Leo has been discharged to home and has been concerned about remaining totally calm and without stress. He has firmly set his mind to not think about anything relating to his illness or the implications it has had on his life.
He had a scary anxiety attack yesterday. The doctor explained to him that these attacks can happen, even if you think you have the situation under control. The medicine the doctor gave Leo, knocked him out and he slept all day.
I believe that in Leo's life, he has dealt with stress in ways, not available to him now: working obsessively, avoidance and occasionally living a different life with me, in another culture.
This cultural freedom, along with a true love for each other, allowed us both to create a safe place where love thrived. We worked hard on communication skills and balancing work with fun.
When Leo called today to relate the attack of yesterday, I thought to myself, “I know why this happened.”
I only offered the broadest advice: "Just because you are telling yourself to be stress free, your subconscious is still pondering stressful thoughts."
Isn’t it human nature to think we can see so clearly the cause of other peoples issues and how quickly we offer solutions to them?
But then I looked at my own last night, packed full of nightmares, paralleling Leo’s panic attack.
Today I researched panic attacks. I see a similarity between what Leo is experiencing and my own nightmares: An inability to effectively deal with an issue.
I found a great website: http://www.thisisawar.com/DepressionAnxiety.htm
I like this quote:
“Anxiety disorders are not caused by a medical condition. Most are a result of repressed ulterior issues and angst, so learn to understand yourself....”
`````*`````*`````*`````*
I need to deal with my own stress more effectively and take this advice myself!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Ponte Vecchio and Puccini
The first time I saw the 1985 movie "Room with a View" I fell madly in love with its title song: O Mio Babbino Caro, from the Giacomo Puccini (1918) opera Gianni Schicchi.
I eventually sought out a little music shop in Firenze which specializes in opera music and there I purchased a DVD of three staged Puccini operas.
O Mio Babbino Caro is a love song in which a young Florentine girl pleads with her father to buy her "the ring," which would signify he gave his blessing to her engagement.
O Mio Babbino Caro
(translated to English)
(translated to English)
Oh my dear father,
I like him, he is very handsome.
I want to go to Porta Rossa
to buy the ring!
Yes, yes, I want to go there!
And if my love were in vain,
I would go to Ponte Vecchio
and throw myself in the Arno!
I am pining and I am tormented,
Oh God! I would want to die!
Father, have pity
Father, have pity
In Italy, I have had several encounters with this aria.
July 2009 dairy entry:
I had an incredible, never to be repeated, personal experience with the song in the Fall of 2008.
It was a Saturday night and the evening was pleasant and clear. Leo and I had just walked to Ponte Vecchio to enjoy the fresh air. I never tire of visiting the bridge nor capturing pictures of this lovely old place. Each picture is unique, depending on the season, time of day and lighting.
During the autumn months, the jewelry shops on Ponte Vecchio are shuttered up at night, with their solid wooden doors and the tourists disappear off the bridge.
The time was just after 9 pm, which is considered early for an Italian Florentine evening out.
Leo and I were leaning against the wall of the bridge, almost alone, looking out downstream onto the Arno River. It was after dark, but the night was pleasantly well lighted and the water sparkled with reflections.
I noticed a handsome foreign couple, just to our right. It is a romantic setting for those in love.
Suddenly, I heard a sort of gasping for air and sensed some movement. Just as I turned to see what was happening, I saw a woman step back from the wall and face her male companion. And then, she began to sing.
Suddenly, I heard a sort of gasping for air and sensed some movement. Just as I turned to see what was happening, I saw a woman step back from the wall and face her male companion. And then, she began to sing.
She sang with her heart. There was no doubt, she was an experienced opera singer.
I tightly clasped Leo's hand and we watched, spell-bound. All movement around us ceased, as other strollers stopped and quietly observed the scene.
She sang in Italian, a capella. The couple only had eyes for each other. This was a private moment but her voice was full and strong. Tears flowed from my eyes as I watched and listened.
When she finished, she turned to me and in clear Italian apologized to me! I answered in Italian and said, "Oh no!! Please, it was lovely and this is my most favorite song." She told me it was their wedding anniversary and then they slipped away.
The moment I had access to a computer I searched the Internet and I found her.
Leo and I had had the pleasure of hearing the South Korean opera star, Sumi Jo, serenade her husband that night.
This You-Tube video shows her singing O Mio Babbino Caro in concert.
Wiki: Sumi Jo Bio
~~~~*~~~~*~~~~
Aria from the opera Gianni Schicchi (1918)
Music: Giacomo Puccini (1858-1924)
Lyrics: Giovacchino Forzano
~~~~*~~~~*~~~~
O mio babbino caro,
mi piace è bello, bello;
vo'andare in Porta Rossa
a comperar l'anello!
Sì, sì, ci voglio andare!
e se l'amassi indarno,
andrei sul Ponte Vecchio,
ma per buttarmi in Arno!O Dio, vorrei morir!
Babbo, pietà, pietà!
Babbo, pietà, pietà!
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Recipe: Marina's Minestrone Soup
Marina makes this soup so easily and now I make it often. Before joining my Italian family, I disliked Minestrone Soup intensely. The variety I grew up with, was from a can and never homemade.
The soup tastes slightly different every time it's made, depending on the vegetables used. When using butternut squash in the Fall, the soup has a wonderful autumn color. From start to finish this soup is done in less than one hour.
One can vary the vegetables used. Use what seasonal vegetables you like. The soup freezes well but do not freeze with pasta added.
Minestrone Soup (4 servings)
3 quart saucepan
1 zucchini
2-3 fresh tomatoes
1/4 cabbage
2 large leaves of collard or other green leaf (pull leaf off the center vein, discarding vein)
1/4 red onion
1 carrot, cut into 4 pieces
1 clove garlic, peeled
1 sprig parsley
4 sprigs fresh thyme
1-2 small dried peperoncini (tiny red peppers)
1 T olive oil
salt to taste
~*~*~Optional~*~*~
Pipette Rigate pasta – 86 Barilla or any small pasta or broken spaghetti
1 cup canned cannellini (white beans) or barlotti beans (fagioli barlotti), drained and rinsed
Alternate vegetables: 1 leek (white only), 1 cup butternut squash, green beans, 1 stalk celery, fresh basil
~*~*~~*~*~~*~
Lightly place vegetables into a 3 quart sauce pan. You will know you have enough vegetables when the pan is filled. Just cover with cool water. Cover with lid and simmer for 45-60 minutes.
When the carrot tests done, remove the pan from the stovetop. Purée the mixture for 1 minute or until it reaches your preferred consistency.
I use a Braun 200 watt immersion blender and purée it right in the saucepan.
One can add either pasta or beans to the purée.
For pasta: in a separate pan, boil pasta of your choice in boiling salted water for its normal cooking time. Add the cooked pasta to the soup just before serving, otherwise the pasta becomes waterlogged.
The soup tastes slightly different every time it's made, depending on the vegetables used. When using butternut squash in the Fall, the soup has a wonderful autumn color. From start to finish this soup is done in less than one hour.
One can vary the vegetables used. Use what seasonal vegetables you like. The soup freezes well but do not freeze with pasta added.
Minestrone Soup (4 servings)
3 quart saucepan
1 zucchini
2-3 fresh tomatoes
1/4 cabbage
2 large leaves of collard or other green leaf (pull leaf off the center vein, discarding vein)
1/4 red onion
1 carrot, cut into 4 pieces
1 clove garlic, peeled
1 sprig parsley
4 sprigs fresh thyme
1-2 small dried peperoncini (tiny red peppers)
1 T olive oil
salt to taste
~*~*~Optional~*~*~
Pipette Rigate pasta – 86 Barilla or any small pasta or broken spaghetti
1 cup canned cannellini (white beans) or barlotti beans (fagioli barlotti), drained and rinsed
Alternate vegetables: 1 leek (white only), 1 cup butternut squash, green beans, 1 stalk celery, fresh basil
~*~*~~*~*~~*~
Lightly place vegetables into a 3 quart sauce pan. You will know you have enough vegetables when the pan is filled. Just cover with cool water. Cover with lid and simmer for 45-60 minutes.
When the carrot tests done, remove the pan from the stovetop. Purée the mixture for 1 minute or until it reaches your preferred consistency.
I use a Braun 200 watt immersion blender and purée it right in the saucepan.
One can add either pasta or beans to the purée.
For pasta: in a separate pan, boil pasta of your choice in boiling salted water for its normal cooking time. Add the cooked pasta to the soup just before serving, otherwise the pasta becomes waterlogged.
Top with grated Grana or Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese and a bit of cut parsley for presentation.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Leo is hospitalized July 2010
Leo is ill and has been for several weeks.
Two weeks ago, in July while at his seaside home, Leo felt chest pain and was having difficulty breathing. He was taken to the Emergency Room. They could not find the cause of his distress and sent him away. He decided to return home to the city. The next day, he was admitted to Santa Maria Nuova Hospital in Firenze. They have aspirated fluid from his lungs and heart four times, 1 liter each time. The doctor’s are running tests.
We talk by phone every day and we send each other text messages throughout the day. I have been able to somewhat follow his progress.
Last week, I could hear from his voice, they had given him morphine for pain. We’ve been down this road before. At first he sounds groggy, then giddy and I think this time, he was given too much. Text messages became a series of letters which made no sense. Then, when texting became more difficult, we worked out a plan. He would call me, but I would not pick up the call. I would then use my calling card to return his call. I know his mind is clear and he understands me.
I have taken to sleeping with my phone and I never am without it during the day. When he needs to have contact, it must happen at that moment. He has also needed comfort during the long lonely nights. Often, he can’t sleep or he’s worrying. When his breath was so tight he could not speak, I told him stories about my day. I could hear his breathing slow done, as he relaxed. Sometimes, I wanted to say the Lord’s Prayer with him, but he hadn’t the strength to stay on the phone.
When Leo is at home with me, we always, without exception say the Lord’s Prayer together just before sleep. Several nights this week he was able to stay on the phone with me and I read the prayer in Italian and he silently said it. At Amen, I made sure his eyes were closed and he seemed more relaxed…I said, Amore, just turn off the phone when you can sleep. I know you can’t talk..good night and I love you. Moments later, the phone would click off.
For 24 hours, on Friday through Saturday, I had received no news. No phone calls, text messages, email. Nothing. I was worried he had died. I called Leo’s phone during non visiting hours and a woman answered. I hung up. Not a nice thing to do, but I could not add to whatever was happening in the hospital room. In Italy, they allow family members to attend the bedside only when death is imminent. I was scared and alone with my worries.
On Saturday, I attended Italian lessons at the Italian Cultural Institute (ICC), as usual. I find comfort just being there. During class I was distracted and teary. Michele, such a nice instructor from Rome, put his arm around me and told me to call him if I had news. Leo is well known and liked at the ICC.
A friend has asked how I can tolerate this. The truth is, I have no option. Firstly, I cannot be in Italy and this is a fact. I have no money to retire and be where I want to be...there, near my Italian family and close to Leo. Secondly, Leo has chosen to not disrupt his family and I need to respect his wishes. Thirdly, the love we have for each other means Leo and I do what we can for each other, knowing it's the best we can.
What Leo and I feel, transcends space. When I cannot sleep at night, I return to my memories of how he sleeps next to me, always holding my hand. He always knew and still knows when I’m having nightmares, a curse that has followed me since childhood. When he’s here, he comforts me, knowing that waking me won’t work. When he’s there, he sends me text messages, sending his thoughts to me while I sleep.
Leo and I relax when we’re with each other. The gift of relaxation is something I’ve rarely felt. I am always on guard, even when sleeping. Leo relaxes too. He, being a kind and caring person, is attentive in Italy to the neediness in his family.
I feel selfish in wanting Leo to fight for his life. Several times, I’ve wanted to tell him, go if you need to, if it’s too much to bear, stop fighting, but then the small quiet voice tells me, this is not for me to decide nor influence. This is between Leo and a higher power.
I thought I had a good relationship with Leo’s son. Two weeks ago, I asked him to write me updates, but they have been slow to arrive. Sometimes I feel an anger toward this man-child but then I recall conversations about him with Leo. The boy does not want to deal with losing his father. We all have our own private burdens we carry and this also is not for me to judge. But I have suffered not knowing. I need facts but I only have what Leo can give me, when he has the voice to tell me.
Yesterday I received a letter from another source. He tells me Leo has not been eating. Why has no one told me this. This is a death wish. The depression is taking over. And then shortly thereafter, the ambulance, with a doctor in attendance, moved Leo to a better hospital. I received an email from the son when this was happening. I believe, Leo asked him to send this.
Last night, I received a text from Leo. I responded bluntly: Do not leave me. I plead with you to start eating...Non lasciarmi! Ti prego, mangia.
Early today, another letter, but not from the son. Leo’s spirits have risen. He is eating. Leo has used his computer to communicate with his friends on FaceBook this morning:
I immediately translated his message from Italian to English and forwarded to our American friend. Within minutes these responses came back:
And sent from Joanne:
Psalm 138
Thanksgiving for the LORD'S Favor.
A Psalm of David.
1I will give You thanks with all my heart;
I will sing praises to You before the gods.
2I will bow down toward Your holy temple
And give thanks to Your name for Your loving kindness and Your truth;
For You have magnified Your word according to all Your name.
3On the day I called, You answered me;
You made me bold with strength in my soul.
4All the kings of the earth will give thanks to You, O LORD,
When they have heard the words of Your mouth.
5And they will sing of the ways of the LORD,
For great is the glory of the LORD.
6For though the LORD is exalted,
Yet He regards the lowly,
But the haughty He knows from afar.
7Though I walk in the midst of trouble, You will revive me;
You will stretch forth Your hand against the wrath of my nemies,
And Your right hand will save me.
8The LORD will accomplish what concerns me;
Your loving kindness, O LORD, is everlasting;
Do not forsake the works of Your hands.
Leo Leone, I believe in the power of true love, a gift which has been given to us.
Io ti amo per sempre
I took this grafitti picuture and sent it to Leo.
He colored in the backgound and sent it back to me.
Two weeks ago, in July while at his seaside home, Leo felt chest pain and was having difficulty breathing. He was taken to the Emergency Room. They could not find the cause of his distress and sent him away. He decided to return home to the city. The next day, he was admitted to Santa Maria Nuova Hospital in Firenze. They have aspirated fluid from his lungs and heart four times, 1 liter each time. The doctor’s are running tests.
We talk by phone every day and we send each other text messages throughout the day. I have been able to somewhat follow his progress.
Last week, I could hear from his voice, they had given him morphine for pain. We’ve been down this road before. At first he sounds groggy, then giddy and I think this time, he was given too much. Text messages became a series of letters which made no sense. Then, when texting became more difficult, we worked out a plan. He would call me, but I would not pick up the call. I would then use my calling card to return his call. I know his mind is clear and he understands me.
I have taken to sleeping with my phone and I never am without it during the day. When he needs to have contact, it must happen at that moment. He has also needed comfort during the long lonely nights. Often, he can’t sleep or he’s worrying. When his breath was so tight he could not speak, I told him stories about my day. I could hear his breathing slow done, as he relaxed. Sometimes, I wanted to say the Lord’s Prayer with him, but he hadn’t the strength to stay on the phone.
When Leo is at home with me, we always, without exception say the Lord’s Prayer together just before sleep. Several nights this week he was able to stay on the phone with me and I read the prayer in Italian and he silently said it. At Amen, I made sure his eyes were closed and he seemed more relaxed…I said, Amore, just turn off the phone when you can sleep. I know you can’t talk..good night and I love you. Moments later, the phone would click off.
For 24 hours, on Friday through Saturday, I had received no news. No phone calls, text messages, email. Nothing. I was worried he had died. I called Leo’s phone during non visiting hours and a woman answered. I hung up. Not a nice thing to do, but I could not add to whatever was happening in the hospital room. In Italy, they allow family members to attend the bedside only when death is imminent. I was scared and alone with my worries.
On Saturday, I attended Italian lessons at the Italian Cultural Institute (ICC), as usual. I find comfort just being there. During class I was distracted and teary. Michele, such a nice instructor from Rome, put his arm around me and told me to call him if I had news. Leo is well known and liked at the ICC.
A friend has asked how I can tolerate this. The truth is, I have no option. Firstly, I cannot be in Italy and this is a fact. I have no money to retire and be where I want to be...there, near my Italian family and close to Leo. Secondly, Leo has chosen to not disrupt his family and I need to respect his wishes. Thirdly, the love we have for each other means Leo and I do what we can for each other, knowing it's the best we can.
What Leo and I feel, transcends space. When I cannot sleep at night, I return to my memories of how he sleeps next to me, always holding my hand. He always knew and still knows when I’m having nightmares, a curse that has followed me since childhood. When he’s here, he comforts me, knowing that waking me won’t work. When he’s there, he sends me text messages, sending his thoughts to me while I sleep.
Leo and I relax when we’re with each other. The gift of relaxation is something I’ve rarely felt. I am always on guard, even when sleeping. Leo relaxes too. He, being a kind and caring person, is attentive in Italy to the neediness in his family.
I feel selfish in wanting Leo to fight for his life. Several times, I’ve wanted to tell him, go if you need to, if it’s too much to bear, stop fighting, but then the small quiet voice tells me, this is not for me to decide nor influence. This is between Leo and a higher power.
I thought I had a good relationship with Leo’s son. Two weeks ago, I asked him to write me updates, but they have been slow to arrive. Sometimes I feel an anger toward this man-child but then I recall conversations about him with Leo. The boy does not want to deal with losing his father. We all have our own private burdens we carry and this also is not for me to judge. But I have suffered not knowing. I need facts but I only have what Leo can give me, when he has the voice to tell me.
Yesterday I received a letter from another source. He tells me Leo has not been eating. Why has no one told me this. This is a death wish. The depression is taking over. And then shortly thereafter, the ambulance, with a doctor in attendance, moved Leo to a better hospital. I received an email from the son when this was happening. I believe, Leo asked him to send this.
Last night, I received a text from Leo. I responded bluntly: Do not leave me. I plead with you to start eating...Non lasciarmi! Ti prego, mangia.
Early today, another letter, but not from the son. Leo’s spirits have risen. He is eating. Leo has used his computer to communicate with his friends on FaceBook this morning:
It’s been a brutal period of time. The fight has been really serious this time. I don’t know when I can give you good news, but for now know that I am not letting go because I want to see you all again. Best wishes to you all and may God be with us.
(Leo Leone)
I immediately translated his message from Italian to English and forwarded to our American friend. Within minutes these responses came back:
Oh – my dear friend!!!! So heartfelt, so poignant….thank you for sharing! Hang in there; and in so doing, you’ll help him. (from SP)
Such wonderful strength! His words are very positive, so I know he’ll pull through! Probably because he wants to see you so much! Hang in there and thank you for sharing. (Debbie)
How are you surviving all of this? Obviously, this is all VERY difficult for you – and terribly frustrating being so far away from him. (MF)
And sent from Joanne:
La Nuova Diodati (LND)
Salmi 138
1«Salmo di Davide.» Io ti celebrerò con tutto il mio cuore, davanti agli dèi canterò le tue lodi.
2Adorerò rivolto al tuo santo tempio e celebrerò il tuo nome per la tua benignità e per la tua verità, perché tu hai esaltato la tua parola e il tuo nome al di sopra di ogni altra cosa.
3Nel giorno in cui ti ho invocato tu mi hai risposto ed hai accresciuto il vigore dell'anima mia.
4Tutti i re della terra ti celebreranno, o Eterno, quando udranno le parole della tua bocca,
5e canteranno le vie dell'Eterno, perché grande è la gloria dell'Eterno.
6Anche se l'Eterno è eccelso, egli ha riguardo degli umili, ma il superbo lo conosce da lontano.
7Anche se cammino in mezzo all'avversità tu mi conserverai in vita; tu stenderai la mano contro l'ira dei miei nemici e la tua destra mi salverà.
8L'Eterno compirà l'opera sua in me; o Eterno la tua benignità dura per sempre; non abbandonare le opere delle tue mani.
La Nuova Diodati (LND)
Copyright © 1991 by La Buona Novella s.c.r.l.
Psalm 138
Thanksgiving for the LORD'S Favor.
A Psalm of David.
1I will give You thanks with all my heart;
I will sing praises to You before the gods.
2I will bow down toward Your holy temple
And give thanks to Your name for Your loving kindness and Your truth;
For You have magnified Your word according to all Your name.
3On the day I called, You answered me;
You made me bold with strength in my soul.
4All the kings of the earth will give thanks to You, O LORD,
When they have heard the words of Your mouth.
5And they will sing of the ways of the LORD,
For great is the glory of the LORD.
6For though the LORD is exalted,
Yet He regards the lowly,
But the haughty He knows from afar.
7Though I walk in the midst of trouble, You will revive me;
You will stretch forth Your hand against the wrath of my nemies,
And Your right hand will save me.
8The LORD will accomplish what concerns me;
Your loving kindness, O LORD, is everlasting;
Do not forsake the works of Your hands.
~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*
Leo Leone, I believe in the power of true love, a gift which has been given to us.
Io ti amo per sempre
I took this grafitti picuture and sent it to Leo.
He colored in the backgound and sent it back to me.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
July 2010: Found by a childhood penpal on Face Book
I had a wonderful unexpected surprise come to me this week through Face Book.
It was set in motion before I was born...
My father had no family in Los Angeles. After WWII he lived in a rooming house named Windsor House, run by a couple who later became just like grandparents to me. When they retired, they moved to a house on E. 122st Street in Los Angeles, with perhaps a half acre of land. This area later became known as South Central Los Angeles (Watts).
Madeline Moore and Ernest Martin were both British.
Ms Moore was educated in a convent in France. I believe there was a Turkish prince in her family and her great grandfather was Count Antonie Romuald Wardecki, a Polish patriot, exiled to live Paris.
Captain Ernest Martin was retired Scotland Yard. He told us wonderful stories, but we always asked him to retell the true tale of the Fleet Street Murders (Sweeney Todd).
As children, we visited Ms Moore and Captain often. I especially remember summer times. I was the eldest and was allowed to take the gathering basket out to the hen house to find an egg or two.
I believed their fenced yard was in the country. They grew fruits, figs, vegetables and berries. We were allowed to pick whatever we could eat. I had my first passion fruit there, with its yummy creamy interior. It was an exotic plant the Captain explained to me. He nurtured it along, telling me it was not native to California.
Several large lavender plants grew at the door of Ms Moore's art studio. Every year she would gift me with sachets filled with her dried lavender. I still love lavender and its smell gives me comfort. I find it frequently when I am in Italy, growing in the wild and in Tuscan gardens.
Ms Moore’s pickled shallots were exquisite. I started collecting recipes at a very early age. I still have her handwritten recipe for these little onions.
Ms Moore made jams and preserves from their yard’s bounty. Each jar was unique in size and shape, as she recycled all commercial glass jars. Her jams were sealed by paraffin wax. I was fascinated by their way of living.
She also had a string drawer and a paper drawer. She never wasted anything. I would ask permission to peek inside her kitchen cupboards and drawers. Those neatly folded brown papers and wound string balls were fascinating to me. Their entire house was an adventure, just waiting for a young curious child. Its foreignness was a haven and I was enchanted by their European lifestyle.
I remember the toilet paper, bought in bulk during WW II. After 20 years, she still had a full supply of this very thin, very brittle sharp crunchy paper. Her bathroom always had a wonderful smell of Yardley’s lavender soap, which I still use today, even though the original formula was changed a few years ago.
On her dresser, Ms Moore had large rose colored, velvet pin cushion, holding various hat pins, all long and sharp. She had a old wicker sewing basket filled with scissors, thimbles and mysterious tools for mending.
I learned how to make tea and eat Roquefort cheese on French bread. She always had a fresh baguette on the counter. She would talk to me in French, if I asked. I dreamed of speaking French too. My awareness of the possibility of knowing other cultures of the world was born in their home.
Ms Moore always purchased tickets for the Irish Sweepstakes, with promises we would all return to England if she won. I anxiously awaited that winning ticket.
For Christmas sweets, we were given tiny boxed Italian candies called Torrone. Cremona, my Italian hometown, is the birthplace of Torrone, where it was first made in 1441. I just now realize, my introduction to Cremona started when I was a child.
I loved both Ms Moore and the Captain, but sometimes Ms Moore frightened me a bit when I was very young. She reminded me in looks and mannerisms of the original Mary Poppins (P. L. Travers, 1952 Illustrations by Gertrude Elliott). I have a copy of this book, which I believe she gave me. I imagined myself as the little blonde girl in the story.
We children were always dressed in our best clothes to visit Ms Moor and Captain. Due to our strict upbringing, we never caused any trouble or distress. The Captain was jovial and kind. He taught me table manners, including how to use a table knife properly. I tried to mimic their European eating customs.
At Christmas time, after our afternoon meal, Ms Moore would hand Captain a dish containing the warmed Plum Pudding (canned and from Britain). He would pour Brandy on the cake and then we children would wait in anticipation for the next step. With a match he would spark the brandy and which would flame up. After the flames had burnt out, the cake would be sliced and topped with a dollop of homemade “hard sauce” (homemade with unsalted butter, powdered sugar and milk).
I remember outdoor picnics in their gazebo. Captain told us pirates had roamed this land and he thought buried treasure, perhaps a whole chest of coins, was on the property. Each trip to their home, we would ask permission to look for treasure and each time, we found coins, American coins, in the gravel and area surrounding the gazebo. The thrill of finding that treasure still brings memories of pirates and adventure to me. When we were much older, my mother told me the truth about the treasure, how Captain had seeded the area with coins for us. In our innocence, it was a magical place.
Their home was crowded with antiques, artwork, books, hourglasses filled with grains of sand, cuckoo clocks, chiming mantel clocks and a small exotic oriental brass gong.
My father never allowed us to ring the gong with its tiny wooden mallet. I was allowed to pull on the dangling, pine cone shaped weights, to wind the cuckoo clock. Later, as a teenager, I was granted clock-winding privileges. Using an old key, I carefully wound both the clock and its chime mechanism. Today I have my own Windsor chiming clock, similar to theirs.
Several times, we listened to Enrico Caruso (February 25, 1873 – August 2, 1921) recordings on their old Victrola Player. It was my first taste of classical music and opera. Listen to Caruso below (2 minutes).
Turkish rugs covered the floors and for tea, we were allowed to use the special sterling silver tongs to take just one sugar cube from the sugar holder.
When adults had brandy, we children were served ginger ale, with one stemmed, maraschino cherry, in special glasses. I purchased a set of those glasses many years later, at various Goodwill and antique stores. I discovered those sweet glasses had been empty Kraft Cheese spread containers.
For Christmas there was always a platter of dried dates, figs and apricots with tiny real ivory forks. Often, the house smelled a little of oil paints, as Miss Moore was an amateur artist. Several of her portraits of Winston Churchill and the Catholic Pope were on the mantel and walls. In the fireplace, a small British heater would glow on cool days.
Every Christmas I would look forward to their gift to me of old books. I’m not certain Ms Moore and Captain knew what an influence they were on me. One year, I received a set of Grimm’s and Anderson Fairy Tales. I read them from cover to cover, several times. These were scary, often sad tales of lands far away. I dreamed of visiting exotic places.
I took French in High School but lasted only a few days. The French teacher decided I was not suited to form the proper sounds in my throat. She insisted that I take German instead. I studied Latin, German, Spanish but I was never a successful speaker.
One day, Ms Moore suggested I find a pen-pal. She gave me her Catholic magazine, which listed students my own age who also had the desire to become acquainted with other cultures. I begin correspondence with four students: Michael of India, Daryl of Trinidad, Wilma of Scotland and a girl in Denmark. I recall I used money earned by baby-sitting to purchase stamps and sheets of sky-blue stationary from the Post Office, which came with prepaid airmail postage.
During the Cold War years, these friends became an important part of my young life. With the threat of nuclear war always on our minds, I worried I might never grow up to see other parts of the world.
Over the years I lost contact with each of them but I never forgot our friendships.
And this week, after 40+ years, I was found by Michael on Face Book. The computer age has truly opened the world as never before.
Last evening on July, 23, 2010, for the first time, Michael and I talked by phone. It was a wonderful, fantastic experience. The voice I heard, seemed familiar to me...just as if we had spoken to each other before. The nervous feeling in my stomach disappeared the moment I heard him say, "Yes, this is Michael."
It's an indescribable feeling...we are still friends! The bond we created has held for all these years.
I am so glad to have him and his family back in my life again. Thank you Michael for searching the world for me.
Michael, thank you also for helping to bring back memories of Ms Moore and Captain. This has given me the opportunity to honor them.
It was set in motion before I was born...
My father had no family in Los Angeles. After WWII he lived in a rooming house named Windsor House, run by a couple who later became just like grandparents to me. When they retired, they moved to a house on E. 122st Street in Los Angeles, with perhaps a half acre of land. This area later became known as South Central Los Angeles (Watts).
Ms Moore was educated in a convent in France. I believe there was a Turkish prince in her family and her great grandfather was Count Antonie Romuald Wardecki, a Polish patriot, exiled to live Paris.
Captain Ernest Martin was retired Scotland Yard. He told us wonderful stories, but we always asked him to retell the true tale of the Fleet Street Murders (Sweeney Todd).
As children, we visited Ms Moore and Captain often. I especially remember summer times. I was the eldest and was allowed to take the gathering basket out to the hen house to find an egg or two.
I believed their fenced yard was in the country. They grew fruits, figs, vegetables and berries. We were allowed to pick whatever we could eat. I had my first passion fruit there, with its yummy creamy interior. It was an exotic plant the Captain explained to me. He nurtured it along, telling me it was not native to California.
Several large lavender plants grew at the door of Ms Moore's art studio. Every year she would gift me with sachets filled with her dried lavender. I still love lavender and its smell gives me comfort. I find it frequently when I am in Italy, growing in the wild and in Tuscan gardens.
Ms Moore’s pickled shallots were exquisite. I started collecting recipes at a very early age. I still have her handwritten recipe for these little onions.
*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*
Miss Madeline Moore’s Pickled Onions*
(Written by her on a piece of brown paper)
Peel onions (and separate into cloves). Put them in salted water to soak overnight. Make a little cheese cloth bag and fill it with mixed pickle spice and put it into a saucepan of vinegar to boil (vinegar according to the quantity of pickles). Then put the onions into jars and pour over vinegar. Leave enough space to put in spice bag. Let soak for a couple of days and you may have to add some more vinegar to cover to allow for vinegar with has soaked into onions. It won't hurt to allow a little of the mixed spice to get into the jars but not too much. Then cover and put away.
Watch the jars from time to time in case you have to put in some more vinegar to cover.
Type of Mixed Pickling Spice: Cassic, allspice, mustard seed, coriander, ginger, bay leaves, cloves, pepper, cardamon, chillies, mace, mustard seed oil.
*These onions were grown in her garden. They separated into sections as a bulb of garlic might separate into cloves. I've never again seen onions like this since my childhood.
*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*
Ms Moore made jams and preserves from their yard’s bounty. Each jar was unique in size and shape, as she recycled all commercial glass jars. Her jams were sealed by paraffin wax. I was fascinated by their way of living.
She also had a string drawer and a paper drawer. She never wasted anything. I would ask permission to peek inside her kitchen cupboards and drawers. Those neatly folded brown papers and wound string balls were fascinating to me. Their entire house was an adventure, just waiting for a young curious child. Its foreignness was a haven and I was enchanted by their European lifestyle.
I remember the toilet paper, bought in bulk during WW II. After 20 years, she still had a full supply of this very thin, very brittle sharp crunchy paper. Her bathroom always had a wonderful smell of Yardley’s lavender soap, which I still use today, even though the original formula was changed a few years ago.
On her dresser, Ms Moore had large rose colored, velvet pin cushion, holding various hat pins, all long and sharp. She had a old wicker sewing basket filled with scissors, thimbles and mysterious tools for mending.
I learned how to make tea and eat Roquefort cheese on French bread. She always had a fresh baguette on the counter. She would talk to me in French, if I asked. I dreamed of speaking French too. My awareness of the possibility of knowing other cultures of the world was born in their home.
Ms Moore always purchased tickets for the Irish Sweepstakes, with promises we would all return to England if she won. I anxiously awaited that winning ticket.
For Christmas sweets, we were given tiny boxed Italian candies called Torrone. Cremona, my Italian hometown, is the birthplace of Torrone, where it was first made in 1441. I just now realize, my introduction to Cremona started when I was a child.
We children were always dressed in our best clothes to visit Ms Moor and Captain. Due to our strict upbringing, we never caused any trouble or distress. The Captain was jovial and kind. He taught me table manners, including how to use a table knife properly. I tried to mimic their European eating customs.
At Christmas time, after our afternoon meal, Ms Moore would hand Captain a dish containing the warmed Plum Pudding (canned and from Britain). He would pour Brandy on the cake and then we children would wait in anticipation for the next step. With a match he would spark the brandy and which would flame up. After the flames had burnt out, the cake would be sliced and topped with a dollop of homemade “hard sauce” (homemade with unsalted butter, powdered sugar and milk).
I remember outdoor picnics in their gazebo. Captain told us pirates had roamed this land and he thought buried treasure, perhaps a whole chest of coins, was on the property. Each trip to their home, we would ask permission to look for treasure and each time, we found coins, American coins, in the gravel and area surrounding the gazebo. The thrill of finding that treasure still brings memories of pirates and adventure to me. When we were much older, my mother told me the truth about the treasure, how Captain had seeded the area with coins for us. In our innocence, it was a magical place.
My father never allowed us to ring the gong with its tiny wooden mallet. I was allowed to pull on the dangling, pine cone shaped weights, to wind the cuckoo clock. Later, as a teenager, I was granted clock-winding privileges. Using an old key, I carefully wound both the clock and its chime mechanism. Today I have my own Windsor chiming clock, similar to theirs.
Several times, we listened to Enrico Caruso (February 25, 1873 – August 2, 1921) recordings on their old Victrola Player. It was my first taste of classical music and opera. Listen to Caruso below (2 minutes).
Turkish rugs covered the floors and for tea, we were allowed to use the special sterling silver tongs to take just one sugar cube from the sugar holder.
For Christmas there was always a platter of dried dates, figs and apricots with tiny real ivory forks. Often, the house smelled a little of oil paints, as Miss Moore was an amateur artist. Several of her portraits of Winston Churchill and the Catholic Pope were on the mantel and walls. In the fireplace, a small British heater would glow on cool days.
Every Christmas I would look forward to their gift to me of old books. I’m not certain Ms Moore and Captain knew what an influence they were on me. One year, I received a set of Grimm’s and Anderson Fairy Tales. I read them from cover to cover, several times. These were scary, often sad tales of lands far away. I dreamed of visiting exotic places.
I took French in High School but lasted only a few days. The French teacher decided I was not suited to form the proper sounds in my throat. She insisted that I take German instead. I studied Latin, German, Spanish but I was never a successful speaker.
One day, Ms Moore suggested I find a pen-pal. She gave me her Catholic magazine, which listed students my own age who also had the desire to become acquainted with other cultures. I begin correspondence with four students: Michael of India, Daryl of Trinidad, Wilma of Scotland and a girl in Denmark. I recall I used money earned by baby-sitting to purchase stamps and sheets of sky-blue stationary from the Post Office, which came with prepaid airmail postage.
During the Cold War years, these friends became an important part of my young life. With the threat of nuclear war always on our minds, I worried I might never grow up to see other parts of the world.
Over the years I lost contact with each of them but I never forgot our friendships.
And this week, after 40+ years, I was found by Michael on Face Book. The computer age has truly opened the world as never before.
Last evening on July, 23, 2010, for the first time, Michael and I talked by phone. It was a wonderful, fantastic experience. The voice I heard, seemed familiar to me...just as if we had spoken to each other before. The nervous feeling in my stomach disappeared the moment I heard him say, "Yes, this is Michael."
It's an indescribable feeling...we are still friends! The bond we created has held for all these years.
I am so glad to have him and his family back in my life again. Thank you Michael for searching the world for me.
Michael, thank you also for helping to bring back memories of Ms Moore and Captain. This has given me the opportunity to honor them.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Remembering my Italian Nonno
~~~ Nonno Andrea ~~~
Our wonderful Nonno passed on Monday. Rosa wrote to me last week to give me warning that the time was near. The doctors said his heart was failing. Marta emailed me on Monday to tell me the time had arrived. I'm sure angels and his sweetheart Marina were waiting in anticipation for him. We didn't want to let him go.
I remember the first time I met my Italian Nonno. He greeted me just as if had been a long lost relative.
He always had a happy smile and a twinkle in his eyes.
I've had several tasty roasted treats directly from the grill in the wood-burning oven in his restaurant. He would spear a piece of meat and indicate I should eat it right then. Mangia Mangia! Ohh it was always tasty but fire-hot!
I went to his garden, where he allowed me to cut lettuce. With that great smile, he showed me how he grew his own vegetables.
Once, he showed me the house in his village where he was born.
He was our darling Nonno. The girls adored him and so did I.
I was honored to be welcomed into his family.
I last saw Nonno at Rosa's wedding, when I took these pictures.
He beamed with joy, surrounded by love.
Vai in pace Nonno
Padre nostro che sei nei Cieli, sia santificato il Tuo Nome, venga il tuo Regno, sia fatta la tua volontà, come in cielo così in terra. Dacci oggi il nostro pane quotidiano, rimetti a noi i nostri debiti come noi li rimettiamo ai nostri debitori, non ci indurre in tentazione, ma liberaci dal male. Amen.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Recipe: Crostata (Fruit Tart)
I miss eating this wonderful dessert at home in Italy. This version is light on butter. I used apricots, but any fruit will do. Primo has a fruit orchard at his business. Marina makes good use of the fruit by making marmalata (jam) and crostata.
Fruit Crostata (makes two)
Crust:
2 Cups flour
2 T sugar
Cup olive oil
½ Cup milk
1 t vanilla extract
½ t almond extract
1 T butter, melted
Filling:
4-5 cups of fresh cherries, apricots or peaches
½ Cup preserves
Topping:
¼ c slivered almonds
Sugar for sprinkling
Preheat oven to 425 degrees (F)
Make the crust: In a bowl, combine flour and sugar. Slowly add the oil, mixing with a fork
In a second bowl, stir together milk, melted butter and both extracts.
Add milk, one tablespoon at a time, mixing with a fork. Form dough into two disks. It will be sticky.
Place one disk between two pieces of parchment paper and roll out until it is about 1/8 inch thick (smaller than the size of a dinner plate)
Discard top paper. Spread jam gently onto the dough.
Place 2 ½ cups of fruit in the center of the crust. Fold the edges of the crust up and over the sides of the fruit, overlapping a little. (You may brush the crust with a egg wash.)
Sprinkle almonds over the fruit. Lightly sprinkle entire surface with sugar.
Lift the parchment paper with the crostata onto a baking sheet or baking dish.
Bake 20-30 minutes until crust is golden.
Fruit Crostata (makes two)
Crust:
2 Cups flour
2 T sugar
Cup olive oil
½ Cup milk
1 t vanilla extract
½ t almond extract
1 T butter, melted
Filling:
4-5 cups of fresh cherries, apricots or peaches
½ Cup preserves
Topping:
¼ c slivered almonds
Sugar for sprinkling
Preheat oven to 425 degrees (F)
Make the crust: In a bowl, combine flour and sugar. Slowly add the oil, mixing with a fork
In a second bowl, stir together milk, melted butter and both extracts.
Add milk, one tablespoon at a time, mixing with a fork. Form dough into two disks. It will be sticky.
Place one disk between two pieces of parchment paper and roll out until it is about 1/8 inch thick (smaller than the size of a dinner plate)
Discard top paper. Spread jam gently onto the dough.
Place 2 ½ cups of fruit in the center of the crust. Fold the edges of the crust up and over the sides of the fruit, overlapping a little. (You may brush the crust with a egg wash.)
Sprinkle almonds over the fruit. Lightly sprinkle entire surface with sugar.
Lift the parchment paper with the crostata onto a baking sheet or baking dish.
Bake 20-30 minutes until crust is golden.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)