how to cook it) or some other meat, I go to see Stefano and Michele Ciancimino, two brothers who work out of an unpreposessing store front near Pollo Doc and Lillo and Loredonna's Ortafruitica. That is my friend Vincenzo witht he white cain who happened to be walking past when I took the picture. He used to work in America, and sometimes I go to his house to help him read his mail and respond to requests from his pension system. I wrote about him once before, and the huge picnic he invited me to.

Their meat is always the freshest. I know, because when I was here for only a short period of time, I went there to get some sausage and they told me that I really should not buy it that day, but come back the next day when it was fresh made. They have always treated me with respect, and always tried to meet my strange demands. When Fran and I decided we wanted thicker Italian sausage, they made it thicker for us (and soon enough, we saw other people asking them for the same thing, however the craze for thick Italian sausage has run its course).

When I want ground beef, I point out the pieces of beef I want ground. Then we usually have a
discussion of what I will use it for, and then it will be ground to order. The same of course with ground veal and ground pork. They also make their own salami, and hang it up in the store to cure. You can see from the pieces of paper hanging from it that people have reserved some of it in advance. I always try to have a few links of it in the house, as it makes a nice antipasto with cheese and olives, and is also good to snack on sometimes.

In terms of the sausage and its freshness, I had to laugh when a friend from Sigonella came here, and for a bar b que he brought some Italian sausage made in America. I asked him why he got it when they have fresh Italian sausage here, and he told me that with American Italian sausage at least he knew what was in it. I looked at the ingredients. Pork, water, a few spices, and about six chemicals that I do not know what they do for better or worse, used as preservatives, color enhancers, etc etc. Here, the list is shorter. That piece of pork ground and stuffed into that piece of casing with just a pinch of spice mixed in. Period. No water. No chemicals.

Thursday is the day they get their meat deliveries, and start cutting for the weekend business. They usually get two to four sides of beef in a week, and four to six sides of pork. Most of it is locally grown, and I have joked with people that not only can I find out what farm it was grown on, but they can tell me the name of the animal as well.

They also get a quarter of beef Florentine, which is the premier beef grown in Italy, in the Tuscany area, for those who really like beef. It is good beef, but I must admit, I seem to be slowly losing my taste for beef. (although a nice beef stew or beef barley soup in the winter sure is nice).

First they carve up the beef into manageable pieces, then the veal, and finally the pork. When the pork is finally cut into parts, they start grinding parts of the pork for sausage. They reported that they make between 100 and 200 kilos of sausage per week (220 to 440 pounds of sausage per week). And this is a small two man operation.

Stefano and Michele learned their trade from their father, and unfortunately, neither of them has sons or daughters who seem interested in learning the trade. But then as Fran said many times, Sicily is like America in the 1950's, and small butcher shops may soon become a thing of the past. Indeed, Stefano and Michele told me that there used to be 40 butcher shops in Sciacca, and already the number is down to less than 20.

I can only hope that they will continue to do the wonderful business they do as long as I am here and as long as I want to eat meat.

All it takes is time

2010-04-01T14:53:00.002+02:00

Sometimes here in Sicily one simply has to be patient. When we first got here, and before I settled on Lilo and Loredonna as my usual purveyors of fruit and vegetables, occasionally I would go to a small street side ortofruttica at the circle in the Perriera section of Sciacca.

As an American, indeed, as a foreigner here, with very limited language skills, I was always afraid that someone would try to cheat me. I was afraid that someone like the car dealer who did not honor his guarantee on my Fiat Barchetta would do something like not honor the guarantee he gave me on the car. He was the first example I had of someone who wanted to take advantage of me. Thankfully, the salesman did treat me well, and fixed the car for me out of his own pocket. The dealer went bankrupt a year ago, and the former salesman now is manager of a different dealership. Funny how things work out, eh?

Then there was the fruit and vegetable dealer at the traffic circle. One time, when I was only getting one item, I think it was mushrooms, he tried to charge me based on the price in Lira (without three zeros) instead of in Euros. That means he was trying to charge me double. I complained, and he showed me the price in Lira, and I showed him the price in Euros. He told me that euros and Lira were the same without the euros. I pointed to the other examples of where the price in Euros was half the price in Lira (discounting the euros). After five minutes of litigation, and several customers putting their purchases down and walking away, he finally gave me the correct change. It was only a difference of a euro or two, but I did not want to be cheated by him.

A few weeks later, on our way home, Fran said she needed to buy some celery, so we stopped there. When she returned to the car, she said she thought she had been overcharged. She was right. Again it was a matter of only a euro or two. She wanted to go back so we could argue with the guy. I told her that I had gone that route once, and I had a different idea. We started telling everyone we knew that the guy was a cheat, and mistreated people from other countries. When they asked, we told them about our experiences.

A few weeks later, he came up to me on the street, and told me that he had heard that I was saying he was dishonest. I told him it was true, and told him why. He said I should have come back and gotten the correct change, and I told him that I had done that once, and the second time could not have been a mistake. He told me that he did not like me talking about him the way I had been, and I told him that I did not like the way he tried to cheat people. We left it at that.

Today I read in the paper that he had filed for bankruptcy two years ago, and the courts held yesterday that the bankruptcy was fraudulent, that he did indeed have the money to pay some of the bills he was trying to avoid, that he owed creditors and the courts fifty thousand euros (that would be one hundred million lira), as well as a fine of five thousand euros (ten million lira), and court costs. In addition, he was sentenced to four years of reclusion (that usually means two years in jail and two years of house arrest, which may be reduced by one third for good behavior).

Oh my, what goes around comes around. I wonder if I should now ask him for the one or two euros that he cheated Fran out of. After all, that would be two or three thousand lira.

The Chicken King

2010-04-01T13:37:00.008+02:00

In the photo above is the staf f plus one of Pollo Doc. From left to right Annalisa, Dominica, Ginella, Giusepina, Massimo (owner), his wife Giusy, and their son Piergiuseppe.

There are times when I really do not feel like cooking. Sometimes when I do not feel like cooking, I go to one of the restaurants, La Vela, Hostoria del Viccolo, or even Bar Charley. However, sometimes I treat myself to spit roasted chicken. When I do this, I go to see the King of Chicken in Sciacca, Massimo, and his wife, the Queen of Lasagna, Giusy. Together they run Pollo Doc in the La Perriera section of Sciacca.

While there are five or six places to get spit roasted chicken in Sciacca, there is only one King of Chicken, and that is indeed Massimo. Not only does he know his job of cooking chicken well, he also knows customer relations. He always has a smile for me, and when he learned that Fran had died, he let me know that I could get just half of one of his chickens if I wanted. Half is just about right for a good meal, some bones for stock, and some left overs to go with the stock or to make chicken salad.

Massimo told me that his roaster will hold sixty chickens at a time, and on any given day he cooks at least 150 chickens in it. He also roasts his home made boneless chicken rolls, rabbits, and some other things in there. They come out well seasoned, moist, and delicious.

His wife oversees the kitchen as they prepare other dishes for the customers. There are hot roast beef slices, hot turkey slices, fresh boiled carrots, peas, beans, spinach, swiss chard, broccoli, cauliflower, or whatever else might be fresh. You can also get breaded and deep fried mushrooms, carciofi (artichoke bulbs), garduni (artichoke stems), cauliflower, broccoli, and eggplant. There are also chicken involentini, and a host of other dishes, all made with the freshest ingredients possible. Then there are the
prepared chicken wings, drum sticks, pork ribs, chicken fingers, and on and on and on and on.

Giusy is also the Queen of Lasagna here, as far as I am concerned. A lot of folks make a great pasta al forno, and I like them all. But she is the one I go to when I have a hankering for lasagna. Oh my, it is so good, and a single portion lasts me for two meals. There are also a few types of pasta al forno, and occasionally they make eggplant Parmesan. It is all good. So good.

Of course, if you need wine or soda or water to go with your meal, they have a nice selection of Sicilian wines and soda for you to choose from. They were the first folks I knew who stocked wines from the Calatrasi cantina in San Ciporella, which is one of the cantinas Fran and I particularly liked. You can also get bread, which is of course delivered fresh daily.

As an example of the excellent team that Massimo and Giusy have put together, when I got there at eight in the morning, just as the folks were arriving for the day's work, they all started their tasks in the spotless kitchen. When Massimo found out that one of the women was not feeling well, he rushed her off to the emergency room to be checked over. One of the other women started crying, because she was so worried about her co-worker. She came back an hour later, and someone had spitted the chicken for Massimo to cook, so pranzo, while it might be a little late, would be available for everyone. Everyone there is friendly to me, and they do a marvelous job of wading through my think American accent. These are folks who know good customer relations.

Excuse me, I think that the rice I cooked in home made chicken stock with fresh peas and leftover chicken is ready. I need to put this aside for now.

Castle Walls they all will fall

2010-04-01T13:23:00.005+02:00

As sure as we get sand boats with the first few storms of late fall and early winter, we get mudslides and landslides with the late storms of winter. Roads are undercut, hillsides fall down, in the case of a small town in the Province of Messina, roads are filled with mud and buildings are knocked down. It is all covered in the news, and it is sad, but it happens to someone else, someone we or I do not know.

When I came back from the states, and approached the beach at Baia Ranella, we could see the results of the late winter rains, that gave more water than the already heavy clay soil could take.

Then we got around the corner, and past the beach, and we were able to see the really bad news. Paolo's wall had started to fall down two years ago, and a temporary fix was made, and then the road and cars were 'protected' by a new metal wall. The fix was clearly not permanent enough, and the road up to my apartment was closed. With good reason.
The wall had started to come down, undercut by water going down and out at the bottom, by the water pushing too hard on the top of the wall. The road was gone, undercut by the water that took the low route. The picture above shows part of the roadway that was done in, and further up there was another part that was even worst. The fence to close the area really is to protect cars, so they do not fall into some of the new holes.
There was also damage up above, where Paolo had a terrace area for parking his car next to his summer house. The wall holding up that terrace had given way. A large storage area was destroyed, along with Paolo's amazing collection of broom handles, broom ends, chicken feed mills, plastic buckets, metal buckets, electrical cords, tools, and on and on. It also destroyed his chicken coop, and the roosting area I had helped him build when we first got here. Dogs took care of most of the chickens, although there are still five or six that are running loose in the olive orchard that is between where the coop was and where the wall was.

Paolo is distressed, and so am I. The wall will be rebuilt at great cost to Paolo, and then the road will be rebuilt by the city. Meanwhile, I use a very narrow and curvy road to get into town and back home. That is a minor inconvenience for me. It is very sad about the loss of the chicken coop, the storage area, several olive trees, other fruit trees, and Paolo's chickens. So sad.

April Fish

2010-04-01T13:20:00.002+02:00

There are some things here in Sicily, and indeed, in Italy, that I will never understand. There are some other things that are pretty easy to understand.

This is one of them.

Today is April 1st, and in the US it is April Fools' Day. Not so here. It is April Fish Day. So people try to tape a fish or a picture of a fish on the back of other people, and this is an invitation to everyone else to kick the 'April Fish' in the rear end. It also is, according to the television news, the day for kids to throw water balloons.

Like I said, this is one of them. Some things I will never understand, and other things are easy to understand. You might want to check your back side now to make sure you are not carrying an April Fish around with you. But then, maybe your friends will tell you, with a swift kick.

SAM MANCUSO (Sr.)

2010-03-31T14:30:00.003+02:00

Sam Mancuso (Sr.) died overnight on March 31st at the age of 93. The above photo was taken in January.

Sam was a special man. He was a steel worker, a farmer, a grape grower, a wine maker, a father to seven children, and he and his wife Rose served as the father and mother of one of his grandchildren. His wife and two of his children predeceased him, so he leaves five children, almost countless grand children, and becoming countless great grand children.

During his lifetime, he ran for office on the Democratic ticket to insure that people in East Dunkirk would have a choice. He also was a founding member of the East Dunkirk Volunteer Fire Department, and I am told at one time had a siren mounted on the roof of his barn. He grew some of the best apples and grapes of anyone in the area, and made some of the worst wine. All of it was fun for him, and he left the joy of working with the land to all of his children.

He will be missed by his family, and by his community.

Addio Sam

Italian Health Care II

2010-03-26T11:17:00.003+01:00

No photos with this one. I had some gastrointestinal problems recently, and this was followed by severe pain in my left shoulder. After trying simply rest and pain killers for two days, I decided it was time to see a doctor. I could not sleep, had a hard time eating, and could not get comfortable. In my worst imaginings, I thought it might be a precursor to a heart attack, or a small stroke, or some other fatal attraction. The saner part of me thought it might be just sever inflammation, curable with a steroid and pain reliever shot. Even with 600 mg ibuprofen, the pain was insufferable. So finally, I called my friend Dr. Rino Marinello and made an appointment to see him at the emergency room in Sciacca.

The triage nurse took care of me at 2 p.m., and within five minutes I was in an examination room with Dr. Marinello and a nurse. The took blood, ran an electrocardiogram, and wheeled me out to radiology for x rays. Then I had to wait two hours for the results of the blood work. While I waited, my ibuprofen wore off, so when they came to get me to take me to cardiology, I was in severe pain. The hospital was warm, I was sweating, the pain was giving me a fever, so the assistant, after taking a good look at me, took me back to the examining room, where Dr. Marinello made the current patient leave, made me lie down on the bed, started an IV with saline solution and a mild pain reliever, gave me another ecg, and sent me off to cardiology, this time on a gurney. His face when I entered clearly showed his concern.

At cardiology, I was given four more ecgs, as well as an eccocardiogram (I enjoyed watching my heart pump). While my heart looked strong, the cardiologists worried that the left arm pain might be a precursor to a heart attack, so they recommended I stay under observation for another twelve hours. I was given a bed in one of the emergency room bedrooms. There were two other patients in the room when I arrived, both very old women who looked near the end of life. Their daughters complained that I, as a man, should not be allowed to share a room with two helpless women. They were overruled. Dinner came, and one of the old women refused her dinner, and it was given to me. The daughter complained, so another dinner was brought. The old woman refused again, so of course the daughter ate it. Later, her mother checked out of the room in the only way possible for her. May she rest in peace.

It was rather amusing to see the two daughters operate. When a pillow was brought in for me, I was not quick enough to grab it, so a daughter grabbed it so she could use it as she slept on a cot next to her mother. A man was rolled in on a bed with a big blanket (brought from home, it had his name on it.) One of the women tried to take that, but was stopped by the man's son. It was really pretty funny to watch, and I really did not mind missing the pillow for the amusement value.

Then Crash McCall, who seems to want to try out for the Nascar circuit, came in. He was big and strapping, and rolled me back to cardiology for another ekg and ecg. He managed to bump into every doorway with the gurney I was on, and I would not have believed it possible, but he managed to hit one doorway four times. But we went through the hallways fast, and the turns caused a bit of vertigo.

Anyway, nothing new in cardiology, so back to radiology, four more ex rays, and up to orthopedics, where I was finally diagnosed with severe inflammation and given a shot of steroids and pain killers by Dr. Drago. Then down to see the ER Doctor who replaced Dr. Marinello on the late shift. Dr. Mancuso (that's right, but when I told him that Fran Mancuso had been my wife, he mumbled that there are a lot of Mancuso's in Sicily) told me that there were two divergent opinions. Drago had made a diagnosis, treated me, and said I could be released. The cardiologist wanted to keep me until 4 AM. It was now 10 PM. I opted to stay. They took more blood, another ecg, and sent me back to my room. At midnight, they had replaced the woman who had died with another patient, there was a man on a gurney in the room, and another man in a wheelchair. Dr. Mancuso wanted to see me. The results of the blood tests indicated that I probably was not going to have a heart attack, and suggested I sign myself out. I did, went home, and a combination of Dr. Drago's shot and some ibuprofen allowed me to sleep peacefully.

When I registered with the triage nurse, he needed only my name, date of birth, place of birth, and place of residence. That was all. He did not even want to see my Italian health care card. All of the care, 5 xrays, countless ecgs, an ekg, blood work, pain killers, steroids, orthopedic consult, all were without cost to me. I think of a friend who went to the emergency room for GI problems in the states. Because there had been a one month lapse in his health insurance, the same company who had insured him previously and was insuring him again refused to pay the $12,000 bill because it was a preexisting condition.

Yes, it took me twelve hours to get out of the hospital, but I really want to thank Italian health care.

St. Agostino

2010-03-21T09:20:00.006+01:00

An almost hidden treasure in the popular tourist spot of Taormina in Sicily is the folk art museum. It is hidden in plain site on the floor above the main tourist office in the square where one turns to walk up to the massive Greek Theater. Virtually every tourist who visits Taormina walks by the tourist office, and indeed, walks by the folk art museum, but it seems that few people know it is there, and even fewer take the time to climb the stairs and take a look.

Fran and I found it by accident one day, and we returned several times. One of our favorite parts of the displays was a collection of paintings depicting several near tragedies. On each painting the artist had explained the story, with captions that translated (very loosely) to things like: On March 8, 1654 a fishing boat was swamped by a storm in the straits of Messina, but thanks to the prayers of the crew to St. Drowning, all hands were saved. Or On a sunny day in May of 1794, a group of children walking across a field were set upon by wild dogs. They prayed for the intervention of St. Gatto, and the dogs left them unharmed. Or perhaps A boat sank in the sea off Gardino Naxos on February 2nd, 1836, and thanks to the prayers and intervention of St. Pisces, no one drowned.

The paintings were done in the style of true folk art, and we thought them interesting, and extremely expressive. You can imagine my surprise when I went into the St. Agostino Church in Sciacca and found a similar collection of paintings. Of course the Church of St. Agostino is named after the great St. Augustine, of whom Bob Dylan, among others dreamed, and who spent some time in Sciacca as he travelled from Africa to Rome, only to be followed by his mother, St. Monica, who doggedly wanted to convert him back to Catholicism.

However, the paintings in Sciacca were different in one important aspect. Here, the paintings of ships foundering off the coast were accompanied by very different stories. On May 3, 1652 a ship with 6 fisherman sunk off the coast of Sciacca, and despite the prayers to St. Bubbles, all hands perished. Or On November 18, 1784, two men fell overboard from a ship in heavy seas in the Sicilian Channel, and despite prayers to the Holy Cousin, they were never found.

So it was not always good news that the paintings reported, but it was a way of keeping track of some of the history of the area. History and folk art, what a combination, and what a collection.

All of the photos in this post were taken at St. Agostino's in Sciacca. The folk art museum in Taormina does not allow photography.

Americas (It's about time)

2010-03-20T07:16:00.008+01:00

I visited America for a month and a half in January and February. It was quite the experience. My travel schedule took me from Palermo to Boston by plane, Boston to Dunkirk and back by car (thanks for driving, Jon), Boston to Maryland by plane, Washington DC to San Francisco and back by train (four days and three nights on the train each way), Maryland to Florida by plane, then San Francisco by plane, back to Boston by plane, and then home by plane. Not to leave out water transportation, we did take a ferry across San Francisco Bay. It was exhausting, it was fun, it was sad, it was bittersweet, it was frustrating. It has taken me a month to be ready to even write this much about it.

I took a bunch of pictures, but many were from the train which actually travelled too fast to allow me to take good pictures. Oh well.

When I arrived in Boston, I picked up my rental car, in which Jon and I were going to drive to Dunkirk, picking up Jess on the way, to empty out the storage shed Fran and I had there. The car was a Lincoln Navigator, a little larger than I was used to, so before leaving the airport grounds I test drove it into a van operated by the Boston Fire Department. The replacement car was a Lexus, not quite as big, but just fine, thank you.

Jon did all the driving from Boston to Dunkirk, and we met with the Mancuso clan for dinner. It was good to see everyone, and good to see Jon and Jess interacting with their aunts and uncles and cousins, and most especially with their grandfather Sam, who is 93 years old and still up and about and wondering what he will plant in his huge gardens this year for his vegetable stand.

After loading up the car and then unloading it into Jess's car and then Jon's apartment, I was off to Maryland after meeting up with my friend Phyllis Blumberg in Boston for lunch one day, and my nephew Jacob another day. Jon's cats were wonderful hosts
my visit, and I appreciate the fact that they allowed me to stay with them.

In Maryland I stayed one night with my friends Eric and Carol Chandler, then we drove into the capitol and boarded our train for San Francisco. Fortunately we had booked first class cells on the train, so we had our sleeping quarters and bathrooms in our own little rooms, with about the space for a queen size bed in total. It was difficult for me to turn around in the shower, but somehow we managed the trip, and were able to memorize the menu in the dining car after our third meal on board. I guess taking the train across the country is something everyone should enjoy, just for the variety of scenery that is possible, however I did find the quarters cramped, and there was little to do but read and look out the window. Perhaps it would have been better if they had some sort of excursion fare where one could stop for a day or two in the various cities we came to. I did get to see Ottumwa, home of Radar O'Rielly from Mash, which was about as close to a thrill as I got on the ride.
On the return trip, when we got to Reno there were avalanche warnings for the Burlington Northern tracks we were using, so we were rerouted on a more northern Union Pacific track line, and then when we got to Denver (early) there had been a derailment on the tracks ahead, so again we headed a bit north for the run into Chicago. We arrived in Chicago too late to make our connection, so they put us up in a very nice hotel, and we left the next day. It really was a minor inconvenience, and I really did enjoy the luxuries of a large hotel room that night.

The view of the buildings in Chicago at night from the window of my room was nice, and I tried to take a picture of it, but I was unsteady enough, and there was enough that it did not come out. Or maybe it was Christmas and I just did not know it. At any rate, I sort of like the shot I got of it.
I escaped Maryland about twenty four hours before they got socked with two feet of snow. I count my lucky stars. So it was off to Jane and Woody's place in Fort Myers, Florida. I had a relaxing week there, and we spent time at a slough near their condo, as well as a short drive around Sanibel Island with its wonderful Ding Darling Bird Sanctuary. I also got to see my friend Ted Walbourn and his wife Joan from my work time in Fulton, as well as Susie Mitloff and her husband from my high school days.

My flight from Tampa to Atlanta on the way to San Francisco was cancelled, and I was rerouted through Minneapolis. Again, I narrowly missed a storm by getting the rerouting, and was able to get to the west coast to spend some more time with my friends Carl Buchin and Claudia Valas. By this time I think I was so multiply jet lagged that I did not have a clear idea of where or when I was, and I think I left the camera in the suitcase the whole time.

I do know that I eventually went back to Boston, and flew on home two days later. I found America somehow changed. Some of the paranoia seems to have lifted. I also found it more materialistic that I remembered, but I think perhaps that is more my memory than any real change. I am proud to say that other than two sandwiches from Subway (which, by the way, were rather good) I avoided fast food for the whole trip, and my feet did not enter a single McDondald's, Burger King, Carl's Jr., Sonic, Wendy's, or other purveyor of questionable edibles.

So home again home again, just in time for the last of the winter rains, and the first of the sparkling clear, warming days of spring.

Circus

2009-12-21T08:40:00.006+01:00

Everytime a circus comes to town (about three or four times a year) I start having Bob Dylan's Desolation Row go through my head.

"They're selling postcards of the hanging
'They're painting the passports brown
'The beauty shop is filled with sailors
'The circus is in town."

For whatever reason, I had never been to a circus until now. I remember once having an opportunity to see Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus at Madison Square Garden, but I opted to search the shelves of the Strand for interesting used books instead. Fran used to go to the travelling circus in Tupper Lake when the kids were young. She would laugh and say that if they advertised 80 animals, you could be that there were 79 birds and one horse.

Anyway, I convinced my friend Maria to go to the circus with me, along with her two children, Claudia and Alberto. I had hoped that her husband Mimmo would also come, but he claimed that he was tired so did not come over to the field near the stadium to see the second, or maybe third greatest show on earth.

This circus was certainly not Ringling Brothers, or even one of the Ringlings, nor was it Barnum nor Bailey. But it was fun. The circus did not have any birds, but they did have three camels, four horses, four snakes, four donkeys, and a zebra. The performers each had a variety of roles, and it seemed that some of them were working their way down from circus life, while others were trying to learn the trade, and move up to better circuses.

Not including the roustabouts, there were about ten people who worked for the circus, with one young man, who had probably trained as a gymnast, also working as a juggler and at one point putting the horses through their paces as they pranced around the single ring.

The clown came out on several occasions to do cute little, silent jokes, and then led kids selected from the audience in a game of musical chairs. Claudia did participate in that, and came in second. For me, it was most amusing when one of the women brought around a large snake for people to pet, and I watched Claudia and Alberto climb over each other to get out of the way.

It was certainly a beat circus, but it was also a fun circus, and the next time a circus comes to town, I will be there. Besides, with only about thirty people in the audience, I was able to get front row seats.

Wall

2009-12-21T08:31:00.006+01:00

My December project was putting a half wall up on part of my terrace. I thought it would make a good place to sit, a good place to put things when I have people over to eat on the terrace, and a nice frame for the view to the sea.

My friend Maria recommended two brothers who were muratore, or wall builders. In the seven plus years I have lived in Sciacca, I have had to employ muratore to redo our bathroom, put in a wall safe, build a little storage area behind the apartment, fix the kitchen floor, and maybe one or two other projects. The good muratore are always busy, and the not so good muratore are always not so good.

This time I really lucked out. Not only were Maria's friends good, they were available, they did a nice job, and did the work quickly. I was able to use some of the left over tiles from the bathroom for the inner wall, and it dressed it up very nicely.

The condominium would not allow me to make a glassed in room in the area with the wall, or I would consider doing that. As it stands, the wall adds something very nice to the apartment, and I am glad I did it.

Thanks, guys, you did a great job.

TRYING TO KICK

2009-12-08T12:03:00.002+01:00

TRYING TO KICK
To Fran three years on (II)

As I loose Hypnos' grip
Hemera opening my eyes
I reach to grasp one more time
A fix to end my pain
Like a junkie trying to kick
I need one more kiss
From the lips of Morpheus

The empty pillow next to me clears my head
No head or hair to hold and smell
Your body not next to mine again
The topography of the spread
Unchanged from the night of sleep
Escaping

I stumble to make coffee
Stuck on the first of twelve steps
After on morning at a time
No tomorrows loom for me
Yesterdays and yesteryears before
Give little comfort
I face one day at a time
I know my problem well

Friends tell me
Through recovery
That the Twelfth Step
Is finding faith, a God of some sort
It is Hemera and Noyx
The gods of day and night
Who have moved in
I live with them
One day at a time
One night at a time
Yet the habit of you
Is too hard to break
The loss of you
A break of faith
Which I affirm
One day at a time

MY REVOCERY PROGRAM

2009-12-08T11:59:00.002+01:00

MY RECOVERY PROGRAM
For Fran three years on

My recovery program
Twelve halting steps
Each one taking me
Into one day at a time

Each sunrise wakes me
Gives me one more day
To find out what will happen
And imagine what would have happened
Had you been here

I have not recovered missing you
Nor do I seem to be recovering
The suddenness of your death
Not allowing detoxification
From the love we held.

Like the addicts I saw
kicking in hospital wards
Tossing feverishly and begging
I stir and feel your pillow
Search for your smile resting there
Make my one pleading for just one more day
Before facing the one I have been given.

Walking a dolphin (?)

2009-11-23T07:31:00.003+01:00

I noticed something strange on the sand the other day when I was driving by the beach. There were several people stopped looking at it. I think it was a dolphin, or an ex-dolphin. It made me wonder if there is any market for tuna-free canned dolphin. This guy may have died of natural causes. Clearly, he did not just beach himself (or she did not just beach herself, I am not sure.)
Anyway, the feral cats in the area had a field day for two days until the dolphin was picked up and taken to the local dolphin cemetary.

Dreams of Soccer Glory

2009-11-23T07:24:00.003+01:00

Last year I watched and chronicled Sergio Ricotta joining the ranks of referees for soccer here in Sicily. Sergio is 17 years old now, in his senior year at the Classical High School in town (a full academic high school, including Greek and Latin for all students) and will be headed to University next year to become a lawyer. He will be a good lawyer. From watching him as a referee, he will be a good judge as well. He is also the son of Fabri Ricotta, Fran’s cousin, and his wife Gabri.

This year, Sergio has moved up from refereeing kids league games to what is called Series Three. Allow me to digress for a moment now and let you know that this will be full of digressions, to help you understand my mind set, and if possible, Italian Soccer. Series Three is the lowest level of league soccer in Italy. Below that there are just pick up games. Each year, the top two teams of any league (there are loads of leagues in Series Three) have an opportunity to move to Series Two, which is called Excellence, and the same deal moving from Excellence to Series One, and then into the truly professional ranks of Series D, Series C, Series B, and finally the big leagues, Series A, which currently has 18 teams in Italy.

As Fabri said, Series Three players are split between older men who have seen better soccer playing days, but are still good enough to play a little soccer (shall we say 35-50 years old) and young players who are just starting out, hoping against hope that Zampirini, the owner of the Palermo Series A squad, will for whatever reason come to a jerk water town and offer them a contract after seeing how well they play. After several lousy seasons, Sciacca is still holding on to its team in the Excellence category.

On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, Sergio, Fabri and I piled into Fabri’s car and drove over to Ribera to see a match, and watch Sergio work as referee. The setting was perfect. The stadium had a pitch that was all brown dirt. We were allowed to enter at the players entrance, just before they closed and locked the gate, thereby securing the cars that the players drove to the game. It was to be a match between Ribera and Jopolo, another nearby town.

There were two bars just outside the stadium, and they were doing a very good business considering it was Sunday afternoon, when most folks would be eating pranzo in Sicily. In the states, I would expect they would be selling a lot of beer, with the occasional shots thrown in. Not here. Here it was coffee. And there were no rules about bringing food or drink into the stadium, but unlike the US, only a few people brought anything in to eat or drink during the game, and then it was only water bottles or soda.

We found seats near a small group of people who had driven down from Jopolo, and we were soon surrounded by folks from Ribera who came to see the match. Of course there was no admission, and the only thing that really separated this from a lot of slow pitch soft ball games I have seen in the states is that the players all had uniforms, all the uniforms (except the goalies, of course) matched, and the fans were made up of girl friends and buddies of the younger players, wifes and children of the older players, and a scattering of old men who had nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon. I sat next to a twenty something guy who I think should have been a poster boy for motor scooter safety. He was wearing a horse collar, and his left arm was braced to keep it away from his body. Two fingers on his left hand were also bandaged.

The friends would call out to the players they knew, who would look up and wave. That not only happened before the game, but occasionally during the game. In fact sometimes a player would be smiling up at his girl friend as the ball zoomed past him.

Within a few minutes of the opening kick, Sergio had to call a foul. Of course the person who had fouled was innocent. Of course the team awarded the kick tried to move the ball ten yards down the field before they kicked it. Fortunately, most of the fouls were not serious (read painful), so the arguing was not that strident. And I did say most of the fouls.

Digression: I really do not know how hard it hurts to be tripped when you are standing still on a soccer field, nor do I know how much it hurts to be kicked in the shin guard. I do know that all soccer players, especially Italian soccer players, make it seem like they have been given a root canal using a black and decker industrial power drill with no pain killers. I also know that usually getting the referee to see things your way and give you a free kick eases the pain tremendously.

So occasionally, there would be a body rolling in the dirt like a dog trying to pick up dead cow smell, and then the player would be able to leap up and play immediately.

I did see one player block a free kick with his face and drop like a stone to the ground, with his hands to his face. I was sure his nose would be broken, as it was the largest part of his face. Sergio called for first aide, and a guy came running on the field with cold water to pour on the injury. Of course his team mates, wanting to be as helpful as possible, stopped the guy and took a drink of the water as it was on its way to the injured player. Fortunately, the ball had hit the side of the man’s head, and he was able to continue playing. Being as it was a player from his team who had kicked the ball, the other team was given the ball to put into play. Of course there were arguments.

Later there was a hand ball in the penalty area by a defender, and Sergio rightly awarded a penalty kick. The defending team, while they did not deny that there had been a hand ball, were furious enough for Sergio to give one of them a yellow card as a warning.

The second half became more serious. Mid field collisions would result in staredowns between the two players. Both coaches started to ride Sergio. Several times Sergio had to step in between two players to keep them from fighting. Usually other players would also intervene, but Sergio had to be there first. After one such incident, a player kept being antagonistic, and Sergio gave him a yellow card. He then proceeded to express all of the thoughts he was capable of in flowery Sicilian Dialect and standard Italian. He was awarded a second yellow card and a red card, which means expulsion from the game (as well as ineligibility for the game after). His team mates took him off the field, and a two liter bottle of water flew over the fence from the stands onto the pitch. A few people started to climb the fence. I was thinking of running in the other direction, but no one got over the fence, and things calmed down.

Later one of the coaches was expelled for his flowery language and failure to heed Sergio’s warnings. He did a perfect perp walk down the side of the field and out of the stadium

There were more scuffles, more penalties, and more complaining, but basically, the game was over with the only goal being on the penalty kick in the first half. After the final whistle, the players shook hands with each other and with Sergio.

It was all in a game in Series Three. An interesting brand of soccer, and I look forward to Fabri calling me for another Series Three excursion.

And by the way, Sergio did do a good job.

Happy Thanksgiving

2009-11-22T10:27:00.003+01:00

I posted the three shots of Fran as a Thanksgiving Turkey on facebook, and have decided to put them here as well, along with two of me that I found (when a double crown had fallen out, so that I could look old time contadino Sicilian without trying).

The shots of Fran were taken at Thanksgiving that we shared with her son Jon, Stephanie his (now) wife (or is he her husband??) and their friend John Camera. Fran was feeling tired during the trip, however none of us had a thought that within fifteen days she would be dead. We had a good time in Amsterdam with the young ones, and even the Turkey liked it, because for Thanksgiving Dinner we had pancakes!!

FORE

2009-11-15T13:27:00.005+01:00

Rocco Forte, both a person and a high end golf resort chain, has built a 45 hole golf resort across the Sciacca Bay from me. In fact, I can see the old plague tower (a tower used to look for ships that might be carrying the plague during the 1500's) and some of the hotel buildings from my terrace.

I was pretty interested in the building of the place, partly because I was a golfer for a while in the states, and partly because I like to see some nice development come to Sciacca. I did have some misgivings about the project. Particularly, it seems that it may get too hot here in the summer with too little water to have a good golf course. The proximity of the course to the sea could create some problems with course fertilizer leaching into the sea, hurting the fishing industry locally. Finally, I hoped that the resort would not be gated, making it difficult for guests to come in to Sciacca and see some of the sites, shop for ceramics, and have wonderful fresh fish dinners.

My friend Lutz and I went on a tour of the facility. It seems nice. That may sound like I am damning it with faint praise, but in fact, that is what I mean to do. It is nice. It is not wonderful. It is not (to my way of thinking) worth 810 Euro a night (1200 dollars a night) for a room, breakfast, and one round of golf (cart or caddy not included).

They do have a beautiful view of Capo San Marco (and my apartment), as well as a view inland of an old Castle that may have been used by royalty fleeing the incursions of Garibaldi in 1860 (see the classic movie Il Gattopardo, or The Leopard, which won a few Oscars and starred Claudia Cardinale).

However, having a course brown out after very little play, and during a relatively cool summer, makes me think that I did just about right in leaving my clubs in the states. If you want to come here, and you insist on golfing while you are here, check out their website first, and bring your wallet. Even though I toured the facility after a few rain storms, parts of the course were browned out, and parts still were unable to grow anything.

Two types of guests

2009-11-15T13:03:00.005+01:00

I was pleased to have a few guests this fall. Well, actually I did not host them. In the top picture on the left is Chris and Ni, who have a boat tied up in port, sitting at the table on my terrace with Klaus, one of my friends from Germany. Klaus is replaced in the second photo by Lutz, who is another friend from Germany. I made Cincinnati style chili for everyone for pranzo.

Chris and Ni are from California, where Ni was in the development
development business, before he got smart and retired to spend his life between his place in Stockton, a place in Hawaii, and a beautiful catamaran on which they live about six month a year when they come to Italy to visit their daughter and grandchildren.

Unfortunately I will miss them when I am in California in February, however, they have found the port facilities here to be good for their boat, and I look forward to their return in April.

I also had some guests that I was not quite as happy about having come here. I went outside one morning. The early sun had warmed the terrace up nicely, and the floor of the terrace was full of little flies. Because I do spray for insects around the house, they were all in various stages of ill health, and I swept them off the porch. I looked into the garden, and saw dark spots that were caused by them slowly coming out of what must have been their nests. Many were already dead there. I could not help but think of the movies of the plague years, when people would go through the streets with carts, calling 'Bring Out Your Dead'. Initially I thought I had hundreds of these little flies, but later I revised the estimate up to thousands, and tens of thousands. I am not sure, the true number might be millions. The last picture is a shot of some of the dead insect bodies piled up near the steps to my house.

Later, I saw a wild dog come by and eat most of them.

Interesting place to live.

Sand Boats

2009-11-15T12:53:00.006+01:00

Every summer, boats appear in Baia Ranella, the beach that I live above, tied to anchors. They are brought in by folks who will be spending the summer here, and are used for leisure boating, fishing, and to a certain extent showing people that they own a boat. They are usually tied up in the bay before the people arrive, and are usually moved to safer ground after most folks have moved themselves back to their winter home. Sometimes they are left tied up a little too long, and a little too loosely.

We had a huge storm here in September, which is early, and just as in years past, some boats were lost. Fran used to call them sand boats, because often they would sit on the beach and slowly fill with sand, break apart, and finally be removed the next spring. Usually there is one sand boat a year. This year, we had a bumper crop. 4 boats were lost.

While it is sad to see the boats destroyed, we wondered what was wrong with the people who knew that this might happen, as they simply left their boats there too long. I have known two people who lost boats this way, and they were both philosophical about it. They also had their new boats out of the water when the storm came. This year, as I was taking some of the pictures, a man came over and complained that no one had saved his boat. In fact, he said, no one had told him the weather would turn bad. I am so sorry, but I had little sympathy.

I do, however, salute Sr. Licata, who keeps his boat in the bay all year, and everyday he comes and make sure that it is tied to its anchors and to a post on shore, so that the sea will not batter it or move it onto the beach. It is good to see someone take good care of his boat, and I wish him good fishing as he takes his boat out two or three days a week.

BAARIà

2009-10-23T13:41:00.002+02:00

A new film is out, named Baarià, which is the old Sicilian for the current town of Bagharia. And that is an important change.

During the days of Mussolini, which corresponded with the early days of (Italian invented) radio, one of Il Duce's initiatives was to bring Italy more closely united culturally, by promoting a single language for all of what is now Italy. All radio programming had to be in Italian, which is based on Florentine as spoken in Rome. The many dialects of Latin that were also spoken in modern Italy were to become extinct. All place names that were in local dialect were changed, either to Italian equivalents (as in Bagharia from Baarià, or Sciacca from the Arabic Xacca) or changed entirely (as in Porto Empodecles from Vigata). In addition, people could be fined for speaking dialect in public, so people taking their passagiata in the village square had to be careful about who was listening, or had to speak Italian. Hereabouts, speaking Sicilian was done only at home, behind the closed doors where Pranzo was served each day. Now, even though some of the adolescents I know consider those who speak Sicilian as a first language, and Italian as a second language as ignorant, the schools of Sicily are starting to teach Sicilian at the elementary level.

But (of course) I digress. The film is about a young boy, poor, as were most people in the mezzogiorno, and what it was like to grow up in Baarià. It shows how he is pushed to the Communist party by the excesses of Mussolini's brown shirts, and the excesses of the land lords, and of the mafia. It captures very well what I imagine to be the culture of the time, a culture I still get hints of when I talk with old men in the plaza and in the countryside.

I will not talk about the story, except to say that it holds together very well, and could very well be a real biography. The cinematography is excellent. The scenery brought tears to my eyes as I saw inimitable shots of the Sicilian countryside. The acting was superb, from the main characters to the pen seller at the corner. Even Salvo Piccone was able to take a non-comedic role and handle it well, and he is one of the best physical comedy actors on the scene in Italy these days. And the female lead - she is to die for.

If ever it gets to American theaters, it is a must see. Whether it is dubbed, subtitled, or only in the original Sicilian-Italian mix, it is worth seeing, and understandable. It may be nominated for an Oscar this year in the foreign film category, and perhaps should just go on to best film of the year. It is that good.

Winter turns to summer

2009-09-20T12:58:00.005+02:00

Well, the summer seemed gone a few days ago. While it had not rained since mid May, suddenly it rained. The sky was as light as noon from three in the morning to four in the morning. The lightning was (almost) unbelievable. Hail came down, hurting the grapes that had not yet been harvested in neighboring Ribera, as well as the developing citrus crop. We lost power with the frequency of a Banana Republic Governor in the bad old days.

The next day, the waves came in, covering the beach with white water, and leaving piles of seaweed on what had been a sandy expanse before. Gone were the summer people, safely back in Palermo, where they had to deal with flooded streets, underpasses turned to swimming pools, and driving conditions more impossible than usual. In other words, it was winter at its worst. It even cooled down enough to use a blanket on the bed, when the thunder did not keep me awake. The wind was bad enough so that I could not even sit out on the terrace to watch the magical light show without getting wet.

Two days later, it is summer again. The views are from Vega de Mullo in the San Michele district of Sciacca. Yes, that is indeed Capo San Marco in the distance, including the apartments in which I live. The beach is still covered with seaweed, but I can live with that, and the beauty.

The train may be late

2009-09-20T12:52:00.002+02:00

I always love looking at this railroad crossing.

It reminds me that one of the great things about Sciacca is that it is off the beaten path. There is no autostrade to Sciacca, nor is there a train (now). It keeps easy travelling tourists at a bit of a distance, and that is fine with me.

I also can not help but thinking of Waiting for Godot when I see it, with two characters standing at this crossing, having their conversation, waiting for Godot, waiting for a train, is it the same? Does it matter?

It is easy to find old, unused train stations around, some still having the signage. But to find a crossing, where there are neither rails nor a cross street, somehow that is special to me.

So this is indeed one of my favorite places. If you want to see it, it is right where it has always been.

Time Out

2009-09-16T07:57:00.002+02:00

A week ago, in Time Europe, there was an article about the problems in the Italian press. The (assumedly) American reporter for Time wrote about low readership (10 °/o) versus much higher newspaper readerships in the US and Japan. And indeed that is true, I have been surprised at how few people buy a newspaper here.

A few other things have surprised me about the Italian press, which I would like to mention. first of all, there is a far smaller percentage of the newspaper devoted to advertising, and I have yet to find a newspaper that includes cartoons other than editorial cartoons. Most of the articles are written by reporters who work for the newspapers, and few are attributed to UPI, AP, or the New York Times News Service.

When I go to a Newspaper shop, I have my choice of about 10 national newspapers. This would be like going to an average newsstand in New York City, let us say, and having a choice between the New York Times, the Washington Post, the Chicago Tribune, the Boston Globe, the New Orleans Times Picayune, The San Francisco Chronicle, the Los Angeles Times, the Sacramento Bee, the Christian Science Monitor, and a few others. And this may be possible in a few places in New York City. Now take it down to a city the size of, let us say, Batavia, NY. I am not sure if you could find one newsstand with such a choice.

Also, when I go to a newspaper shop and I want to know what the right has to say about a certain issue, I can buy one of a few quality right wing journals. The same if I want to know what the left has to say. They all cover the same news, but they all have an editorial slant on things. If I want to read a well thought out essay on current events, I can go to any of the papers.

If I want to know that the US has said that they were not at fault in the killing of Italian secret service agent Lipari in Iraq a few years ago, I can go to virtually any Italian or US newspaper (that even reported the story in the US) and find that out. If I want to find out that US soldiers have been indicted for murder in Italy for the same incident, I can only go to any of the Italian papers.

Yes, the Italian press has readership problems. However, I do not think that dumbing down the news, presenting only one side throughout the US, managing the news, printing pages of cartoons and advertisements, is necessarily the way to improve the press.

The Italian population gets a lot of basic news from television (and radio), and seems to use the newspapers to engage in wide ranging discussions of national and international issues, and thereby the press seems to have found a niche within the country.

This probably should have been sent to Time for publication, however because I live in a 'remote' area, it would not have been considered timely by time. so I stuck you with this rant.

Facebook, butt book

2009-09-15T07:41:00.002+02:00

Face book? Butt book? I can't tell anymore. The summer people have left, so I have quiet time again. I got to thinking that I really have ignored this blog for quite some time. Part of that was the summer. Part of that was the time I was spending on facebook.

Some of the facebook time was good, and worthwhile. I got to see what my step children are up to on a semi regular basis, and by doing so, I could hear in my mind's ear the shrieks and laughs as Fran would have discovered all of their doings. It was nice to have her back for that. I could also keep up with my niece and nephew, and a dear friend who retired from the Department of Defense school here and moved back to America. I saw a friend go through a divorce, and moving house. All of that was good and worthwhile.

But then there is the butt book part of facebook. Who likes what pop star, who can put as many links as possible up in one day. All twenty five verses of the Lithuanian National Anthem. Stuff that I really was not interested in before I saw the stuff in facebook, and became less interested in after seeing it.

So while it is not a calendar new year, and a bit late for a new school year by American standards (although most Sicilian kids did not go back to school yesterday, but will wait until next week, most of the rest of Italy did go back this week, and some schools opened two weeks ago) (hmmm, that might make an interesting rant), Did I just digress?? Horrors.

Time for some sort of new year's resolution:

I will save rants for this blog, and make them here, regularly. Some will be pictures, or picture stories, like usual. I am thinking of going to a butcher shop, a fisherman's bar, a gelateria, and a few other places for those. Others will be just photos - I will rewalk the streets of Sciacca with my camera, and this time will use it more. Others, like this one, will be just words.

Facebook will still get my surface, or face reactions to things, and I will still keep up with people on it. But this is where my heart and brain will be.

Pane Cunzatta

2009-08-17T17:13:00.005+02:00

As I sometimes do on Sunday morning, I went into town and bought my own paper, and also the national paper that Paolo likes to read. Ignatzia had not been feeling really well in the hot weather, and I wanted a chance to stop by without her thinking I was there to get some of her wonderful eggplant, or bread, or fresh eggs, or home made sauce, or any of the other marvelous things she usually overworks to supply her family and me with.
When I got there, she was just taking fresh baked bread out of her wood fired oven. Her daughter Maria and Maria's husband were there helping. I think Paolo may have been finally banished from the oven room, as they always tend to speak loudly to each other in Sicilian when he is there, and the subject is usually how hot or cold he has made the fire for the oven.

At any rate, the bread was just coming out, and clearly they had not made as much as usual, but Ignatzia asked if I would like some Pane Cunzatta, as I do not think there was enough bread for her to offer me a full loaf, and have enough for her and Paolo and the three kids with families and anyone else who might stop by. Being shy about such things, I told her I would love to have some. She wrapped a quarter kilo of pane cunzatta in paper towels, and off I went. (that equals a half a pound).
Pane Cunzatta is a Sicilian specialty. One takes warm bread, slices it in half, and pours olive oil on it, salt, and anchovies. Some people also put freshly sliced tomatoes on it, and perhaps a little bit of Parmesan cheese. When Ignatzia makes it, the bread usually drips with the olive oil made from the olives from their trees. Fran's family called theirs oil bread, and it did not have anchovies, as they did not live near the sea. I understand that the folks in the Catania area are known to add ham to theirs. Of course I believe that Sciacca's is best, whether made by Ignatzia or by Panaficio American Style and the Colletti family.

The thing is, you have to eat it when the bread is at least still warm. So I hurried home and did.

The Fire This Time

2009-08-16T12:53:00.006+02:00

Summer is the time of fires in Italy, including Sicily. Most things, despite what this picture might imply, turn brown as they dry out in the hot sun. After a very wet spring, there was a lot of green stuff to dry out, but dry out it did. Perfect for fires.

This fire occurred about a mile from my house, along the road into town. At first, it was brown smoke billowing out toward the sea, and then the smoke turned angry and black. It was getting near houses and parked cars. The fire department were doing their best, but they needed help.
Help came first in the form of a helicopter with a large bucket. He would dump water from the bucket onto the fire, then fly out over the sea to pick up more water, return within a minute or so, and drop another bucket of water. He made a lot of progress in putting out the fire, but even more help was needed.
The help came in the form of another helicopter, this one with a large tank on board, and a snorkel with which to refill the tank. He would take turns with the first helicopter dropping their loads of water where the men on the ground said they needed it most.

His first drop included a beautiful violet colored fire retardant, but unfortunately I did not get a shot of that one, although you can see a bit of the remaining color if you look closely.

After about ten more water drops by each helicopter, the fire was out, but the day was not over for the fire fighter. They had other fires to go to, as all of the fire fighting helicopters were used on this day, as well as some fire fighting Canadair planes. It is unusual to need two on one fire, but I was able to watch them work from my front terrace.

So remember, only we can prevent brush fires, even though it is fun to watch the helicopters picking up water and dumping it on the flames.

Pascal and Totò's House

2009-08-16T12:50:00.002+02:00

I just happened to snap this picture when I was visiting Pascal and Totò one afternoon. I really like it, and I hope you do as well.

Medusa Sting

2009-08-16T12:40:00.005+02:00

Every once in a while, Medusa come in toward the shore here. Medusa are jelly fish, and when they start to come to shore, it is time for swimmers to let them have their way, and get out of the water. Generally the Medusa do not stay for more than a day or two, and then you only have to be careful not to step on any dead Medusa drying on the beach. The reason for this is that Medusa sting. Oh boy, do they sting. And it hurts like fifty bee stings.

Of course there are two things you can do about a Medusa sting. The first, and easiest, is to have someone pee on it. Sometimes it is difficult to find volunteers for that duty, but if you do find someone, at least you have everything you need right there at the beach.

If you are unable to get the help you need, then it is time to go home and put some tooth paste on it. And do not worry about whether it is fluoridated, specially designed for sensitive teeth, cherry flavoured, anti plaque, or whitening. They all work just fine.

I am writing this because my friend Calogero Colletti (Charlie) and his wife Lucia were driving on the main road of Sciacca (115) which has two tunnels. As they were exiting one tunnel, going toward their home on the east side of Sciacca, a car suddenly tried to pass a garbage truck coming toward them. The tunnels are two cars wide. Period. There is not room to fit a third car, especially next to a garbage truck.

The driver's excuse was that she was rushing to the hospital because here grand son had just been stung by a Medusa, and it hurt. His arm hurt a lot more after that. And so did Charlie's and Lucia's. I am glad they had air bags, and that the air bags worked.

So even if you are stung by a Medusa, do not try to pass a garbage truck as you go to the hospital. It could be my friends coming toward you.

The Boys of SUMMER

2009-08-07T16:31:00.003+02:00

I can always tell when Spring is almost over, and it is time for summer. That also means that it is time for the boys of summer to show up next door. Usually they are a harmless crew. They play some soccer on the soccer pitch, they borrow tools to fix their motos, they sit on the front terrace playing cards. Despite the noise of the motos, they are generally pretty quiet and respectful.

Well, one time they got out of hand. Wouldn't you know they had girls over (to cook for them no less), and braggadocio got the better hand of them, and there was a bit of damage inside the apartment. It was very quiet here for a while after that.

But they are basically good kids, and they treat me with good humor and respect, at least to my face, and I could not want more. I promised them I would put there picture up, so here it is.

Sigonella Picnic

2009-08-07T16:12:00.004+02:00

Matt makes sure everything looks good

Every once in a while, my friends from 'the other side' of the island come to 'the good side of the island'. These are the folks who work for the US Department of Defense, most of them no in uniformed service, but rather as civilians, and they live outside the confines of the Naval Air Station, many of them on the slopes of Mt. Etna in Nicolosi.

The other weekend, my friend Rob came for a visit for a few days, and he was joined the next day by two other couples. They all ended up staying at the Bed and Breakfast nearby (Torre Tabia - excellent, and of course run by friends), but they also brought over hampers of food for a good old fashioned barbecue.

It was fun for me. I had forgotten about things like 'match light charcoal', indeed I had almost forgotten about briquettes. We use mostly charcoal that is made in Tunisia here, and shipped across the channel to us.

Suzanne and Rob getting ready to turn the cooking over to Matt.

Anyway, they had potato salad, other salad, baked beans. All was yummy. And I did not have to do a thing. Matt was the grill meister, and he grilled pork loins, chicken, and Italian sausage. The kids next door went wild, and seemed like them might even fall into the grill as they looked at the strange ways that Americans prepared meat. For me, the funniest thing was that they had bought and brought Italian Sausage that had been made in the US. Matt explained that in that was he was sure what he was getting because of the ingredient label.

Me, I just go to the butcher, show him the pieces of pork I want, watch him grind it, and then watch him stuff the casing. Simple as that. No preservatives. But then again the Italian word Preservativo means condom, so I really do not want any preservativos in my sausage here, not even around my sausage, thank you very much.

Anyway, preservatives or no, I did get my bacon and peanut butter, and had a great time with you guys. Come again soon. Sorry Jo and Christine, next time your photos will appear, almost as if by magic.

Planeta

2009-08-04T16:56:00.012+02:00

When my friend Rob from Sigonella was here, and before the other Americans arrived bearing gifts of peanut butter and bacon, we decided to check out some wineries, or cantinas as they are called here, or more appropriately, cantine.

Anyway, we got over to the Planeta cantina, and my friend Alessio was just leaving the one in Menfi to go to the one in Sambuca. (For those of you who missed it, I described meeting Alessio in the post Italian Royalty, posted on February 1st, although it was supposed to be posted on April 1st. It is worth going back and reading.) Alessio left us in capable hands, and although we were not there for a tour, but rather just to buy some wine, we got a neat tour of the bottling operation.

Planeta has four cantine here in Sicily, each growing specific grapes in specific conditions to produce the wines they want to produce. The wines are then either barrelled or put in stainless steel vats for the pre bottling aging process. Sicilian wines are generally young wines, and it is usually the whites that are put only in vats. The reds spend some time in oak barrels, and some time in stainless steel vats. Every year, before the new grapes are crushed, someone from the Campo Forestale comes around to make sure that the vats have been appropriately cleaned, and are ready for the new grape juice.

Even though Planeta operates four cantine, they have only one bottling operation, as there is a lot of equipment required. They bring the wine ready for bottling to the Menfi Cantina for bottling and then for storage, labelling, and distribution.

We were there as the workers were taking their lunch break (it was not really a pranzo), and they just started the line going toward the end of our time there. They were bottling their 2007 Merlot wine, from near Noto, in the east of Sicily. The new bottles were all washed, dried, and then filled with the Merlot and corked. The corks, before they are squeezed and put into the wine bottles, are about twice the size of what we see when we open a bottle. It was really amazing for me to see how big the unused corks are.

Then the bottles were stacked in huge crates, where they will sit for six or seven months before labels are applied and they are ready for shipping. This avoids people getting wine that is 'bottle shocked', as someone at a winery in the California wine country called it, as she tried to sell us several bottles to cellar. Here, they cellar it for you for a bit, so that you do not open it before its time. Good idea.

We also got to see where they were bottling some magnums. I now have a dream of having a party, and opening a few magnum bottles of the Merlot for my guests. Those bottles are impressive.

We also got to taste the Merlot, before it was placed in the bottles. It was ready to drink as far as I am concerned, and I can not wait until it is ready to sell.

Thank you Planeta wineries and staff for a wonderful few hours watching you bottle wine, tasting your wine, and best yet, selling us a few bottles to take with us and enjoy with the others Americans when they came to visit. Yum.
And yes, my friends, these wines have been mentioned in Wine Spectator, and I have seen them in a few stores and restaurants in the US.

Morrocco??

2009-08-04T16:50:00.002+02:00

Get used to these two faces. They are itinerant salesmen, who go to markets six days a week to sell their wares, and then go to beaches in the summer in the afternoon and on their 'day of rest' to try to sell some more and make a living. And they are legal. Fran and I got to know them, because they always seemed to have some interesting things to sell, not the usual market stuff like underwear, shoes, and towels of poor quality. They had neat purses, knock off purses, wallets, belts, and stuff too numerous to mention. We got to know the guy sitting down pretty well, and I visit him at Menfi market more Saturdays than not.

We talk about Islam, and he has gotten me to start reading the Qu Ran. He has also invited me to go home with him in October, and to be present at his wedding. It will be a four day trip by truck and ferry, and then I will fly back. He and his father will show me around. It seems an opportunity not to be missed. Thank you Kamel.

FAREWELL BLT

2009-08-04T11:26:00.002+02:00

A bittersweet post, I guess.

We all have comfort foods, foods we miss when we are away from home, foods that simply make us feel better. Peanut Butter was a main comfort food for both Fran and I. The small jars for triple the price that are sold in a few markets here are nearly rancid when they are bought, and they do not believe in Chunky, which is, of course, the God of peanut butters.

There is another comfort food that I miss as well. Bacon. I mean good lean bacon. Not pancetta, which is not smoked, and not speck, which is poorly smoked. Good, lean, bacon. I have, of course, found a source bacon.

My mouth watered for a good BLT. I went to the ortofruitica (or fruitovendola if you prefer) to get the best possible local tomatoes and romaine lettuce. I consulted with my friends at panneficio Americana for the best bread to use.

I sliced the tomatoes perfectly, washed the lettuce, and tore it into appropriate size pieces. I cut the bread, lightly toasted it, and put just the right amound to mayonaise on it. Then I carefully, so very carefully fried the bacon. I used more than the usual amount of bacon strips, and even made one extra to eat just as a piece of bacon.

The bacon was wonderful. I put the bacon on the sandwich, and bit into it, waiting for the explosion of flavor of a perfectly made BLT. Well, I did get an explosion of flavor of BLT, and it was good. The lettuce was great, fresh and nutty flavored. The tomatos were that wonderful blend of sweet and acid that is true of only the freshest, most Sicilian tomatos. The bread was nutty and sweet. Let me see now, B is for bread. L is for lettuce. T is for tomato. Something is missing.

The wonderful flavors of the bread, lettuce, and tomato completely overwhelmed the poor little flavor of really good smoked, lean bacon. I could barely taste it. And I could not put together another try with the same ingredients, cutting down on the bread, tomato and lettuce. That would be heresy. Nor could I possibly add even more bacon, as it was loaded with bacon. And like I said, the bacon tasted really good.

It is just that the tomatoes, the bread, and the lettuce here is so good and flavorful, the bacon did not stand a chance. So I will have to wait until I get back to the states for a good BLT. For now, I will substitute bread for bacon in the BLT, and save the bacon for when I want to cook a few eggs or make pancakes.

BLT, I love you, but you just can not make a go of it here in Sicily.

School is out, and so is AGAPE

2009-08-04T11:13:00.005+02:00

Agape does not operate its program for differently abled adults during the summer, but they always have a party in June, and I usually go to see my friends their, as well as their parents. I have chosen the picture above as the cover picture, partly because his mother asked me to, and partly because I could never get him to smile no matter what was happening, and neither could anyone else I know. Finally, his sad face reminds me of the sadness that all the clients seem to feel as they sense that they will see each other far less often over the next few months. The smiles on the staff faces, however, were real. They need, and are looking forward to some time off, even if the time off is taking a job in the summer tourist industry here.

Of course my buddy smiles no matter where he is or what he is doing, and it is his lightness of spirit that I most enjoy about going to AGAPE.

I suppose I should say something about why AGAPE is so important to me. First of all, I suppose, it is because I worked in special education for so many years, and indeed I do in some measure owe the happiness of my retirement to the years of work I put in with differently abled people.

Secondly, Paolo's daughter is a client.

But I think the most important reason is that it is truly a grass roots movement in a land that has few functioning grass roots movements. It is a great advocacy organization, and the parents continue to lobby the government for more services for this needing adult population. They have managed to get a good facility from the hospital (while it is barely on hospital grounds, it is set apart, so does not take on the aspect of a medical facility), wheedled a van from the some agency so clients not able to get to AGAPE on their own could be picked up, and have enlisted the services of speech/language, psychological, and therapeutic professionals beyond what the government will pay for. They maintain a large and active volunteer staff, including two master ceramicists from Sciacca, one of whom is the president of the ceramicist guild. On Sunday mornings they are in the parents and clients are in the main plaza selling the ceramic production of the clients to further support AGAPE.

I wish clients and staff a relaxing and envigorating summer.

Permesso, Permesso, Prego, Permesso

2009-06-11T16:16:00.003+02:00

Whenever you enter someone's house here, it is proper to say 'Permesso' which is asking permission to enter, even if the host(ess) is standing right there ushering you into the just opened door.

That is not the permesso that this is about. This is about the Permesso di Sogiorno, or permission to stay. It is like the US alien registration that goes on each new year, only here it is every two years after the first four years. It was time to renew my permesso. It is always a fun process.

Two years ago I reported how the process had been streamlined, in order to make it more affordable (cheaper) and to reduce the amount of paperwork. At the time, the cost tripled and the paper work doubled. Also, instead of dealing with the Questura, a branch of the police, one deals with the post office, which is always a pleasure here.

In order to get the forms to fill out, I had to wait in line at the post office in the center of town, as only one post office gets this great responsibility. I had to show my identity card in order to get the forms to fill out, although no note was made of my name or anything else at the time.

I got most of it filled out fine, and did the rest with the help of Toto at Verditechnico Bed and Breakfast. I also made all the required copies, including copies of things that are not mentioned on the form but are indeed needed by those who review the form (health insurance which is not used here, certificate of residency, deed to my apartment).

When I took everything back to the post office to be mailed by the post office to Rome for review, the man looked through the papers, and everytime he was about to ask for something (photographs, a fifteen euro marco de bollo or tax stamp, statement of pension) he found it. Then he made the charge for the permesso, (17 euros), plus the charge for mailing it (30 euros, insured) plus the charge that it says on the envelope for mailing it (30 euros), and I explained to him that he did not have to charge me twice for mailing it, and he deducted the extra 30 euros.

Of course, the forms say that I should have done the paperwork two months ago (90 days before my current permesso expires). When I picked up my current permesso, I was told by the Questura that I should do the paperwork 30 days before the expiration. (By the way, I will pick up my new Permesso at the Questura's office as well, where they will do a scan of my eyes and fingerprints and encode it on my Permesso card.) Interesting that it is not until you get the application late that you know it is late.

Ah me, I love the bureaucracy here, because it is more like bureaucrazy. I will let you know what parts I forgot when the Questura calls me about it in six weeks or so.

The Golden Girls

2009-06-09T19:29:00.008+02:00

I spent last weekend in Nicolosi, with my friend Rob. I went mainly to attend a dinner on Saturday in honor of the three teachers who are retiring from their jobs at the Department of Defense (DOD) school at the Sigonella U S Naval Air Station. One of them, Maryellen Pienta, has become a dear friend of mine, and I sat next to a second one, Jan Stroyan, at a Phi Delta Kappa
dinner two years ago.

Jan

The DOD schools are interesting creatures, as far as I can tell. There is a community developed among the teachers at the various US bases overseas, a community that moves as the teachers move. I have not met very many teachers who started their career with DODs, however, I have met some very good teachers who picked up and moved overseas to become DODs teachers.

Indeed, when I was working in Fulton, one of my teachers resigned to take a position with DODs, and then returned to our district three years later. She lasted another two years before she again felt the urge to join her community in DODs.

Maryellen was an English and Reading teacher, but more than that, she was an AVID teacher. AVID is a program that prepares students to go to college, including students who do not initially feel that they want to go or have the fiscal or mental wherewithal to go to college. From everything I can see, it is a great program.

Maryellen

Once I was in the Frankfort airport, waiting for a plane, and sitting next to me was a woman who was doing some paperwork. I could not help but notice the AVID letterhead, so I asked her about it. She was amazed that I even knew about AVID, but when I mentioned Maryellen's name, she smiled and said: 'Oh my, she is famous within the AVID family.' I could tell by her smile that the fame was a good sort of fame.

Maryellen will be moving on to her retirement life in Atlanta, where she owns an apartment. I will miss her. I used to stay at her house when I visited the area, and many were the nights that we stayed up late just talking. She is a sharp and perceptive woman, and she was very helpful to me after Fran died. I will miss the fact that she is now going to be an ocean away, instead of just an island away.

I wish all three retirees the best in their retirement. From the testimonials at the dinner, they touched the lives of many, many children, and will be remembered for years to come by the children, the parents, and the staff at the Sigonella school.

Nina

Angelo, Franci, Alessio, e Alberto

2009-06-09T09:25:00.005+02:00

Yes, the building inspector was Alessio, thirteen months full of curiousity, with his three week old brother Alberto in tow. What a wonderful time I had with the four of them. I have never had little ones of my own, and this was really my first time to spend an extended period with little guys. I actually got over some of my fear of picking up babies. Wow.

The four days they were here passed in a flash, and mom and dad were a great help to me as they helped with the cooking (for the adults, not just the children), and the cleaning of my apartment. Wonderful.

High Five from Alberto

The Building Inspector

2009-06-09T09:18:00.002+02:00

I thought I had become inured to the various bureaucracies in Italy, and the last thing I expected was to meet a whole new bureaucracy in this country that is famous for bureaucracies. I also did not expect to have to take personal responsibility for a building inspection as I lived in one apartment in a 72 unit condominium; however that is what has happened.

I received a call telling me that a building inspector would be arriving Friday afternoon. So I waited for him, and realizing that the work day often goes until 8 pm (with time out for Pranzo in the middle of the day), I was not really surprised when he had not shown up by five. I also figured the inspection would be brief, as I have only a fairly small two bedroom apartment. That is when the call came in that the inspector would be arriving at around 11 AM the next day. Okay, I could understand that. After all, this is Italy, and he probably scheduled my place for then, and would log in that it took him the rest of the day to complete the inspection so that he could start the weekend early.

He finally arrived about noon on Saturday. He came, along with an intern who was to learn the trade of building inspection from him. I was amazed at how thoroughly he was going to inspect the apartment. By the time of the pranzo break, he had only half covered the floor area of the main room. And of course he insisted on taking a break for pranzo, after which he and his intern took a nice long nap. When he found something that he considered unsafe or in need of adjustment, he insisted that it be fixed immediately, while he watched. Then he would check the area again, and again, before moving on. He was so picky that I arranged for two people to come and help me meet his very particular safety code. (I probably should have asked to see his code book, but that probably would have just pissed him off, and there would be more hell to pay.)

He returned to work at about 4:30 in the afternoon, and continued his meticulous critique of my apartment right up until quitting time at 8:30. He continued to find things that needed to be fixed, and as he had not even gotten out of the sogiorno at this point, he decided to continue the inspection on Sunday. I think this might have been his way of picking up comp time so that he could get a few extra days off in the summer. Besides, working in an apartment overlooking the sea might not have been all that bad for him.

At any rate, shortly after breakfast Sunday morning, he continued his inspection, making sure he took his full break at 11:00 for a snack, and again stopping for pranzo and a post pranzo nap. I will credit him with the fact that if he was truly trying to get compensatory time off for the summer, at least he was putting in a full day on Sunday. And of course I or one of my ‘assistants’ had to follow him around, making whatever modifications he felt were needed. He fully inspected my main room, my bed room, the bathroom, and the kitchen. Then he started on the terrace, and he continually found things that had to be changed. Some of it I would never have thought of, but all of the changes actually made sense, and I was glad that I had two people with me who could figure out ways to change things so that the inspector would be satisfied.

Finally, by Wednesday afternoon, the inspector declared himself satisfied that everything had been modified, and that my apartment was now habitable for a thirteen month old baby. If you need help in child proofing your house, give me a call, and I will send Alessio over to help you out. His three week old intern Alberto can certainly help out, and their parents, Angelo Gambino and Franci Lo Verde were also a great help.

Alessio inspects my gong for safety

Election Time

2009-05-27T07:51:00.002+02:00

It is time for local and EU elections, and the local race is heating up. Well, the weather is heating up as well, but there are also a lot of people running for office.

In the past, I have not known anyone who stood for elective office. This year, two friends are trying to be elected, and also several friends of friends are trying. I even went to my first political rally, where Fabrizio Ricotta, who is running for city counsel, was to make a speech with others from his party, Sciacca for the Center. It is the party of the incumbent mayor, and Fabrizio is one of the people running on that ticket in support of Mario Tuturicci.

Of course when Fabri got up to speak, I had to take his picture. I noticed that his son and daughter also had to take his picture, so I got a shot of Sergio and Michela taking his picture as he spoke as well.

I find that when I am sitting someplace listening to Italian being spoken quickly, I can follow everything, although as time goes by, I tend to drift off, as it does take a bit of effort on my part. So after the first forty five minutes, and certainly after Fabri spoke, I found myself drifting off, and just listening the the voices slowly increase in volume, as the hands made more and more and bigger and bigger gestures. It reminded me of the old time oratory of when I was small, and I also remember my mother reminding me whenever we saw people speaking while waving their arms that I should never do that, it was not polite to talk with your hands. She never did well with the deaf vote. (Joke) (Politically incorrect) (I apologize in advance to all mothers, deaf people, and deaf people who happen to be mothers, and mothers who happen to be deaf, if they were offended by that).

Meanwhile, it might be interesting to note, that in Sciacca, a city of about 40,000 people, with many thousands temporarily working in the north and in other parts of Europe, there are 30 city council spots up for election. The election is being contested by 10 parties. That means that there are 300 candidates in Sciacca for 30 seats. Is it any wonder that they use paper ballots. And by the way, write ins are also popular. Sometimes less than 500 votes has gotten one onto the city counsel.

As I have handed things to my friends in support of Fabri, they have all kindly taken them and smiled. The smile gets wider as I tell them that he is a friend, is hard working, honest, and sincere. Then they laugh and clap me on the shoulder when I tell them the I know that they have friends (maybe even relatives) that are hard working, honest, and sincere, but I had told Fabri I would do this for them.

By the way, the other person running for office is my old friend Dr. Gaspari (Rino) Marinello.

What is missing in this picture??

2009-05-25T16:47:00.003+02:00

When someone in the states asked me what fruit I was getting fresh, I told them that the oranges were almost gone, the strawberries were in, and a few early cantaloupes were in. When I got back, I could not buy enough of the fresh varieties that had ripened up over the weekend, so I could not include the nespoli (medlars) (local), the lemons (local), the sweet dark cherries (lo9cal), the apples (granted, probably controlled atmosphere from the north). But we did have strawberries (local) and little strawberries known as fragolini (strawberries are fragoli), which are a specialty of Menfi(but probably local), Peaches (specialty of Bivona but probably local), Apricots (local), Cantaloupe (Mazara), Bananas (up from Africa) and a few left over Ribera Oranges. Oh yes.

The garlic braid in the back ground helps keep away vampires, and so far it has worked.

What's new in the news

2009-05-25T16:43:00.003+02:00

An Italian newspaper (Giornale de Sicilia) captured how I have begun to feel when I return to the US. Each time it is getting better, as the dark forces or Mordor are slowly retreating to the bowels of the mountains around Denton, Texas. Now if they can clean out the ridiculous rear guard they seem to have left in Maryland. Can't they get him to go back to Wyoming and go hunting with himself, or maybe visit Texas and go hunting with his lawyer friend.

Liberty Has Been Found Again

I know I am home when

2009-05-25T15:33:00.003+02:00

I must admit, the sights and sounds of Sicily help me to remember that I am back home again. Sometimes it is seeing the familiar coastline as the plane turns to line up with the runway. Sometimes it is feeling the light and the heat of the sun as I get off the airplane into the waiting bus to take me to the terminal. Sometimes it is the total lack of a line the way I think of line when it is time to line up for ANYTHING, baggage, a restroom, or a document check. Sometimes it is the styles I see on the street. And then again, and then again.

When Angelo picked me up at the airport, he said that the timing was perfect, as we could go to his house, where he and Franci were preparing a special seafood pranzo for me. Now they know that I have a dreadful fear of fish, but Angelo assured me it was all fish without bones.

Oh my, how to find out I am back in Sicily. Start out with shrimp cocktail in Russian Dressing sort of stuff. Eat this along with olives, perhaps a little salami, a little wine. Oh my.

But wait, there is more. Fresh pulpo. Angelo went down and bought it alive in the morning, and cooked it in boiling water until it was perfect. And perfect is sweet, tender, a little chewy, and really funny looking. They followed this with pasta in oil, garlic and clams, and then on to gamberoni, which are big, I mean really big, shrimp, which had been grilled. It was heavan, almost, except I was alive, and the freshness of everything reminded me I was in Sicily.

Brava Jessica

2009-05-25T15:16:00.002+02:00

So who is prouder, Jess or Dad??

I took (for me) a fairly sudden and very short trip to Boston on the weekend of the 17th of May. Jess, who finished up her coursework in December, decided to go back to Boston and see her friends and go through the graduation ceremony with the other Boston University graduates. I knew as soon as she told me, I had to be there.

Getting there was another story, being as I arrived on Thursday morning at the airport WITHOUT MY PASSPORT. Angelo, my friend from Palermo, was driving me, and he turned around and we came back to Sciacca to get it, and of course by the time we got back to the airport, the plane was gone. A fight to Rome, a night in Rome, a new ticket, and I was in Boston on Friday afternoon a few hours before Jess got there. Friday night I hung with Jon and his friends until Jess got there, and then we were up at 4 to drive Jon to the airport, where he and Steph were flying to Florida with three other couples for the annual foray into both Florida and Vacationland. But I did have some quality time to spend with him.

Saturday afternoon, Jess and I went shopping. We ate at a nice little place on Newberry Street, and we had a wonderful afternoon together. Saturday night, she had dinner with her father and then went out with some friends.

On Sunday, we drove to BU and I let her off near the entrance, and then followed the instructions to try to find a place to park. Eventually I wrote my own instructions, and everything was fine with the car.

I sat with Jess' God-mother Susan, along with Susan's daughet and her fianzato. Jess's father and his friend had settled into another section without noticing us.

It was a nice ceremony, and I am especially proud of Jess for doing this all on her own, from application to graduation, and I am doubly proud of her as she was able to find a job in her profession of Journalism. Brava Jess.

Susan (Jess' Godmother) Jess (Jess's Self) and Bob Collier (Jess's Dad)

Bienvenuto Alberto

2009-05-25T15:13:00.004+02:00

Franci Lo Verde and Angelo Gambino have given 13 month old Alessio Gambino a new brother to play with. Welcome Alberto.

Stay offa my purple suede shoes

2009-05-25T12:11:00.003+02:00

Sometimes when you land in Sicily, you just plain simply KNOW you are in Sicily. The dudes are indeed dudes, and check out thes purple suede shoes. I could almost hear a local Elvis impersonator doing an Italian version of Purple Sued Shoes. (Or are they violet? I am colorblind, so I am not sure, but they certainly were loud enough to hear over airplanes taking off.

TODARI

2009-05-25T11:16:00.006+02:00

Maria, Paola's Daughter, and Paola

Maria, one of the women who works at the bakery I go to recently bought a computer. Before she bought it, she asked me if I would help her learn how to use it. Of course I would. I have gone over to her house many times, helped her get started with e mail, skype, facebook, word processing, etc etc. She is a fast learner, and right now I think the only thing that might be holding her back would be her typing speed.

Anyway, after going through some stuff on the computer with her, she would fix dinner, and her husband Mimo would come home from work, and we would sit down with their two children Alberto and Claudia. The two kids are cute, and Claudia uses her status as being younger along with her being female to try to get Alberto in trouble. He is catching on to her game, which sometimes infuriates Claudia.

Anyway, I went over there once and Maria said we were going to have a special meal of Todari.
Paula, her sister who lives next door, and also works at the bakery, along with her husband Fillipo who is the chief baker, were also going to join us for dinner. Then their parents showed up as well, so suddenly I was in the middle of a family feast. What great times they are!!

Calogero, Filippo, e Mimo

Anyway, we started off with shrimp cocktail (sicilian style, with russian dressing intstead of hot red cocktail sauce). Yum And then there was ensalata de pulpo - cotopus salad. While the octopus is boiled, it tastes more like a ceviche, because lemon juice is used to dress it. Sweet and not too chewey.

Then todari. It was sort of funny, because Filippo's last name is Todaro, which would be the singular of todari. However, he looks nothing like a squid.

We finished up with a baked fish dish, which I did not eat very much of due to my over riding fear of fish with spines. I just can not stand them.

I am, of course, saving the best for last. And that is the picture of the todari in a wonderful pizziola sauce. Brava Maria, complimenti e grazie.

Fifty Years and counting

2009-05-23T08:31:00.006+02:00

Because I did not get a good picture of Paolo and Ignatzia together on their anniversary (they were too busy keeping up with all their guests) and because I have temporarily lost my favorite pictures of the two of them (although my step son Jon is revocering them from a disabled hard drive) this copy of a picture of the two of them with Giusy at the Women's Day festa will have to do.

Paolo Ficalora and Ignatzia Marchese celebrated fifty years of wedded bliss recently. What a fine occasion. First, there was a special service in the new church in the Perriera section of Sciacca, and then a wonderful recetpion at a recently opened Bed and Breakfast/restuarant around the corner from me.

The church service was a special service, but it was not just for Paolo and Ignatzia. It was also the baptism ceremony for a young baby of another family (unrelated). So all of Paolo's family and friends sat patiently through the baptism, and then all of the baby's family and their friends sat patiently through the renewal of vows.

Finally, the priest did a masterful job of tying the two together, saying the usual sorts of stuff, but saying it well.

Then in was off to Torre Tabia for a wonderful reception. Of course Paolo's children and grand - children were there, as well as several of their friends that I only see occasionally. Friends from Sigonella have stayed at Torre Tabia from time to time, and I knew the folks there, but had never eaten there before.

Needless to say, it was a great meal.

Congratulations Paolo and Ignatzia. I look forward to attending your 100th anniversary celebration!!

Labor fDay Picnic

2009-05-23T08:19:00.005+02:00

Please note that both Nadja and Ralfe are wearing their special Anarchist Store (from Berkeley) T Shirts that I got for them just for this holiday. I even was able to guess correctly on the sizes.

After the labor day march, we headed back to Maintal on Rhine, where Ralfe and Nadja live, for their traditional post march, labor day picnic/bar b que. On the way back, we stopped at the Ice House (where the ice hockey team plays) and picked up posters for their current exhibit. They did this as a favor to me, as it was the second year in a row that I was in Germany and in the right city for the largest pornography trade show in Germany. The last time was in Mannhiem, and I was waiting for my friend Klaus to pick me up in front of the train station when a van pulled up and 7 drop dead gorgeous sex industry workers got out. I found myself wondering what would happen if they had the trade show at the Syracuse War Memorial, or maybe even at the Fulton hockey rink. Oh well. Probably would never happen.

At any rate, Ralfe took care of the cooking, including wurstel and fillets, and Nadja had prepared some side dishes. We ate and drank, and I switched from beer to water to apple wine to beer and back again. Tomas and Kirsten, who had visited me in Sicily shortly after I met Nadja on the train, were also there, as was a doctoral student who had been born in Iran, and who was studying in Frankfort, but unable to return home.

Later on, we walked down to the Rhine River. There is a strip of seemingly unused land (I am told it is not a park), and there were many families having picnics there. There was also a sad little luna park at one end of the open area, and it reminded me of so many memorial day salutes, with the parade, the picnic, and then the kids going to the overnight set up and tear down amusement ride.

May Day, May Day

2009-05-22T07:50:00.008+02:00

With the concorso out of the way, I got ready for a quick weekend trip to visit my friends in Frankfort, and attend a real European May Day / Labor Day celebration and manifestation. My friends, both professors in the Frankfort Area, and both active with the intellectual side of left politics in the area, were planning on going to the march in Frankfort. Another friend there had thought about going to Mainz, just because he heard that the neo-Nazis might be there to have a counter march against the mainly Marxist (of some stripe or other) labor day parade. He wanted to go to get his licks in, however, like my far leftist friends in college, if there was going to be a revolution, they would all sleep through it. So, missing the train, he had to make do with the peaceful march in Frankfort.

Nadja did not feel well on the day of the march, so only Ralfe and I went. Well, only Ralfe and I and about 5,000 other people. My first surprise of the day was that the Sparticist League was there trying to sell their papers, subscriptions to their papers, and trying to tell everyone what the correct view of political events and opportunities was. I had had a flirtation with them when I was in college, and they were far too heavy handed for me then, and more so now. However, I did talk with the sparts who were there, and it seems that one of the people I knew way back when is still with that movement. I got to wondering about how many splinters there are in the 4th international, and as I read the most recent paper, I noted that there had been one more recent splinter.

Anyway, it was neat for me to be marching with this diverse group of radicals and lefties. There were representatives from Nepal, Turkey, India, Sri Lanka, as well as the majority in the march from the left labor party. I was most interested in the Sri Lankan group, as they represented the Tamil workers, who were then being crushed by the Sri Lankan government. Their street theater was interesting, as they carried a portable (bottomless) jail cell, and inside were several children, and a man in an army uniform would come and pretend to beat them with a big whip made of sponges. It was fun watching the kids try to be the next one whipped, and smiling and screaming and running away each time the soldier swung at them.

The Indian group also was fun to see, as one of the marchers was a double for Ghandi, and another for Mother Teresa.

The march was fairly short, about 3 kilometers, and when they cut off at the last minute to march in front of the major European banks (Frankfort is the seat of the Eurozone, and has branches of MANY foreign banks), I watched them go by, and then cut around a corner to great the head of the march as they arrived at the plaza in downtown Frankfort where the non marchers waited for them to hear speeches and singers celebrate the international day of labor.

Ralfe wore the Revolutionary Glee Club shirt that I had gotten for him at the Anarchist Store in San Francisco, and he and I and some of his friends stood together for about an hour of speechifying, and then we headed to Ralfe's house for their traditional Labor Day Bar-b-que.

Concorso "DescoSicano"

2009-05-20T08:19:00.008+02:00

As soon as I got back from my trip to the states, I had to prepare for a concorso for tourism high schools that would take place in Sciacca at the high school that specializes in getting students ready for jobs in the hotel and tourist industries. My good friend Fabrizio Ricotta, who teaches hotel management at the high school (he calls it Front Desk, but his courses go far beyond the duties of the front desk clerks) had invited me to come and be a judge of how well the students used the English language in presentations on tourism.

Non appena tornato dal mio viaggio dagli Stati Uniti, ho partecipato ad un concorso presso la Scuola Alberghiera di Sciacca e rivolta alle Scuole Alberghiere e di Turismo della Sicilia che preparano e specializzano studenti pronti per ottenere posti di lavoro nel settore. Il mio buon amico Fabrizio Ricotta, che insegna presso l'Istituto Alberghiero di Sciacca, Tecnica e discipline di Accoglienza e Ospitalità (lo chiama Front Desk, ma i suoi corsi vanno ben oltre le funzioni di Addetto al Ricevimento) mi aveva invitato a partecipare come Giudice per le presentazioni turistiche e relazioni in Inglese.

There were several high schools for tourism from Sicily that were represented, and this was one of several concorsi that would take place during the year, culminating in a national contest for the students. Fabrizio had organized the local contest, and was busy the entire time getting things ready, and making sure that everything went smoothly.

Diverse le Scuole Superiori Alberghiere e per il Turismo della Sicilia che sono state rappresentate, e questo è stato uno dei numerosi concorsi che si svolgono durante l'anno, sia in Sicilia che nel resto d'Italia. Fabrizio ha organizzato il concorso locale; si è impegnato a fondo per fare in modo che tutto sia andato senza problemi.

I must admit that I was most surprised when I came in and found a table stocked with a wonderful array of alcoholic beverages. The only things that seemed to be missing were wines and beers. It turns out the students had two contests regarding bar tending. One was inventing and presenting a new drink recipe, and the other was making drinks that are often called for at bars in hotels that cater to tourists. I looked at some of the drinks that had to be made, and then of course sampled by the judges, and almost wished that I were a judge in that area.

Devo ammettere che sono rimasto sorpreso quando mi sono ritrovato un grande tavolo ricco con una splendida gamma di bevande alcoliche. L'unica cosa che sembrava mancare erano Vini e Birre. Due i concorsi per quanto riguarda la Gara di Cocktail (per interni ed esterni) con l'obiettivo di creare e presentare dei Cocktail graditi ai turisti. Ho assistito ad alcune esibizioni di come di prepara un Cocktail, e poi sono stato quasi invitato a fungere da giudice.

However, I did have to go and watch the students prepare their presentations. Most of the students worked on a script with pictures, and provided English language translations of everything that was on screen. One student used French as her second language, instead of English, and so there was a second language judge who graded her ability in the use of a second language. Each presentation was wonderfully done, and I learned more about several parts of Sicily that I had visited before, and thought I knew fairly well.

La maggior parte degli studenti ha lavorato su un copione con le foto, e hanno tradotto in lingua inglese tutte le informazioni presenti sulla presentazione. Uno studente ha utilizzato il Francese come sua seconda lingua, invece di inglese, e vi è stata, quindi, una seconda lingua e di conseguenza anche una Giudice insegnante di Lingua Francese. Ogni presentazione è stata mirabilmente fatta, e ho imparato di più sulle diverse zone della Sicilia che avevo visitato in precedenza.

Before the pranzo was served, I stepped outside the school for a minute, and was amused by the student parking lot. I wonder if the US could get the students to use motos instead of cars if there could be a nice fuel savings!!

Prima che il pranzo fosse servito, sono uscito fuori dalla scuola per un minuto, e mi sono divertito a vedere il parcheggio degli studenti. Mi chiedo se gli Stati Uniti gli studenti potrebbero ottenere di utilizzare moto al posto di auto; ci potrebbe essere un bel risparmio di carburante!

I also loved the fact that one of the students who placed high in the drink mixing category of the contest was awarded not only a certificate and a trophy, but also a bottle of Vermouth. I am not sure how well that would have gone over in the high schools I worked with when I was a teacher in the US. It would be interesting to see the head lines!!

Ho amato anche il fatto che ad uno degli studenti del concorso di Cocktail è stato assegnato non solo un diploma di partecipazione e un trofeo, ma anche una bottiglia di Vermouth. Non so quanto bene sarebbe stato nelle scuole superiori in cui ho lavorato quando ero un insegnante negli Stati Uniti. Sarebbe interessante vedere le linee di testa!!!!

California

2009-05-13T16:54:00.001+02:00

Okay, after a week in Mexico (one hour different from California when we got there) as a sort of April Fool's joke, it was two hours different when we flew back. Don't ask me, I did not make the rules regarding Daylight Savings Time.

Carl and I wasted no time in getting ready for passover. We headed up to wine country as soon as we could. We found some good although a bit pricey Cabernets, and because they were not Kosher for passover, we had to try to drink them fairly quickly. It was a tough go of it, but we did what we could.

Carl and his wife Claudia (or Claudia and her husband Carl) are conservative Jews, and I had never been in a conservative Jewish household as people prepared for passover. While they said that they really did not do a good job of it, the preparations were amazing to my goyish eyes. Everything had to be cleaned, non Kosher food had to be put away, and the special passover plates and silverware and cooking utensils and pots and pans had to be gotten out so that they could be used during the passover period. In addition, Carl decided to study a book about passover so that he could be prepared for the first Seder, where family and friends got together to recound the story of Moses leading the Jews from Egypt toward the promised land.

Unfortunately (Carl said fortunately) I missed the first seder so that I could attend a concert by Rory Block at the 60's style coffee house Freight and Salvage with my friends Spence and Cathy Burton, who are relatives of one of the Sacco families here in Sciacca. We dined at a great Indian Restuarant around the corner from the coffee house, and enjoyed a great blues concert afterward. It was so nice of the Burtons to drive down from Petaluma to join me. According to Carl, I missed a marathon Seder, where the meaning of the story was discussed until the wee hours in the morning.

However, I was able to go to the second Seder at the house friends of theirs the next night, and it was interesting and a lot of fun. I was even furnished with an Italian version of the Haggadah so that I could follow along in a different language, and it came in handy when it was unclear as to what area was being referred to in the English translation that people were using. It was also wonderful that Carl and Claudia's daughter Kyla came home to spend some of passover with the family, and of course Josh and his wife were there as well, and Josh is taking his Judiaism more seriously now, so he was really prepared to
talk about the meaning of passover.

Carl and I also spent time on Treasure Island, which provided Fran with some of her favorite views of the San Francisco Bay, and the weather was wonderful to look out of the sparkling blue waters of the bay.

Of course we also headed over to San Francisco to visit City Lights bookstore, and we took the ferry from Oakland over so that we did not have to worry about traffic or parking. The views from the ferry are also spectactular, and if I lived in the area and worked in San Francisco (or lived in San Francisco and worked in Oakland) I might take the ferry on a daily basis.

The rest of the time was spent listening to music, writing a bit of poetry, lieing about our mutual past in high school, and dreaming of our future plans. It was a magical time for me, and had a wonderful time.

Just before leaving, we had another dinner with friends. We ate with two couples who had both adopted children with some very special needs, and it was fun for me to share the meal with them, and to see how much the children were loved and were thriving in their adoptive homes. It can not be easy to take on such a task, however the parents may be complimented for doing a fine job.

So I want to thank Carl and Claudia for once again putting up with me, and providing me with another great experience, and another great memory of life in California. It almost makes me wish I lived there, however, writing this next to my terrace door, looking out on the Mediterranean Sea, I guess I am just as happy living here, and being able to visit my dear friends in California when the urge strikes me.

Mexico

2009-05-13T16:34:00.012+02:00

Okay, my body had almost gotten used to Maryland time. I was no longer falling asleep at the dinner table, so it was time to move on. Back to California for a few days, just to play another trick on my body, and then off to the time share that Fran and I bought with Jane and Woody Manzer in Tulum, Mexico, on the Yucatan pennisula. Carl and his wife Claudia came along, as did my friend Donna Besaw, and we of course met Jane and Woody there.
We had wonderful weather, and I was able to sit out and watch the restless Caribbean as I used to do with Fran. The memories it brought back were bittersweet, but I was with five wonderful friends, who certainly helped a lot.

Of course we went into Tulum to buy souvenirs, and so that Carl and Claudia could get to see the ruins there. We also took a side trip to Coba one day. It is much more settled now, and there are loads of tourist shops there now as well. I remembered the first few times I went, when the only tourist shop also sold tickets, and if you bought some trinkets they did not care if they sold you a ticket or not, you could go right in. Of course that was years ago, when I was also able to climb both of the very tall pyramids in a single morning.

It was truly an enchanted week for me, with wonderful food, good weather, and most of all, great friends to share it with.

Maryland

2009-05-13T16:16:00.007+02:00

After Carnivale, carnivalone was not enough for me. I needed a longer break from the stresses of having nothing important to do here in Sicily. What better than to take a trip to see friends in the states. I flew from Palermo to Paris, stayed two night is Paris, and then a flight from Paris to Amsterdam, a change of planes, and when I woke up I was in California, and my body was complaining that I had somehow reset the clock by eight hours (not the nine I had expected, as it was already daylight savings time in the states, but not in Europe.) To keep my body from getting used to Pacific Coast time, my friend from high school days, Carl Buchin, and I flew out two days later to visit the third of our unholy trio, Eric Chandler in Maryland.

We spent a lot of good times catching up with each other, and Eric's wife Carol keep up with us and our obscure references as best she could, as she also turned out gourmet meals for us, fed us wonderfully, along with making the best eggplant parmesan that can possibly be made outside of Italy. Neigh, indeed the best Italian meal made outside of Italy, at least the best I have tried so far.

When we were not gorging ourselves, or listening to Carl play his saxophone, or talking about children, us as children, step children, and politics, we went for drives around Cheney land (Dick Cheney and Don Rumsfeld are two of Eric's distant neighbors. Eric lives in a much more habitable area that is a mix of summer folks and old time Maryland watermen who make their living from crabbing and fishing). There was even an odd old lighthouse for us to visit.

This was the first time that the three of us had gotten together for over 45 years. It was amazing, as the intervening years did not close out our friendship, and we had a wonderful time keeping up.

In some sort of way, and in keeping with pictures that we had taken when Carl and I were together (and Eric was not around), ar that we had taken when Eric and I were together and Carl was not around, we finally got a picture of the three of us, greeting ourselves, I suppose, in the manner to which we have become accustomed.

Dopo Carnivale

2009-05-13T16:06:00.008+02:00

It seems that all good things end, and then it is up to the clean up crew and mother nature to take its course with whatever is left over. That certainly applies to parties. And Carnivale was certainly a party in Sciacca, with over 100,000 people visiting our fair city, drinking untold amounts of wine, singing and dancing in the streets until the morning was no longer young, and trying to make sure that there would not be an oversupply of delicious Sciacatano Salsice at the end of everything.

As families headed out to the country for carnivalone, a extra holiday to let everyone get a breather after 28 hour days during carnivale, the floats were also taken out to the country, where eventually they will return to dust, and their frames will be resurrected to make fun of whatever foibles we humans get into during the coming year.

Without further adieu, here are some photos of the carnivale graveyards.

Festa per les donne

2009-03-10T09:14:00.009+01:00

It was the International Day for Women last Sunday, and as I was taking someone to the airport, I got a call to invite me to the celebration at Agape that evening. I was told to bring my appetite!

It was once again a great celebration, this time with only one staff member. As people gathered around the table, before the food was to be served, there was toast after toast (all in Sicilian) from the man at the left who took on the job of toastmaster. As in tradition, all the toasts rhymed. I only wish I could have understood them all. I did feel honored after several toasts to the women, he first toasted Gianni Fisco, who teaches ceramics on a volunteer basis, and then toasted me, even though I just sort of hang around some times.

Food was ordered from outside, so at least the women did not have to cook. They did, of course, have to make the plates and take them to the men before they could sit and enjoy their meals.

The clients were there, enjoying each other's company on a day when they did not often get to see each other. The families were together talking about life in general, the men in one area and the women in another area. The meal was wonderful, starting of course with home made olives and wine and bread, and then there was a lasagna with meat sauce, huge plates of chicken and potatoes, melon, oranges, and mandarino, followed by far too many dolces. There was a little bit of music and dancing for those who could still move, and then the men each presented their wives with flowers. I was ordered to take pictures of each couple, often to the shouts of Baco, Baco, asking the couples to kiss for the pictures, which they did with some embarrassment.

Another wonderful evening with my Sicilian sized family in Sciacca.

Thoughts on Language

2009-03-10T09:02:00.002+01:00

One of the things I still want to do here is to learn more Sicilian. It is not easy, because in normal conversation on the street, or in homes, and with friends who know I can understand most Italian, I hear only the occasional Sicilian word. True, when Paolo and Ignatzia are talking, they often revert to Sicilian, however that is not all that often. And there are reasons for this.

When Mussolini wanted to unite Italy even more, he knew that one way of doing so was to unite them in language. Regional dialects were banned from the schools and the airwaves. Only 'Italian' was allowed, and 'Italian' according to Mussolini was the dialect of Florence as spoken by people in Rome. And of course Mussolini had a point. If the people shared a common language, they would feel a stronger common bond. Place names were changed. Grigento became Agrigento, and Vigata became Porto Empodecles. Xacca became Sciacca. Everything was Italianized.

It even became a minor crime to speak dialect in the streets, so that people who spoke Sicilian or Sarda or Calabrese or Nepolitano in their village square might have to pay a fine. Dialect became the language of the dinner table at home, but not the language of shopping. Indeed, one young friend referred to someone who was speaking Sicilian loudly in public as being 'ignorant', that is not knowing that they should be speaking Italian in public. Indeed, up until now there has only been one person who has actively tried to teach me some Sicilian, my summer neighbor Angelo.

And by the way, all of the dialects are dialects, but not dialects of Italian. They are dialects of Latin, in the same way that Italian, French and Spanish are. In Sicilian, the Italian words lui, lei, and loro become Idu, Ida, and Idi. (He, She and They). The Sicilian anchovy becomes the Italian acciuga.

What this means today is that there is a definite sign of acceptance if during a gathering, people openly speak Sicilian with you. I am humbled and yet proud to say that I felt very much accepted at the Agape Festa for the women when Sicilian was the language of choice about seventy percent of the time, and when I could not understand a word, the idea was then explained to me in Italian. Thank you for making me a part of your extended family in that way.

Rainbows

2009-03-10T08:55:00.005+01:00

Not much to say on this one.

Television

2009-03-10T08:41:00.003+01:00

I got a call from Jacque, a friend at Sigonella. There was a cinematographer from another base in the north who wanted to shoot some footage in my area. She wanted to know if I would be available to show him around a bit.

What a wonderful time. Robert Sekula works as a civilian for the Department of Defense Armed Forces Network, which broadcasts American TV to DOD personnel around the world, and also does a bit of its own programming. I was thrilled that they wanted to do some shooting on this side of the island.

On a wet and miserable day, I met Robert near the highway, and after talking with him for a few minutes, we headed off to earthquake territory. Even though the earthquake museum in Santa Margherita was closed, he was able to get some great shots of the reconstruction work they were doing there. Then it was off to Poggioreale, where we walked through the ruins.

As I held the umbrella over the camera to keep it dry, he found incredible shot after incredible shot. At one point I was able to look down at his viewfinder, and his ability to frame shots was spectacular. Bravo.

After the earthquakes, and a great lunch, we went to a small family run winery just around the corner from my apartment (DeGregorio) and I translated as he interviewed the owner and his two children about their passion for wine, and their love of the land. The owner is a full time doctor in Palermo, as is his wife, and his two children are both going to medical school. They are also excited about working with the vines each year, and helping to produce several types of red and white wine.

Robert spent the night in my space bedroom, and after he left the next day, I sent him a long list of other possible featurettes he could do on this side of the island. I expect one day he will be back, and for several days, as he works to produce some more information about a part of the island that does not see as many tourists as perhaps it should.

Thanks, Robert, for giving us a bit of publicity. It was great meeting you.

Calcio weekend

2009-03-05T14:36:00.009+01:00

Last weekend was soccer weekend for me. Three matches to watch. Oh my. One can have too much of a good thing.

Anyway, the first was in Sambuca, with Sambuca de Sicilia playing against Contessa Enitella, a nearby rival. It was a game for young adults, much like many of the slow pitch games one sees in the states. However, there were some significant differences. The game was played as part of the league system of soccer in Italy, and of course for these two small towns, the league was pretty low. Although nominally a dilletante league, the players, or at least some of the players, were payed up to five euros per game. Not enough to buy a Ferrari, but still, professional is some way. I chose to watch this game because Salvatore, the assistant baker at the Paneficio Americano where I get my bread was one of the players for Sambuca. Later I learned that the son of the assistant manager at Mail Boxes Etc, where I rent a postal box, was playing for Contessa.

There was another startling difference between these matches and the slow pitch (or even fast pitch) softball games, or broom ball games, or hockey games, bowling leagues, city rec basketball, or whatever other sports are the norm in the US. The beer cooler was absent. Indeed, the cold water that was on hand was mostly for pouring on the players when they were injured. I later found out that after the games, most of the players just went home, instead of going to the sponsoring tavern to celebrate their win or drown the sorrows of another loss.

Sambuca ended up winning the match, 2-1, although I left at half time so I could listen to NPR's wait wait don't tell me on the computer. One must keep one's priorities straight.

Sunday morning, I met my friend Fabrizio at 8:00 AM in front of his house. We drove his son Sergio to Villafranca, about forty five minutes away, so that Sergio could be the referee (arbitro) for a match between Villafranca and Ribera. Actually, the match was between the soccer schools of the two towns, so there was not really any question that beer would not be available there. We had watched Sergio referee a game between Santa Margherita and Ribera earlier this year, so some of the players were known to me.

What I really noticed in this game, aside from the beauty of the almond trees in full blossom, was the difference in size between the two teams. Many of the Villafranca players, well, at least three of them, must have been half a meter shorter than most of the players on the Ribera side.

Of course Sergio again refereed a great game. Villafranca was vastly outgunned, their goalie was really too small for the job, and Ribera won the match 11-2. There were some good plays, and the Ribera coach this time pretty much behaved himself, and at the end of the match, once again, instead of going together for some sort of celebration, the players either walked or were picked up by parents to go home and do something without the team.

I did remember what it was like to be involved in such sports, and be one of the two players on the bench for the losing team. It was interesting to me that when they got to play, the players for whom they went into the game for left the soccer pitch. I would have thought they would stay to cheer on their mates. Oh well.

Finally, to cap off the weekend of soccer, after going to Fabrizio's house and eating a wonderful pranzo prepared by Gabriella, his wife, a few other friends came over to watch the Palermo-Catania match. This was to be a hotly contested match, as Palermo needed at least a tie to stay in the running for UEFA cup next year, and with Catania also being a team from Sicily, it was considered a derby match, like when Milan plays Inter (both based in Milan), or when Juve plays Torino, or when the Cubs play the White Sox.

Important or not, the score was a dismal 0-4 at the end. Not Palermo's best effort. To underscore the difference between fandom here and in the states, you will notice in the picture below that none of us is drinking or snacking during the game. I am actually used to that now, but it seemed strange the first few times I watched a match with friends.

Carnivale III - Floats in the historical center

2009-02-27T13:53:00.018+01:00

Peppe Nappa

He holds the keys to the city, and leads all of the Carnivale parades, only to be burned on the last night of Carnivale (actually at about 4 in the morning on Ash Wednesday). He does not seem to mind, and this year, he rode into town on a wine barrel. A fitting image for him, I think.

Well, yes, there is a real Carnivale. It has outrageous floats made of a hardened paper mache with metal piping serving as the skeletons, it has groups of kids from all of the schools dancing, as well as groups of older kids from the various dance troops dancing to the songs specially written for each float, it has parades, and it has tons of people.

To the right is Silvio, riding Alitalia airlines into the ground. The floats usually have some sort of political meaning, and this was the year Italy had to give up its flag carrier to private enterprise.

Frankly, going to carnivale in the evening is a bit much for me. The first few times were fun, but then the outrageous crowds, the drinking, and the noise got a bit much for me, so this year I just went down for the children's parade on Saturday afternoon, and was able to see all the floats lined up for the procession, and some of them actually going through part of the parade route for the children's parade. It was enough for me.

This is Barack Obama, riding into town on a bull. I think one of the things that it symbolizes is that Barack is bullish on America, and more and more, among the people I talk to, so is Sicily.

I talked to a person at the local Mail Boxes Etc that I use, and he told me he was delighted that Carnivale was over. He lives in a small apartment along the parade route, and when I asked him if I could watch the parade from his house next year, he told me that there would not be any room. Everynight he is invaded by fifty of his best friends, who stay and drink until the wee hours, watch the procession, and have a grand old time. He ends up getting no sleep for the run of carnivale.

With that being said, here are some images from this year's Carnivale.

To the left is someone riding into town on a pig (porca miseria, which literally means miserable pig, but is used in the same was as 'holy cow!).

On the right is Michael, Marilyn, and Elvis, the great American trio, backing up president number 44 and his bull.

Okay, riding into town on a wine barrel, a failing airplane, a bull, a pig, then why on on an inner tube at one of our many beaches, or on a dragon, as the chinese merchant, one of a growing number in Sciacca and in Italy, are in these photos.

These are the kids who danced infront of our president. They are bulls, bull fighters, and butterflies. Their parents have charge of the ropes, keeping the kids together as much as they can.

Back to the politics(left), there have been many problems with water being lost, creating problems for residents in cities. Maybe it is not just the old pipes that are to blame!!

Sometimes Carnivale is nothing more than a time to get together with friends and get a bunch of stupid looking hats from the mechants who come to town for Carnivale.

And sometimes it is nothing more than a time to get an even stupider wig, and dance through downtown as if there was nothing better to do in the whole world, and maybe there is nothing better to do.

With all of these visitors, they have to stay somewhere. Some people bring their own hotels. This group of campers appeared in the dilitante port area almost overnight, and there were other parking areas set aside for them as well. In the background you can see Capo San Marco, where I live.

Finally, a shot of Elvis as a third story man, and Marilyn getting ready to flash people as they watch from their terraces. This gives you an idea of how high these floats are.

Complimenti to all the groups that thought of the ideas for the floats, and put them together. It was a good time, few people got hurt or arrested, and the city has just about returned to normal. Of course Ash Wednesday is not celebrated here, however on Carnivelone, the day after Carnivale, the schools remain closed so that families can recover, usually with a nice picnic in the countryside.

Carnivale II - Chiacchiere

2009-02-27T13:35:00.009+01:00

Of course the floats are colorful and wonderful. Of course the dancers are cute when they are little, and sexy as they get older. Of course the area around the procession is incredibly crowded with folks from all over (It was estimated that there were over 50,000 visitors in Sciacca on Saturday night for the festivities - and that was probably also true for Sunday night and Tuesday night). And of course, but perhaps surprisingly, most of the people ignore the floats and the dancers, and stand along the parade route talking to folks that they have not seen since last carnivale, or maybe just since week, or yesterday, or maybe even this afternoon.

Therefore, there is a special carnivale food, just for this tradition. It is a deep fried cookie called a Chiacchiere (that means to gab, or to gossip) and it gets its name not just from what happens at carnivale, but also from the fact that it is shaped like a wagging tongue.

Of course Ignatzia sent me a batch of chiacchiere, and also my friends at Paneficio Americano kept giving me some everytime I went in to get my daily bread. Herewith is a photo essay on how they are made. (By the way, they taste wonderful!!)

Of course school is closed for carnivale, so even the youngsters get to come in and help out the family as they make the wagging tongues. Not only to they get to help make them, but I am told they even get to help eat them!!

Even Calogero steps in to give his wife and his grand daughter a break, and to make sure that Salvatore and Fillipo are making them correctly.

When they are all cut, they leave it to the expert work of Maria to fry them in the hot oil. She knows just when to take them out so that they will be at her best.

Then they are placed in a LARGE basket to cool down a bit before they are sold to customers. Of course they had to warn me not to eat any of these, because they were too hot, and besides, they were 'not quite ready.'

Having cooled down a bit, and then sprinkled with powdered sugar, they are brought out to the customer area of the bakery, and sold to all the people who love carnivale, love catching up with old friends, and most of all, love chiacchiere!

Maria's twin sister Paola refused to have her picture taken with the Chiacchiere for this post, however she did not notice when I took her picture waiting on a customer.

Carnivale I - Agape

2009-02-27T13:24:00.005+01:00

Carnivale started for me before the carts were being put together on Via Cappucini. It started at Agape, where the staff had helped the parents and students devise simple and effective carnevale costumes, and everyone got together for a family meal of pizza and arancini. I will let the pictures pretty much speak for themselves.

It's not WHAT you eat, it's WHEN!!

2009-02-27T13:03:00.008+01:00

I recently found out that perhaps the best time to eat is in the middle ages. Oh yes.

Ho scoperto redcentemente che forse il momento migliore per mangiare è stato nel Medioevo. Oh sì.

My friend Fabrizio called one day to ask if I wanted to go to an exhibition that some students at his high school were putting on. Fabrizio teaches Front Desk there, as well as sometimes serving as Vice Principal. It is a high school for students who want to get into the hotel business, and actually gets students from around the area, not just Sciacca.

Un gioro il mio amico Fabrizio mi ha chiamato per chiedermi se volevo andare ad una esibizione teatrale che alcuni studenti della Scualo Alberghiera de Sciacca mettevano in scena. Fabrizio insegna 'Front Desk', e funge anche da collaboratore della presidenza. Si tratta di una scuola ssuperiore per gli studenti che vogliono entrare nel settore alberghiero, ed è frequentato da studenti provenienti da tutta la provincia e non solo di Sciacca.

Anyway, it was being held at Complesso Fazello, a former convent near Porto Palermo. I met Fabrizio there, and we waited while the kids got things set up. It started with two students in costumes reading welcoming proclamations to a grand medieval feast. They were in wonderful costumes, and following their proclamations, we were all invited inside, where we witnessed a play from those times, complete with a juggling jester between acts. Then the students, who had pretended to be sitting down eating when they were not on stage, brought out the food, and began serving it to the 100 or so guests. You can imagine what that was like, what with the courtesy of line behavior that is always shown by Sicilians. Of course I was lucky, Fabrizio had my back, and he kept on going behind the line to get me plates of antipasto, lamb, pork, fish, chicken, veal, castrato, and on and on and on.

L'esibizione si è tenuta pressos il Complesso Fazello, un ex concento, vivino Porta Palermo. Ho incontrato Fabrizio, e abbiamo aspettato , mentre i ragazzi si preparavano. Tutto è cominciato con due studenti in comtume che hanno letto dei proclami per una grande festa mediovale. Erano abbligliati in costume d'epoca, e in sequito noi tutti siamo stati invitati all'interno di una sala, dove abbiamo assistito a recite medievali e giochierie di un buffone di corte. Poi glie studenti, gingenvano di partecipare ad un banchetto medievale (quando non erano empegnati a recitatre) ad altri servivano portate per preparare il buffet per tutti gli spettatori. Ptotete immaginare cosa è successo dopo con tutte le persone che hanno assalito il Buffet. Comunque, sono stato fortunato, Fabrizio da dietro il tavolo ha preparato per me dei piatti di antipasti, agnello, maiale, pesce, pollo, vitello, castrato, e così via.

I had not known it was to include dinner, so I did eat sparingly, but what I had was wonderful.

Non avevo previsto quella sera de cenare, così ho mangiato con parsimonia, ma quello che ho avuto è stato meraviglioso.

The play was well done, the food was excellent, the organization was superb, and the students were all friendly. It was a great show, and the parents, school administration, teaches, and most of all the students should be proud.

L'esibizione è stata bella, il cibo ottimo, l'organizzatione è stata eccellente, e gli studenti sono tati tutti amichevoli. E' stato un grande spettacolo, i genitori, la scuola, gli insegnanti, e la maggiore parte di tutti gli studenti dovrebbero essere orgogliosi.

Below is Fabrizio standing between the program organizer (Leopoldo Verngallo) and one of the student chefs.

Qui di sequito Fabrizio al centro tra il responsabile di Cucina (Prof. Leopoldo Vernagalla) e una studente di cucina.

Traduzione ed adattamento linguistico di Fabrizio Ricotta.

Translated and adapted linguistically by Fabrizio Ricotta.

Sicilian weather in January, 2009

2009-02-14T15:40:00.005+01:00

IT RAINED CATS AND DOG!!

(All animals provided by Paolo and Ignatzia. Few animals were hurt during this entry.)

Fran Two Years On

2009-02-14T12:37:00.005+01:00

Fran Two Years On

Fran dopo due anni

I wake to our alarm clocks
The sun’s and mine
Somehow set to the same internal time
So we both may make our faces
Before greeting each other
As my Luna Park ride
Careens closer and closer
And the sun seems to rise from the mountains
As you snuggle in for one more warm nap

Ci svegliamo con le nostre sveglie.
Il sole è anche mio
sincronizzato in qualche modo con il nostro orologio biologico.
Così possiamo entrambi ricomporre i nostri visi
prima di salutarci.
Quando la giostra del mio luna park
gira sempre più vicina
e il sole sembra sorgere dalle montagne
mentre tu stai accucciata per un caldo pisolino in più.

The fresh roast beans are ground
Suffer the boiling water
Leaking out their perfume and essence
I sit on the terrace
Waiting for the smells to entrance you
Out of the bed and back to our world

I chicchi di caffè arrosto sono macinati.
Metto l'acqua a bollire.
Spandono il loro profumo e la loro essenza.
Mi siedo nel terrazzo
aspettando che gli odori ti portino
fuori dal letto e di nuovo nel nostro mondo.

As you sleep on
I take the last few dozen oranges from the shed
Just about to turn or mold
Or whatever it is they do when they give up
Juicing them so as not to waste them
I turn to look for you
As I taste the freshness they have provided
Over the last few weeks
In my mind’s tongue

Mentre tu dormi ancora
io prendo le ultime poche arance dal capanno
che stanno per andare a male o rammollirsi
o qualunque altra cosa facciano quando marciscono.
Mi volto per guardarti
mentre assaggio la freschezza che hanno offerto
nelle ultime settimane
con la lingua della mia mente.

The juice waits patiently for you in the frigo
You liked it even before your coffee
And certainly before the taste of toothpaste
Yet you sleep on
As I come to terms that I shall never more see you
Coming out from the bedroom door.

Pazientemente il succo ti aspetta in frigo.
Ti piaceva anche più del tuo caffè
e sicuramente più del gusto del dentifricio.
Tu dormi ancora
quando io finalmente realizzo che non ti rivedrò mai più
uscire dalla porta della camera da letto.

Translated with the help of Reanto, Aurora, and then Francesco. My thanks to the three of you.

CONTROLLO

2009-02-14T12:24:00.005+01:00

I went to Ospedale Il Cervallo yesterday for a six month check up. The doctor was very happy, and quite pleased that the net he had built between my ribs and lungs/diaphragm/spleen was holding up perfectly. He wants to see me at least one more time just before the summer.

However, that was not the most interesting news of the day. The weather was. It has rained almost every day since Christmas here in beautiful Sicily. We should have enough water to get through the summer, even without using the sometimes broken desalinization plants in Gela, and the silting in of some of the larger reservoirs. However, we shall see.

But it did not rain yesterday. As I drove up the main artery from Sciacca to Palermo, I saw snow on top of some of the mountains. Old Gibellena ruins were covered in white, as were the ruins of Poiggiareale. However the new towns were unaffected. Maybe that is why they built them lower.

Eventually, after San Guiseppe Jato, I saw signs advising me to turn back if I did not have snow tires or chains. Well, I am used to driving in the snow in the US, so I decided to go on through the mountain pass above Palermo. It was slippery, and of course there were only tire tracks to follow, as they do not have a whole lot of grattaneve here (snowplows to you), but proceeding slowly, it was not bad. The sun had hit the long bridge just below the crest, so there was no ice to content with.

And yes, it was pretty.

Old Trees

2009-02-01T10:08:00.005+01:00

There is an olive oil producer in Sambuca who has a tree that is reportedly well over 500 years old. He has used this to market his oil as a specialty in the US. He presold by subscription half liter bottles of oil that contained some oil from the olives of this tree, for an incredible price, something over 100 dollars per liter. The going price here is 4-5 Euros per liter for good fresh oil. The amazing thing is that trees reportedly produce their best oil when they are between 20 and 150 years old. After that, their production begins to fall a bit, and their quality remains the same, as that is determined by the soil, the weather, and the production method used.

However, I did think you might want to see some pictures of some olive trees that are that old, and that are still producing olives, however the oil from these trees is in the 4-5 Euro range, far saner than the boutique oil that some feel destined to pay for. (I wonder if the world economic crisis will effect the cost of his oil, or at least the subscription rate for his oil.)

OIL 2008

2009-02-01T09:37:00.007+01:00

Last year was one of the best years for olive oil that most of my friends have experienced. The quantity was good, and the quality was out of site. Of course I wrote reams of things about it on this blog, but I just realized that I have not written about the 2008 crop.

Of course whatever oil one does not use one year must be relegated to a new role of starting barbecue fires and lighting the way with oil lamps. One just does not use old oil here. Not when there is fresh to be had.

I also must admit that when I lived in the states, we used a liter or two of olive oil a year. My usage has gone up to about 10 or 15 liters per year, and I always get fifteen liters to see me through the year, which leaves enough to light fires with the next year. I thought I was using a lot of oil, but then I found out that it is normal for a family of two to use fifty or more liters a year, and of course if at all possible the oil must be from olives grown and pressed by a friend, or at the very least the friend of a friend.

The Planeta family has started an olioficcio near here, and one of their oils is considered one of the best 30 olive oils in the world. Their land, and indeed most of the land around here, is in the Mazz de Vall DOP, which is a special area for olives and olive oil, and the growth and production are carefully monitored in order to gain the DOP designation. This DOP includes land in all of the Palermo province, as well as in the area along state route 115 from Castelvetrano to Ribera, and includes mountain villages like Caltabellota and Calamunaci.

A friend of mine in the states, who prides himself on his gourmet northern Italian cooking, was actually excited when he heard that I lived in this DOP, as even he was willing to concede the oil from this area is the best.

But as usual, I digress.

Of course I got some oil from my usual friends. Toto brought me oil from his olivetti in Caltabellotta, and Pascal and Toto of Verditecnica again gave me some of their oil from the hillside behind Sciacca. Calogero, Maria, and Paola Colletti, of my favorite panneficcio, gave me some of their oil. I bought a good bit and sent it on to the states or carried it over when I went for Jon's wedding, so I still needed to visit the Cucchiari brothers olioficcio here in Sciacca.

I had a friend from Germany with me, and when we arrived I found my friend Acursio from Agape unloading his olives. He offered to sell me some of his oil, again grown between Caltabellotta and Sciacca, so we made arrangements to buy six five liter cans from him.

Of course we had to make sure it was his oil, so he made arrangements for his oil to be pressed at 6 AM the next morning. When we got there, not only was Acursio waiting, but also my friend Calogero, who had been a waiter at La Vela restaurant at the port, and was working at the olioficcio again, as he waited for the rebuilding of the restaurant he had moved to to be rebuilt after a fire had destroyed it.

The picture at the top is of the three of us getting together, as Acursio's olives are being pressed.
The next picture is of the olives waiting to be loaded into the processing plant. Then you can see Acursio overseeing the olives being washed, crushed, and the oil being extracted, until the golden green oil pours out the other end, where it is again filtered, then weighed, checked for acidity, and finally stored in huge storage tanks, after the owner of the olivetti has taken his (and his family's and his friends') supply of oil. There it waits to be bottled or canned and labelled and shipped out, or it waits for bulk containers to be shipped to other producers, to be mixed with their oil to bring the quality up (and the acidity down) to 'Extra Virgin', as this is the best oil around.

Italian Royalty

2009-02-01T09:28:00.003+01:00

I have finally met a member of the Italian Royalty. What an experience. He is a Duke, and to avoid any unknown or unforeseen repercusions, I will not mention his name. However, he and the Duchess were at a fancy dinner I attended. When it was my turn to meet him, I walked up and extended my hand and said 'Buon Giorno, e piaceri', which means 'Hello, I am pleased to meet you.'

He and the Duchess just sort of looked at me, leaving my hand extended, and looked through me as if I were not there. Fortunately a friend took me aside and told me that when I was addressing any sort of Royalty in Italy, it was customary to make a slight bow to them when I spoke to them. So I went up to him again, extended my hand again, greeted him again, and made a slight bow from the waist. He smiled and shook my hand warmly, saying in perfect English that he was very pleased to meet me, and was glad that as an American I had decided to settle in Italy.

We spoke together for about ten minutes, and each time I said something, he ignored it until I had made my little bow. It almost became second nature to me.

Our paths crossed several more times during the evening, and each time when we spoke I remembered to bow politely after each time I said something. We got along well, and he invited me to his country estate to see the land and take whatever pictures I might want to take. I was thrilled by that. Aside from the bowing bit, he really was just like everyone else. Molto Gentile as they say in Italian.

At the end of the evening, people lined up, and the men each approached the Duke, then dropped to one knew and extended a hand to the back of his calf as they said their good byes. He would smile, they would stand up and shake hands with him, and be on their way.

When it was my turn, I walked up, dropped to one knew, took a hold of the back of his calf, and pulled his leg, just as I have been pulling yours.

With apologies to Tom Waits. (Alice)

Sand Boats - Take Two

2009-01-31T13:37:00.006+01:00

After our second winter here, Fran decided that there were probably sand boats every year. Above you can see the sand boat from our second year here. At first, we thought it was pretty funny that people would leave their boats tied to the sea wall on the beach, or tethered to buried anchors in the bay, for the winter, and then winter storms would come and wreck havoc with them.

Of course, as we got to know the people here, we discovered a few things. First of all, while sand boats can seem pretty funny, they are not funny for the people who own them, or for the friends of the people who own them.

Second, of course, is that there is a learning curve. The sand boat we saw our second year here was owned by my (now) friend Renato, who lives in Palermo, and now he comes down about twice a month to get away from the stress of his working life. As you can see above, he has been more careful with his little sail boat, and he keeps his other 'replacement' boat safely in the supervised port in Sciacca.

Unfortunately, that did not stop my friend Angelo from anchoring his boat in the bay, and leaving it to the whims of heavy wind and surf for a little too long. Luckily, it was his 'old boat', and his newer better boat is safely stored on a trailer behind his apartment here.

Germany - The lost pictures

2009-01-31T13:27:00.005+01:00

Just like Thanksgiving pictures, some pictures from my first few days of my Germany trip appeared in my camera. These were pictures from when I was staying with my friends Nadja Rakowitz and Ralf Klinke. Nadja is just coming out of her house prepared for the rain with her umbrella. The castle is in her home town of Aschafennsburg, where one can get the wonderful beer that is brewed according to the old chart of the Schlappeseppel Brauhaus wall. I am so glad I found the pictures, because it brings back what a wonderful time I had there.

Arbitro Arbitro

2009-01-31T13:09:00.008+01:00

When we first came to Sciacca, I remember going to one of the Sciacca Soccer games, and was amused as the fan yelled that the referee was a 'Cornuto'. And yes, I did say fan, because I did not really consider myself a fan at that time, and the only other person in the stands was the one who yelled that. Of course wives and girl friends were along the sidelines, but they did not really count in terms of this.

Quando siamo venuti per la prima volta a Sciacca, ricodo che siamo andati a vedere una partita de Calcio dello Sciacca, ed èstato divertente sentire un tifoso urlare all'arbitro 'Cornuto'. E si, io ho detto tfoso, perchè io non mi consideravo certo un tifoso ai quei tempi, e l'unica altra persona presente allo stadio è stato colui che ha gridato. Naturalmente mogli e ragazze dei giocatori erano presenti sul camp ma non potevano essere considerati spettatori.

Anyway, Sciacca did not have a professional quality team, and indeed they have gone down two leagues since then (the last two teams in any league go down one league the next year, while the top two go up one league). They are now rebounding and trying to climb up out of the nether regions of city soccer in Sicily.

In ogni caso, Sciacca non ha ancora una squadra di alta categoria, in effetti da allora sono scesi di due categoriae (le ultime due squadre de qualsiasi lega scendono di un camionato l'anno successivo, mentre le prime due salgono di una categoria). La squadra è ora in ripresa e cerca di salire verso le categori regionali superiori.

This is a shot of the fans at Santa Margherita. As you can see, it was a cold day, and it was actually kind of funny watching the soccer players play with their sleeves pulled down over their hands to keep their hands warm.

Questa è uno solo dei tifosi de Santa Margherita. Come potete vedere, è stato un giorno freddo, ed è stato effettivamente divertente guardare i calciatori con la maniche tirate giù sulle mani per tenerle al caldo.

Anyway, my friend (and Fran's cousin) Fabrizzio called me one day to see if I wanted to go to a soccer match with him in Santa Margherita. Of course I did. Especially since his son, Sergio, was going to be the arbitro for the match. (He is the guy dressed in black on the field.)

Communque, il mio amico Fabrizio (e cugino di Francesca) un giorna mi ha chiamato per chiedermi se volevo andare a vedere una partita de Calcio con lui a Santa Margherita. Sicuramente risoposi, in particolare perchè suo figlio Sergio, aritrava la partita. (Lui è il ragazzo che inndossa la divisa nera in campo)

Sergio is a young man still in high school, one of the most pleasant young men I have ever had the opportunity to get to know. He was selected for training as a referee, and he works one or two games a week. They are not the games played by adults at this point, but rather the games that are between the soccer schools of the various communities in this area. The game I attended was between a school at Santa Margheritta and a team from Ribera. They were kids in their early teens, and it was much like Babe Ruth League Baseball, or midget hockey in the states.
Sergio è un giocane che frequenta il Liceo, uno dei ragazzi più (piacevoli) che abbia avuto l'opportunità di conoscere. Lui è stato selezionato per fare il corso di artitro e dirige una o due partite all settimana. Non arbitra ancora incontri di squadre di adulti, ma piutosto incontri tra campionati giovalili e di scuole calcio dei vari comuni del territorio. Il match di calcio di fronte la squadra giovanile del Santa Margherita ed una di Ribera. Sono ragazzi della prima quindicina di età paragonabili al 'Babe Ruth League Baseball' oppure al 'Midget Hockey' negli Stati Uniti.

It was fun watching Sergio take control of the game. He did this by whistling a change of possession every time the ball went out of bounds, and the player throwing the ball in stepped over the line as he threw it in. It happened about five times in the first ten minutes, and at that point the kids learned to be more careful with the line, and they also learned that the arbitro was going to watch them and call a close game. And he did. He called it close, and he called it well.

E' stato divertente vedere Sergio prendere il controllo della partita. Lo faceva fischiando il cambio di battuta ogni volta che la palla andava fuori dal camp, e i giocatorei barttevano il fallo laterale con lie mani oltrepassando la linea di riferimento. è successo circa cinque volte nei primi dieci minuti del match e a qusto punto, i giocatori hanno imparato a prestare maggiore attenzione alla linea, e hanno anche imparato che l'arbitro era sempre vicino al gioco e li teneva sotto controllo. Cosi ha fatto, ha dondotto il gioca e lo ha condotto bene.

Of course, just like stupid hockey moms everywhere (sorry Sarah, I know that pit bulls wear the lipstick, but I still would like to see you behave better) the coach from Ribera, which was behind most of the time, was unhappy. At one point, Sergio stopped play and went over and talked with him for a minute, and he calmed down after that.

I sequito, giusto come gli stupidi moma di Hockey dovunque (Scusa Sarah, io so che i Pit Bulls si mettono il rossetto, ma mi piacerebbe verderli comprtarsi bene) l'allentore del Ribera che era rimasto in desparte tutto il tempo, era insoddisfatto e si lamentava. A questo punto Sergio ha fermato il gioco ed è corso a parlare con lui per un minuto, quindi si è calmato.

Amazing (to me) how well and how maturely he handled both the players and the coaches.

Mi ha sorpreso come bene e con quanta maturità ha trattato i giocatori e gli allentori.

If I did not think he was going to become a famous Nuclear Physicist or Linguist or some other highly intellectual profession (he is as smart as a whip) I would expect that he would be able to make a really good living being the referee in Series A, Champions League, and UEFA cup games.

Io credo che se non diventerà un famoso Fisico Nucleare oppure un Poliglotta o ancora qualche altra professione intellettuale (lue è tanto elegante quanto veloce) io mi aspetto che sia in grado di diventare veramente un arbitro di Serie A, Champions League, e UEFA Cup.

Bravo Sergio, tu e Grande.

Good Job, Sergio, you are GREAT.

Lost and Found, Thanksgiving

2009-01-31T09:38:00.003+01:00

Anyone who has been kind enough to keep reading this knows that I somehow lost the pictures I took at Thanksgiving in my camera. Well, I seem to have found them. So herewith are a few photos from that wonderful day, the first is of the hostess with the mostest, Jacque, who is now preparing to leave Sicily behind and head back to her other home in Hawaii, along with Rob, who is in the second photo attacking the turkey, the hardest of all jobs on Thanksgiving Day. His efforts are being largely ignored by the other Thanksgiving guests they were so nice to invite to dinner.

HAPPY NEW YEAR

2009-01-08T16:31:00.003+01:00

NEW YEAR'S MORNING, 1-1-2009

Alessio on St. Stevan's Day

2009-01-05T08:15:00.006+01:00

After spending Christmas Eve with Paolo, Ignatzia, and their families, and then Christmas day with Petra, Lutz and Klaus for a wonderful meal at Hostoria del Vicolo, I headed into Palermo for my onamastico (Saints Day) with Angelo, Franci, and Alessio.

Alessio has been having a hard time with flue season, as have Angelo and Franci. So sometimes one or the other will keep Alessio and the other parent will try to recover at the grand parents house. Like so many babies in Sicily, the grandparents are an integral part of the raising of the child, so I think that Alessio may not even know the difference. It is a good thing that Franci can get these kinds of breaks, as Alessio is expecting a little brother this spring. He seems to be happy with the news.

Franci still works at her parents clothing shop, where even the other clerks take over with Alessio when he comes in to work. Angelo right now is waiting to be called back to work at the car rental agency he worked at. He is currently laid off until the tourist start to return to Sicily in big numbers. Meanwhile, he picks up odd jobs when he can find them, and takes a lot of shifts raising his son, as well as helping his father out at the frame shop.

We left Alessio with grandparents, and had our second annual St. Stevan's Day pranzo at Il Vespri, a great restaurant near Teatro Politeamo. We ate there last year with Jon, Steph, Jess and Dustin, and they continue to serve wonderful food with great service.

Happy Solstice

2009-01-04T08:19:00.007+01:00

The shortest day of the year began spectacularly.

Merry Christmas

2009-01-04T07:50:00.009+01:00

The Agape Staff Plus Francesca

Many of you know that for Christmas presents to most friends and family, I chose instead to up my giving to two organizations. One is the Tanzania group, spearheaded in Sciacca by Rino Marinello, my friend and former landlord, and a doctor who not only was helpful to Fran when she was ill, and to me when I needed an operation, but also who spent time in Tanzania volunteering his skills to the people there.

The Board President Checks Out the Pastry at the party.

He is also the city minister in charge of services for the differently abled, and as such had to chain himself to the doors of city hall until they again promised to put in an elevator so that he could reach his office! Truly a good man.

The other is Agape, a non profit organization here in Sciacca that tries to provide day programming for differently abled adults. I say tries to, because it is not always easy. They had to fight to get space that had been promised them by the local, partly empty hospital, to provide the programming and therapy. They had to make the little building they were given to use accessible. They have to fight to get the funding they are supposed to get from the region and the nation, and they have to beg the city for additional funding. This also means that they must charge the families a fee for their service, and not all families are wealthy enough to pay for the service.

So each year I have made a donation to them, and somehow because of that, I have become a part of their family. Now you too are a part of their family, because by not getting a Christmas gift from me, you made a donation to them.

The Best Adapted
Physical Education
Teacher I have met
EVER

His whole attitude is infectious

At the Christmas Party this year, I was torn in two directions by the folks. They wanted me to take their pictures, and they wanted me to eat the pizza and arancini that they had. We finally settled on putting a sack of pizza and arancini in my car, leaving me free to take pictures.

The pictures start with the staff together, along with Francesca, who always greats me with a big smile, and tries to punch whoever comes up to me next. We are wise to her ways, and she does not get the punch in, then she smiles, gives me a big kiss on the cheek, and wanders on to get into other trouble. The pictures end with the last picture I took. The young man is wheelchair bound, and has one of the biggest smiles I know. I saw him the first year we were in Sciacca, at an Agape dance sponsored by the boy scouts. He was being carried around the dance floor by the physical education teacher, and he was as happy as could be. He is becoming more verbal, although it takes a lot of concentration on his part to form the words he wants to use. The wish he gave me is printed below his picture, which was taken just after he said it. It basically means 'Best Wishes', and is a common, all purpose, festive greeting.

auguri !!

You can't see that from here

2009-01-02T12:47:00.003+01:00

Three Thanksgivings ago, Fran and I were driving Jon and Stephanie to Taormina, for one night there before they flew on to Berlin from Catania. As we drove from Agrigento to Caltanesetta, Jon said that he thought he saw Etna. I told him I thought he was probably wrong, because one could not see Etna from there, indeed, one needed a very clear day to see Etna even from Enna. I told him we might be able to see it once we were beyond Caltanesetta, or beyond Enna. Jon accepted this like Gospel.

Last Thanksgiving, I was taking the same route as I drove toward Nicolosi to spend Thanksgiving with friends. I looked to the right as I passed the spot where Jon imagined he had seen Etna. Here is a public apology to you Jon, I was wrong, and you most likely were right. Good eyes.

Speaking of Puns

2009-01-02T09:39:00.002+01:00

When I was in Palermo with Angelo and Franci for St. Stevan's Day, Angelo pointed out this restaurant to me, fairly close to Piazza Politeamo.
The way the sign reads, it is either the old restaurant of a small appetite, or the old restaurant of the small penis. Who knows which they mean. Either way, I probably will not go their to eat any time soon.

An Italian Pun

2009-01-02T09:30:00.002+01:00

First, a few digressions.

When we first arrived, barely speaking a word of Italian, we were told that puns do not exist in Italian because it is such a precise language. Well, it is indeed precise, but as I have learned more and more Italian, I have found that Italians do indeed use puns as a source of humor.

Second, a word about the mafia, particularly the mafia in large cities. While the mafia seems, or reportedly make most of their money through drugs, prostitution, and skimming government contracts, they still make a lot of money through their specialized insurance business, known in America as extortion. There have been many 'Stop the Pizzo' campaigns, particularly in Palermo, pizzo being the name that is given to the money (or piece of the profits) that the mafia collects.

As a final digression, some of you may know me well enough to know that sometimes at 3 or 4 in the morning I will wake up laughing. I wake up laughing because somehow, in my sleeping dream state, I have thought up a new joke. When this happens, I try to decide if the joke is worth keeping or not, and if it is, I write enough of it down to remember it, then I can re-judge it in the cold light of day. This is one that made the cut.

Well, there has been a fairly massive dragnet for mafiosi in Palermo. Over 100 people were arrested and put in jail in just two days. Most of the arrested were the leg breakers and car burners whose job it was to go around their neighborhood and collect the pizzo. This has left the bosses with far too few workers to get to all of the store owners for the regular collection.

So ever clever, the bosses have set up small storefronts where the business owners may come and pay their tribute each week. That is why, when you are in Palermo, you will see so many pizzorias.

ADDIO FILIPPO

2009-01-02T08:59:00.004+01:00

As I have written earlier in this blog, which you will see below this, just before my trip to Germany I got the news that Gabriella Chinnici's father, Filippo Chinnici, had died in Palermo. I was devastated. I had been thinking about her step-father-in-law Gianni, as well as about Fran as the second anniversary of Fran's death approached, and I felt ill equipped to deal with yet another death.

I will not try to say that I knew him well, I only met him twice, both times at Friend's Pizzeria, which Gabriella's husband (and Fran's cousin) Fabrizio owned and ran. Both times I met him, he seemed a kind and gentle man. The second time was at the party for the closing of the Pizzeria, which was a sad occasion, and I remember he thanked me after I stumbled over my thanks to Friends for feeding us so many times during our first year in Sicily, and how they had truly become friends. Indeed, it was at this meal that we discovered that Fabrizio and Fran might be cousins.

I did not know him well, but I do know his daughter well, her love of music, her love of family, her willingness, indeed her eagerness to help me when I lost Fran. I remember clearly seeing her in the parking lot of the central post office, and she noticed the pain in my face, and asked what was wrong, and when I told her about Fran, she could not believe it. The next night she insisted I dine at her house with her family, and we spent the evening in fond recollection. I have eaten at that table many times since, and watched Palermo play many soccer matches at their house, and soon will be going to watch their son Sergio referee a soccer match in Santa Margherita.

I believe that Fabrizio and Gabriella have two wonderful kids, and the kids are wonderful because of the parenting skills of their parents. And Fabrizio and Gabriella do so well because of the models they had when they were parented, Fabrizio by Giovanna, and Gabriella by Filippo. That is a fine testament to the type of man he was. We need more like him in this world, and his presence will be missed.

I did go to the one month anniversary mass that was held in Palermo. I rode up with Fabrizzio, Sergio, and their beautiful and intelligent daughter Michella. As we rode through the cloudy and at times rainy valley, we were accompanied by a series of rainbows, rainbows marking the passing of a good man, and hope for the future.

On Koln (Koeln) (Cologne)

2009-01-01T18:26:00.003+01:00

I had always wanted to go to Koln (it should have two dots over the o, or else have an oe, or I could have given it the French spelling of Cologne) , ever since being introduced to the music of Keith Jarrett through his Koln Concert. This desire was fortified when Fran and I flew in and out of the Koln airport when we were on our way to Amsterdam to pick up Jon and Stephanie for Thanksgiving the November before Fran died. I had timed my trip so that I would be in Koln on the second anniversary of Fran's death.

I left Mannhiem in one of the wonderful Inter City Express (ICE) trains, which hugged the shores of the Rhine as it flew north at 200+ kilometers per hour. The many castles that line the Rhine were barely able to peak through the fog, but they were certainly impressive.

After checking into my hotel, I went straight to the Cathedral, as had heard that it was beautiful. It was the kind of thing that Fran would have done, and I wanted a holy spot of some sort to meditate about her for a little while.
Indeed, it was beautiful, both inside and out. I sat in one of the pews for a while, just thinking. Before I knew it, a prayer service started. I kept my seat, and continued to meditate. The prayer service ended, and I continued what I had to do. I thought about Fran, and our wonderful times together, and how much she would have enjoyed seeing this wondrous building. I thought about Fabrizzio's step father, who was so friendly to us, and who died this year. I thought about Petra's father, who welcomed me so warmly, even though he did not know English. I thought about Gabriella's father, who I had only met twice, and whose death, when I heard of it just before leaving for Germany, paralyzed me in my grief.

The priest approached me and asked if I needed his help. I told him 'no, that I was just meditating'. When I got up to leave the Church, I realized I had been sitting there for three hours.

I stopped on the way out to light candles for Fran, for Karl, and for Filippo. I do not know the significance of lighting candles, but it seems to be important to remember the dead in this way, and Fran always liked candles burning in the house.

When I left the Cathedral, I wandered through the neighboring Christmas Market, and ended up buying two key chains for my niece and nephew. It was the first time I had seen the name Jonas on a key chain, so I figured 'Why not?'. They tell me they liked the gift. Early the next morning, I was off to the airport and Palermo.

Mannhiem Day III

2009-01-01T18:07:00.005+01:00

My third day in Mannhiem, I went to the Mannhiem Christmas Market. Petra had something to do in town, so she gave me a ride in. First she showed me the 'normal, regular' Christmas market near the water tower. Then she dropped me off by a much smaller Christmas Market. This market had only artiginal crafts, and it really was what I hoped to see.

They even had a Merry-Go Round with wooden horses and figures, much like the ones that were located just outside my hotel room. Of course the ones in the market were not for sale!!

That night, I was fortunate enough to go to the office Christmas party for the CAD and computer business my three friends run. It was at the Kronen Hotel and Restaurant in Winehiem, and for the first time in my life I got to eat foods like Schmaltz and Goose. Oh my, my doctor would not like to see what that meal was doing to my diet. But it was a wonderful evening of food and fellowship as I got ready to leave for Koln (Cologne).

Mannheim Day 2

2009-01-01T17:33:00.001+01:00

My second day in Mannhiem, I used the morning to get a little bit more than my fill of the mall experience German Style. I walked over to the Rhine Neckar Centrum shopping center, and wandered through the mall for a bit. While the food stands had a particular German flavor to them (all sorts of good pastries on display), the stores were basically the same as American stores, and the clerks looked as hastled and underpaid as American store clerks, and the shoppers seemed as harried as American shoppers. I ended up filling my rucksack with fresh mall air, and then walked back to my hotel where I met Klaus.

Klaus had a mission for the afternoon. We had to go to the Rhine Pfalz wine area and pick up several cases of wine to be used as Christmas and New Year's gifts for the clients of my three friends. Now that is the kind of Christmas shopping I really love.
The winery looked like most wineries in Sicily and California that I have been in. Endless piles of bottled wine, barrelled wine, and cases of wine. I wonder how long I could live in one of those places if they locked me in with nothing but a cork screw and a barrel tapper. Hmmm, I wonder if I could get locked it. It might be worth it.
The woman who ran the winery was very knowledgeable, and even though Klaus had a particular shopping list for the thirty or so cases he needed to buy, and she was ready for him with the wine, and a little gift of wine for him, she also took the time to give me a taste of several of her wines. I suppose it is a good thing she did, as I ended up buying a mixed case of German wines to be shipped to me, for those times when I get tired of the wonderful wines of Sicily. She spoke some English, and we talked about the wineries she had visited in California, although she thought they could not compare at all favorably with her white wines. She might be right. I don't know, I just know they were good, and I was indeed surprised how good the whites were.

This gave me the idea of spending a week in the wine areas of Germany, or maybe of France, driving from small town to small town, staying in small hotels, and trying all the wines I could. I am trying to talk my friend Carl into just such a trip, maybe next fall. I am also hoping to take a course in wine tasting given by my friend Nino of Hostoria del Vicolo this winter.

After bring the wine back to the office, Lutz joined us on a trip to Speyer. Speyer is a Cathedral City, and the Cathedral is known for having the crypts of 8 German Kings and Emperors, including some who had the title of Holy Roman Emperor. A bit in front of the alter is a huge crown hanging from the ceiling, which I believe may represent the at times bitter feelings between the heads of state of Germany and the Vatican, which had sole authority for seating Holy Roman Emperors.

Fran and I had visited it once, and it is a beautiful Cathedral. This time, Lutz, Klaus, and I did not go in, but just walked by it. As we walked by, the bells began to peel, and the town filled with the noise of the ancient bells. It was about fifteen minutes of wonderful bell music. Walking through the lightly falling snow and the wondrous sound was almost a magical moment.

Across from the Cathedral started the Speyer Christmas Market. We walked through. In many ways, it was like all the other Christmas Markets I had seen, only more so. I tried to keep track of the stands, and I think there were more food and wine stands than there were gift stands. In that way it really reminded me of the Cracker Barrel Fair and the Memorial Day Salute in Fulton. Of course we had to stop and get a bratwurst fresh off the grill as we walked back toward the Cathedral and the Dom Brauhaus, for some of their great local beer.

The next day Petra told me that Klaus and Lutz always go to the Speyer Christmas Market because they have the best bratwurst. I will believe it, and trust their taste and the research they put into the subject.