24 Dec 2011 Christmas Eve

I have been reading an Italian book, written for pre-teen girls. It's named "Buon Natale, Valentina." Today was a extra special day, which is nice, since it's Christmas Eve.

Since I first started studying Italian many years ago, I have purchased books in Italy to bring home to California. My first books were from the children's section. I found a series about a girl named Valentina. I choose this series, primarily because I did not want to read American/British children's books which had been translated.

The author of the Valentina series is an Italian, Angelo Petrosino. In my quest to learn the Italian language, I have found that one needs to also study culture, families, traditions and history. This information can be found in children's books.

The first Valentina books (2001) follow 10 year old Valentina, her family, school friends and her dreams, questions and thoughts about her world. I now have over 20 Valentina books. Each trip I make to Italy, I buy a few from Edison Libreria in Firenze. It's my special indulgence.

Until 6 months ago, I was unable to read these books with ease. The first books took me months to get through, with a pen and dictionary always by my side. My books are marked with notes about grammar, customs and everyday phrases I want to remember.

The books are numerically numbered.  Two weeks ago, I jumped from number 4 to number 11 "Buon Natale, Valentina" (Merry Christmas, Valentina!). I have been reading it each day during my 30 minute van pool drive to work.

Yesterday, I finished this fabulous little book. It may appear to be written for children, but it is definitely more ... Yesterday I knew I had to write a thank you note to Angelo Petrosino. I pulled together my best Italian and sent an email, expressing my appreciation for everything I find in his books: grammar lessons, life lessons and an insight into the mind of a modern young Italian child.

I received an early Christmas present this morning. I found an email from Angelo Petrosino in my Inbox. WOW! A kind, thoughtful man whom I would love to meet. I didn't tell him that of course, but I would. He understood exactly what I said or meant to say. He's been an elementary school teacher for 40 years and understands children. He has been known as the Story Telling Teacher. He told me he learned the art of story telling from his grandfather. This skill, he used to create his Valentina books.

If you love the Italian language, you will love the Valentina series. Each book is a treasure.

"E siccome quel personaggio dice le cose che anche io penso, vuol dire che nelle pagine di un libro sta parlando anche per me. Di conseguenza sono io che, alla fine, dialogo con le mie lettrici e i miei lettori."

Translation: 

"And since that character says the things I think, means that the pages of the book speak for me. Therefore I am, ultimately, in a dialogue with my writings and my readers."

Interviews with the author:  http://www.angelopetrosino.com/intervista/index.html

WebSite: Angelo Petrosino

12 Nov 2011 Cooking Class at the Italian Cultural Institute

Michele is such a wonderful Italian teacher. He's changed the format for the cooking classes. Now we bring in our own recipes to cook and then eat. We're allowed a $20 cooking allowance per class.

For the class two weeks ago, I brought this cake, which I made at home. The Italian teachers sent word down to the kitchen that they would LOVE to have a piece of this cake. Word travels fast, when good food is involved. I went home with an empty dish! I was so happy to have received the taste approval from everyone. I try so hard to recreate Italian food here.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*
Italian Hazel Nut Cake with Orange Glaze

Cake:

4 eggs
½ C granulated sugar
1 C hazel nuts, toasted, peeled and chopped (See note for toasting hazel nuts)
(may substitute almonds for hazel nuts)
½ C flour
1 t baking powder
2 T orange zest
1 T fresh orange juice
1 t vanilla


Frosting:

2 C powdered sugar
2 ½ T fresh orange juice
½ t almond extract
½ C chopped or slivered almonds, toasted until golden

Preheat oven to 350 F

Butter a 10 inch spring form pan and dust with flour.

Beat egg whites with the orange juice and vanilla until stiff peaks form. Set aside.

In a large bowl, beat together egg yolks and sugar until almost foamy. Add hazel nuts, flour, baking powder and orange zest. Gently fold in the egg whites.

Pour batter into pan and bake for 35-40 minutes or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean.

Remove cake from oven and let cool for 10 minutes. Turn onto a wire rack.

Make frosting: Combine ingredients and frost top of cake. Frosting should drizzle down sides of cake. Top with toasted slivered almonds

How to toast Hazel nuts

Preheat oven to 350 F
Place nuts on a cookie sheet and bake 10-15 minutes or until skins are blistered.
Remove from oven and immediately wrap the nuts in a wet kitchen towel.
Let steam for 1 minute.
Roll the nuts in the towel to remove loose skins.
Don’t worry if not all skins come off.


For the second cooking today, I prepared this yummy dish, copied from the Academia-Barilla website. Michele likes to "approve" recipes before we bring them in. He told me he didn't like olives and didn't want me to cook with olives. I asked him to trust me, he would love this pasta...and he did. He was impressed that it was authentically easy and delicious.


~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*
Pasta with Olives and goat cheese

Ingredients
Serves 4

1 lb mezze penne (400 g)
7 oz goat cheese
1 oz extra virgin olive oil
3 oz Italian black olives (similar to California black olives)
salt

Preparation time:
5 minutes preparation + 10 minutes cooking

Pit the olives and chop finely.

Put the goat cheese in a bowl and, using a fork, pour in the oil, mixing continuously until creamy. Then stir in the chopped olives.

In the meantime, cook the pasta in a large pot of boiling, salted water. Check the box for the cooking time. When done cooking, drain the pasta and toss with the sauce.
Serve immediately

(http://www.academiabarilla.com)

September 17, 2011 Angels come for Leo

This week, Leo has been given stronger and stronger pain medicine, as the morphine has not given him pain relief. He has been sleeping almost all the time, but sometimes waking up in great pain. One day I felt him calling my name for a few moments.

A nurse comes daily to attend to Leo, being very gentle with him, I am told by his friend Andrea. I now know that Andrea and Leo were childhood friends, who had not seen each other since their respective marriages. When Leo became ill, Andrea was at Leo's home weekly and then daily to help him. When I was able to travel to Italy Andrea brought Leo to me.

On September 3, Andrea, had texted me a message from Leo. "Don't call or send Leo text messages, because his wife controls everything now."  I am to contact Andrea only. I understand Leo's son could not bear to see Leo in this condition and has not visited often.

Andrea has been sending me daily updates since then.

On Wednesday night, September 14, I had a dream. Leo and I were in a crowd of people, going through a dim tunnel. We were being jostled about. Leo stopped and said, "You can't go any further with me. You need to make an excuse to go back. Tell them you need to find a bathroom." I woke up. I understood the message.

Friday night, September 16 in California at 9:15 which is 6:15 am Saturday morning in Italy, I posted on FaceBook this thought:

"Dear ones. I believe the angels are approaching our sweet Leo."

I fell into a deep sleep at 9:30, unusual for me on a Friday night. I was dreaming when I suddenly woke up. It was 11:10. I grabbed for my cellphone and there was a text message from Andrea:

"Alle 7 Leo e' stato portato via dagli angeli
"Leo was taken away by the angels at 7 am."

I spent the night on FaceBook, writing to each student.

Funeral arrangements apparently had already been made.

I continued to inform our friends, using FaceBook to post, as I received information.

At 5:30 am I fell into an exhausted sleep.

In the morning I found this picture in my email. Rosa had gone to our church in Cremona and lit a candle for Leo, right in front of my favorite saint, Santa Rita.  So sweet, she sent me the proper prayer too. I love my Italian family so much for their constant support, thoughtfulness and love.

Questa è una preghiera per i defunti.

L'eterno riposo dona a loro o Signore, risplenda ad essi la luce perpetua, riposino in pace amen.



September 7, 2011 Leo's clothes

Two years ago, I packed Leo’s suits, ties, shirts and casual clothes in containers with moth balls. The idea was to make sure insects would not feast and the clothes would be ready for his return.

It is clear now, that Leo will not be returning. I spoke to him about what to do with his belongings here. He told me, they belong to us, so anything I decide will be ok. He asked me not to give away his favorite off-white jacket nor his treasured metal detector.

A few weeks ago, I donated a dozen pairs of his shoes to a Japanese Tsunami charity. I held back his slippers and four pairs of his most worn (and loved) shoes.

This weekend, I decided it was time to let his clothing go. I spoke with a friend who mentioned the LDS charity van was in Newport Beach this week. For the first time since I packed, I went through the clothes, pulling out items I just cannot part with: his white terry robe, which he loved wearing after a long hot shower. T-shirts purchased during our American adventures. I remember he never felt comfortable wearing those shirts, unless they were ironed. Yes, I ironed them. It was a matter of “bella figura” meaning it was impossible for him to dress in wrinkled or just out of the dryer clothes.

I kept some of his favorite ties. The alligator belt, stamped “Made in Italy” I adopted as my own. On a hook in my closet, his casual tan weekend jacket still hangs, just where he left it in May 2009. I shake the dust off of it every so often. I’ve starting sleeping with the pajama top he used in the evenings when he was ready to relax. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but I can still smell him on it, even though it’s been laundered. His slippers are still in the closet.

It would have broken my heart to sell his things at a garage sale. Instead, I’ve decided to donate to charity.

Italians have an innate distrust of charities so I’m trying to do what Leo would like.

I received a call from a friend early in the week. She knew of a man, whose x-wife, in anger, had cut up all of his clothes. My friend thought Leo and this man were about the same height and weight. Yesterday morning, before leaving for work, I loaded my car with various bags and tubs of clothes.

When I arrived at 5:30 to drop off Leo’s clothes, I suddenly became overwhelmed. The instant I had unloaded the car, I tearfully headed home. Only 15 minutes had passed, when I called my friend and asked her to pull out Leo’s hiking boots. I can’t bear to give them away. He had so many wonderful adventures in those shoes.

Last night my phone rang. There was a man on the line…the man without clothes. He called to say thank you. He said the clothes were heaven-sent. The clothes fit him. But the style, I asked? Are they your style? Yes, he answered. I told him Leo would be glad then. I didn’t mention “bella figura” last night, but today I can smile and think, Leo would be pleased. The style was right.

Getty Museum, 2009

September 1, 2011 Leo's last days

Leo spent a good part of the 2011 summer at his sea-side home. Unfortunately, his legs became paralyzed during this period. He was transported by ambulance back to Firenze last week. Whether because of the movement and long trip to the city or just the results of the ongoing attack of the multiple myeloma on his body, he has begun a slow downward decline.


It has been difficult to be excluded from his life during his last days. Two weeks ago, the doctor gave him the sad news that he has entered into the final phase of this cancer. Leo called me after the doctor’s visit, but he was overcome by emotion and unable to talk.

I have mixed feelings about his medical treatment in Italy. He has had no family advocate to ask questions and seek out the best treatment. I guess I am still a good percentage American.

On the other hand, his personal doctor does make frequent house calls. That is unheard of here in California. Last night finally, a morphine IV was started by the doctor. Leo has been in increasing excruciating pain as his spine deteriorates.

The grief counseling I attended for the past two months was a help. She listened to our story and was touched by it. She said what Leo and I had, was a rare occurrence. Leo and I were fortunate to have had the time we had together. We had wonderful adventures. We shared ourselves with each other, without barriers. We really did find true love and we taught each other.

We both learned from it. I learned to trust and love a man. He learned to trust and love. He told me last week, his heart was opened to love, because of our relationship. He tells me his wife is working exhaustively now to care for him. He sees her dedication and her love for him. No, it’s not romantic love, but I can now accept there are different forms of love between a man and a woman. I try to let the anger go. She does not give him emotional support. I see his son, so disconnected from Leo’s illness.

Last week Leo told me our relationship opened his heart to see love, everywhere.

I recalled our first argument, almost 10 years ago. It was during his first trip bringing students here. He told me I was acting too familiar with them. I had greeted them at the airport with bottled water and fresh fruit and chocolate to keep in their motel room that first night. We had invited them to my little studio apartment near the beach and had prepared a barbecued steak dinner for them. When Leo told me I was being too familiar, I asked him to explain. I was hotly angry as he explained his rationale.

Culture clash! As a professor, he expected to be treated with the respect and admiration he deserved. They, being college students, knew their place. I was confusing them, treating them as if I was their loving aunt. I went into a chilled quiet zone, too hurt and angry to counter argue. How could I argue with culture? Then I began to really look at my anger.

The day is clearly set in both our minds. As the students roamed Venice Beach boardwalk, Leo and I broke down the facts, line by line. I told him I am a kind, mothering person. My own children were not available to me and had shunned me in anger. I thrived in nurturing other people. It was my nature. For him to tell me to stop my behavior toward the students, was to tell me to stop being myself. Our relationship was at a pivotal point that day.


I asked him how it was possible for him to travel and live with these students for 3 weeks with the Prof/Student barrier rigidly in place? We worked out a compromise. I would continue to freely be myself. He would not ask me to change. I would not try to break or change the relationship between Leo and the students. They addressed him in the formal “Lei” when speaking.

As the trip passed and other trips with other students occurred, I noticed Leo began to change. As he changed, so did the students. A new Prof/Student relationship emerged. The changes occurred both here and at the University in Italy. Leo became a sought-after advisor and instructor at the University. The students adored him and he returned their affection. He was and continues to be an inspiration. His goal was to show the students how to follow their own dreams and achieve their goals.

Past students have now transitioned into being Leo’s friends. Students, past and present, have visited him during hospital stays and in his home. They have continued to seek his advice on work projects and life decisions. Leo thrives on their attention.

Leo has asked me to post health updates on his FaceBook account. He trusts me to help maintain his dignity as a man and as a Prof. The students leave sweet loving messages which give him emotional support. We are all devastated to know the end is coming.

I suspect his family is unaware of the vast number of friends Leo has in both Italy and the USA.

I think the time has come to bring Leo out of the shadows. Here is a picture of Leo as he looked just during his last and final trip here. One month later, he was hospitalized and in frail health.

The Grove, Los Angeles

May 2009

With his last group of students on a study trip to California

2008

May 9, Cremona to Firenze

Monday

On the Pisa train to Fidenza and then a transfer to Bologna. There was a truck accident on the tracks this morning so we need to go to Piacenza, wait 10 minutes and then reverse course and head back to Fidenza.

We mostly said our family goodbyes last night. I set my alarm for 6.30 and Primo had already left for work. Next Mattia, outfitted smartly in his Vespa riding gear, came to give me a goodbye kiss and hug. Rosa was next, taking a plate of pasta offered by Marina and tucking it into a carry-bag. At 7.50 Marta rang the bell at the gate to let us know she was waiting with her bicycle to walk me to the train station.

This morning Marina and I talked about Leo's health. I'm in a difficult situation. She encouraged me to speak to a travel agent to arrange a tour of Roma and the areas around Napoli and Pompeii. It's so expensive to arrange these tours in the US. Marta suggested I ask this week at an Italian Agenzia di Viaggio. I'm going to take her advice and do this tomorrow.

Leo and I planned to meet today but he is too weak with anemia. He received two pints of blood on Saturday and felt better. I am very concerned he is feeling weak so soon. I had trouble sleeping last night.

On the train toward Ancona which stops in Parma, Modena and Bologna.

In the countryside near Cremona I saw corn plants only 6 inches tall. Outside of Parma it smells of freshly cut hay or is it alfalfa? There are fields and fields of freshly cut grasses still laying on the ground were they fell when cut. Other places the grass has been racked in to neat mounds. Some fields already are cleared with neat rolled bundles. I saw some of these field being cut last week.

Bright red poppies thrive amongst the rails of the train tracks.

Oh another first for me. My fellow passenger is a well behaved blond poodle. It's sitting serenely in its travel bag, its big brown eyes looking at me curiously.

May 8, Sunday in Cremona

There was an emergency during Sunday mass this morning.

Around 9 am, I walked with Martina, Primo, Rosa and Mattia to church. It's just a five minute stroll from home. The family prefers a pew nearer to the rear of the church and I always take a seat on the inside aisle of the pew, to better see everything and I like to record the singing interludes, using my iPhone. Rosa was sitting next to me.

Halfway through the service, I saw an older woman fall sideways, right off a pew and onto the center aisle. Her head hit on the stone floor, with the sound echoing throughout. There was a collective gasp and immediately two women and two men were crouched down to assist. They were careful not to move her and the priest stopped his sermon. He called out to someone in the room behind the altar. Rosa whispered to me that an ambulance had been called.

The priest (the same one who performed the marriage ceremonies for both Rosa and Marta) came down from the altar area to check on the elderly woman. He knelt down and kissed her forehead. He then returned to the altar and resumed the services. I could see she was moving her hands. Rosa told me later that the woman said she was okay and she only wanted to go home.

The services continued, even as three ambulance attendants, dressed in bright yellow uniforms, brought their stretcher down the aisle, gently placed her on the gurney and quietly whisked her out. As they passed by, I tried to send good thoughts. Her eyes were closed and her coloring was chalk white. We could faintly hear the siren as they drove off.

I am remembering one Sunday, when Leo and I attended mass in Palm Springs, with three of his students, two girls and a boy. The boy's mother was American and each summer, he spent several months a year in California with his uncle's family. He felt comfortable being here in the states.

It was June and we had been spending a three day weekend at my family's condo in Palm Springs. It's a simple, comfortable place with a shared pool on the condominium's grounds. Leo loves it there.

On Saturday evening we had barbecued steaks on the outdoor charcoal grill and introduced the students to s'mores. After dinner, the young man had checked on-line, found an address and mass schedules for the nearest Catholic church. He asked permission to be dropped off on Sunday morning. It evolved that we all decided to go together. It was the only time we ever attended mass with visiting students.

During the mass, the Italians were impressed with the orderly emptying and filling of the pews, one pew at a time, during the sacrament. Leo leaned to me and whispered, "In Italy, everyone just crowds up at all once. Here, as usual, Americans have their own unique way of organizing even the mass. This training comes naturally, this American trait of working together as a team, without direction."

I was impressed today with the Italian calmness I saw in the church. I have had interesting discussions with Martina after her parents passed. Perhaps it's the Italian Catholic philosophy of life, death and acceptance of the natural order of life's events, along with the faith of believing what comes afterwards. This lifelong religious training, nurtures a feeling of hope for the living.

Santa Rita, my favorite saint.  I always take a moment to say hello to her.