February 20

I haven't, couldn't write for the last month. Leo's left leg had been getting weaker and weaker until finally he could no longer use it. His back pain, which had been getting worse and worse has finally been diagnosed: another cancerous tumor in the same area of his back. To me, his symptoms were the same as two years ago. Again, it's incredible and not believable to me that he suffered and nothing was done. 'Patience' was the word he increasingly wrote to me. And...'tomorrow will be better.'

I so want to blame someone, the system, the family, the doctors. He has no advocate. Weird, because when I looked up this word in my dictionary, attorney is the translation for advocate.

Leo is in the hospital now, after finally getting a doctor appointment with a neurology specialist. When the doctor saw him, he immediately put Leo into the hospital. After a radiation treatment to the tumor, his back pain has finally been relieved. Now, with physical therapy work, they hope he will regain use of his leg. They've started a chemo-therapy, using a stronger drug mixture. This multiple myeloma is a tricky illness.

Yesterday, I attended my 5th of 10 Italian lessons at the Italian Cultural Institute. Our topic this Saturday was the Puccini opera "Tosca." I love my Italian lessons, because our teacher Michele (from Rome) has created a class which focuses on Italian culture. The class is taught entirely in Italian.

Yesterday, after reviewing parts of Tosca, he asked each of us, "Are you the jealous type?" When his glance reached mine, he nodded, saying "Yes, you are, true?" I responded with "si". I argue with myself constantly about this feeling I have now in my life. I have never been a jealous person. Never.

Now I feel jealousy...not envious, but jealous. How totally unfair for me to be jealous of the woman who Leo has been married to and on whom he is now dependent, even to point of having his shoes tied.

But, I'm not sure if jealous is the correct word. I feel anger mostly that I cannot take care of Leo. I want him to feel the caress of love on his forehead when he doesn't feel well. I want to hold his hand when he feels pain. I want to call the doctors and force them to allow him to make an appointment. Where Leo's health is involved, I want action not patience.

Leo and I had a phone conversation last week. I told him I read, study, watch Italian films, always searching for the "perche' ", the WHY? Why are we not together?

The concept of family in the American culture is so different from the Italian version. In the US, we tend to think that by the age of 18, children should on the verge of independence. It marks the time when children normally leave their parent's home, either by working or going to school. I found a quote on-line saying the strong Italian family ties were originally created to protect the members of the family. The structure and loyalty would always assure that no one would be alone during times of crisis.

I told Leo, his concept of family seems to me, exactly like he concept of Mafia. To him, loyalty to the family is first and no individual is more important than the family. Self sacrifice.

I tend to believe this rigid idea is not wide-spread in Italy. Granted, my "research" is based on observing my own Italian family in the north, watching several hundred Italian made films and reading books written by Italian authors.

I remember a conversation I had with Leo many years ago about Christmas. I thought it would be wonderful to celebrate a Christmas together. Absolutely impossible he told me, because his only child, a 30+ year old married son, did not want any change from the Christmas traditions he had grown up with. Everything has to be the same. At the time, I wondered to myself, how his new wife would react to this. I thought, surely, she must have some traditions she would like to follow.

If it were possible to not remember our times together, and not still "see"  Leo sitting across from me, feeling his foot touching mine under the table, skin to skin...my self-protection mode would kick in and I would run away from this impossible situation.  But, I can't. I love Leo. I love Leo's mind, his personality and his soul.

Daily, I mentally work to accept the fact that we have no control over our future together.
Chocolate is a big comfort to me. Luckily for me, I don't like alcoholic beverages!

January 16 -- Spent the morning with Leo

This morning, Sunday, I was sleeping so hard, I missed Leo's calls to my iPhone, which I always have near my pillow. Then, at 6 am, he called on the house phone to wake me. We only had a short conversation because he was waiting for a student to arrive. There was a beautiful sunrise here so I emailed Leo its picture, which I took from our bed.

Last week, I sent this sunrise to Leo. The picture was taken by our friend Paola in Laguna Beach.

Within moments after emailing the photo, my iPhone rang.  Leo was using his Skype account along with his web camera. Instead of hearing just his voice, I saw a smiling Leo on the iPhone's screen! He looked fabulous. His coloring was good. His eyes were sparkling and I watched him move about the room, his back brace in place. Thank goodness he was not in extreme pain today. Leo never knows from one hour to the next, to what degree his back will hurt. The bone marrow cancer seems to be under control but the damage the cancer did to his back is still healing, painfully.

Skype's video and sound was so crisp and clear.  I hadn't seen him since November. What a wonderful wonderful surprise. Thank you thank you thank you Leo!

We talked until the student arrived. Leo took off his headset but left the Skype connection live. It was so fantastic! I stayed on the line for over 3 hours. The student was just out of sight range, but I could hear their conversation and tried to understand as much as I could.

Before Leo became home-bound two years ago, he always had a web camera installed in his office, so I could look in anytime. At the university, he also installed an outdoor webcam which allowed me to see Ponte Vecchio, the Arno River, nearby traffic and the weather. He gave me the ability to move the camera, using my computer. Nearly everyday, I watched Leo and looked outside his window. He never felt too far away with this daily contact.

Today, when the student left, Leo returned to his desk and I could see in his eyes, he knew I was still on-line. He put on his head-set but did not talk. He was not alone in the house. Since he wanted to stay with me, I pulled out yesterday's Italian lesson from the ICC and began to talk. I could see his face relax. Just as I am comforted by the sound of his voice, my not so perfect Italian soothes him.

Michele had asked us five questions, as he usually does on the first day of class. The varying answers always start a lively discussion.

We each have different perceptions of cultures, using our own cultural yardstick to make these judgements.

Americans may think of Italians as being lazy because Italians know how to take breaks throughout the day. I have found Italians to be hard working perfectionists. Italians admire the American skill of time management and organization. The American work ethic makes Americans stressed and we often work right though the day without a break.

I told Leo how the discussions had gone in class. I watched his face as he showed me his opinions. When it was time to go, he waved bye. He wrote me later that he slept soundly and comfortably after our time together.

Love endures and finds a way, even though difficult times.


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Secondo te: (In your opinion):

Gli italiani sono orgogliosi di essere italiani?
What percentage of Italians are proud to be Italian?

Quali sono i simboli piu prestigiosi del made in Italy?
What are the most prestigious symbols of "Made in Italy"

Quali sono gli italiani piu importanti di tutti i tempi?
Who are the most important Italians of all time?

Quali sono le principali qualita' degli italiani?
What are the principal qualities of Italians?

Quali sono i principali difetti?
What are the principal defects of Italians?

Quali sono le principali qualita' degli americani?
What are the principal qualities of Americans?

Quali sono i principali difetti?
What are the principal defects of Americans?

January 15 -- Italian classes have begun.

Italian class started today at the Italian Cultural Institute near UCLA. I only have one class. I'd love to take two classes concurrently on Saturday, but unfortunately my budget won't allow it. The cost is $350 for 10 weeks of two hour lessons. Class size is 5-6 participants.  Each attendee arrives with varying skill levels. English is rarely spoken.

These lessons are my weekly treat to myself. My conversation class is with Michele, a handsome guy in his 30s. This is my fourth class with him. It was difficult to understand him at first, but now his Roman accent feels just fine to me. We don't specifically study grammar rules, but Michele gently corrects when necessary.

My speaking continues to lag behind my comprehension and reading skills. I read daily for a least one hour and I'm really enjoying my books on tape which I bought in Firenze in November.  I am reading along with the audio book and I'm self-correcting my accent as often as I can.

I was disappointed today when Michele said this class will not be reading a novel. During the first and second classes, we read contemporary novels by Fabio Volo, who is also an Italian actor. Last fall, a friend of Michele's allowed us to read his 150 page screenplay, which was based on the true WWII love story of his parents.

I love a challenge. I remember opening Un posto nel mondo (Fabio Volo, 2006) and thinking it was too early for me to graduate from reading children's books to adult material. But the story captured my interest. The more I read, the better my comprehension became. Then, I fell in love with Fabio Volo and I bought all his books at Edison Libreria in Firenze.

When Michele assigned Il giorno in più (Fabio Volo, 2007), I eagerly devoured it. It was so good, I had to read the last chapter right away to make sure it had a happy ending. Michele made me promise not to repeat THAT for the screen play.

When I first told Leo I was reading the works of Fabio Volo, he was not impressed for a second. He told me Fabio Volo was (only) a television personality and an actor, but certainly not a writer to be taken seriously. Sometimes Leo is so hard headed. But he always listens to me attentively and then gives his facts-based opinion. Loving Leo as I do, I gifted him Il giorno in più in spite of his preconceived prejudice and to his surprise, he really enjoyed it.

So, the reason we're not reading a novel in Michele's class this session? Apparently I was the only one who read the reading assignments. Those students don't know what they missed.

"Il giorno in più by Fabio Volo is one of Italy's most recent best selling novels. The novel is light-hearted, funny, moving, and it makes for a change from some of the "heavier" writing that has come out of Italy the past year"  italyinliterature.com

Romanzi di Fabio Volo  (Books by Fabio Volo)

Esco a fare due passi (2001)
È una vita che ti aspetto (2003)
Un posto nel mondo (2006)
Il giorno in più (2007)
Il tempo che vorrei (2009)

Films with Fabio Volo

Casomai (2002), regia di Alessandro D'Alatri
Playgirl (2002), regia di Fabio Tagliavia - Cortometraggio
La febbre (2005), regia di Alessandro D'Alatri
Manuale d'amore 2 - Capitoli successivi (2007), regia di Giovanni Veronesi
Uno su due (2007), regia di Eugenio Cappuccio
Bianco e nero (2008), regia di Cristina Comencini
Matrimoni e altri disastri (2010), regia di Nina Di Majo
Figli delle stelle (2010), regia di Lucio Pellegrini
Niente Paura (2010), regia di Piergiorgio Gay
Il giorno in piu' (2011), regia di Massimo Venier

What is Love?

I keep asking myself this question.  What is love?  I understand the love a mother has for her children.  This love should be just enough to guide without smothering the spark that makes us individual.  Encouragement with some guidance.  Acceptance but tempered with lessons of right and wrong. 

Leo has been feeling terrible back pain this week.  So bad, that he was unable to call me.  When he did call, I did what I always do:  talk directly.  He seems to love it.  I asked him, "Are you walking?"  No direct answer.  I asked if he had been doing the exercises the physical therapist had assigned him.  Excuses.  Finally I re-asked, saying "Tell me only yes or no!"  "Oh!" he said..."it's so American, this yes or no, black or white."  I tried again.  "Have you or have you not been walking?"  No.  And the exercises? "No, I was afraid to do them." But Leo, did your doctor say it was ok to do them? "Yes." 

Well,  I said:  "Tu sei un stupido!!"  And he laughed, sounding better by the minute.  Sounding, less tense.  I told him, I've noticed a pattern:  Chemo, sleepiness, terrible back pain a few weeks later.  Leo, I think your back muscles have been weakened by inactivity...

I am feeling a bit of anger this week as I try to understand these last 12 years.  It feels so un-natural to be separated.

I wrote Leo an email last night.  Leo, sweetheart, if your back muscles are not strong, your back does not have the support it needs.  It's like driving your car on tires which have no air in them.  Please make up a star chart, like we do here for children, when they have daily tasks. Do the task, get a star.  The chart shows visible progress and a little award follows.  I'm not a doctor, but your medico did tell you to walk and exercise...

Leo wrote back to me this morning.  So now I know the real truth.  He has not done his exercises for 4 months.  Nor has he been walking.  Excuses.  Weather, chemo, sleepiness. The excuses go on and on.

Leo has just written, that he has taken his walker and walked outside for one hour.  Meno male! Thank goodness.  I texted him "Bravo!"

If there is love in his house, why is he not walking, exercising and laughing?

And regarding love, this should include self-love too.  Some element is missing in Leo's house.

I am not a part of Leo's daily routine now.  It hurts me to not be a part of his day.  Our phone calls have become less and less frequent.  The text messages he says are too expensive. Again, excuses.  Excuses only serve to cover-over underlying issues.

I guess I'm feeling more... acceptance with his excuses.  Leo did not choose me to stay with me and he never will. I realize now he made his choice years ago and I was in the wrong to hope that love would win over culture.

Leo and I have studied the Italian immigrants who came to California in the Gold Rush days. Leo has written several books on the topic. The pioneers who left their homelands did so with great courage. Some came in couples.  Others came alone, saved money and sent for wives, girlfriends or family years later. Many brought a prized possession with them:  a book written by Dante, seeds, saplings or a few grape cuttings.

Some pioneers though, left their families and culture behind and never looked back. They cut their ties totally and disappeared into time.   Now I believe they did so because it was easier. It was final.  There was no discussion, pleading letters or follow-up knowledge of failure or success. It was a disappearance which could not be altered.

Culture is a force I never really thought about until I began to travel.  We're all surrounded by it and it binds us to our beliefs. I recall my history lessons and it seems the world has always been about the clash or blending of cultures. Romans loved the Etruscans and absorbed them into their culture around 500 BC.  In 1540, Catherine de Medici, daughter of Lorenzo, Duke of Urbino, married Henry II of France and later became his Queen.  Catherine brought her Italian cooks with her and French cuisine was born.

I met my friend Barbara in Italian class, where we were faithful students for two years.  She is of Japanese heritage and married to an Italian-American.  They have beautiful daughters, who themselves have choosen boyfriends of European cultures.  I admire this family for their ability to thrive.  They have pride in their heritage, yet they have wings to carry them into other cultures.

Happy New Year - Buon Anno!

Catching up on adding pictures to November - December.

Leo has written me two beautiful poems.  Translations to follow.

Christmas 2010

Christmas. As a child, Christmas Day proved to me that there was magic in the world. Growing up, my family was not active in any religious organization, although my research has uncovered a strong Catholic presence in the family histories of both my maternal and paternal ancestors.

I suspect our family Christmas was orchestrated by my father, who, at the age of 6, had been abandoned in Boy’s Town, Nebraska by his mother. Perhaps it was his way of trying to create the perfect day. We always had a fresh tree, setup the first week of December. It was laden with lights, delicate glass ornaments and crinkled lead tinsel.

 As young children, we were allowed to place only one or two of the less delicate items on the tree. We watched as my parents put up the tree. When the lights were turned on, the magic began. Our three felt red stockings, with our names stitched on the cuffs, hung over the fireplace. Brightly wrapped packages were added under the tree, which always had a plain white cotton sheet acting as a tree skirt.

Our Christmas was not religious and it was not commercial either.  It was a time of peace in our household and this was the gift I treasured most.

On Christmas Eve, we would leave cookies and milk for Santa. It was so hard to fall asleep. The anticipation was almost too much to bear. Each year, in the middle of the night, I took slow motion, stealth-like steps from my bedroom out into the darkened living room, to have the first look, alone to feel the magic. My father never heard me, even with his radar super hearing.

On Christmas morning, my brothers would tumble out of bed before day-break and the day would begin. In the darkness, by the lights of the Christmas tree, we opened our gifts from Santa. Each of our stockings, had been removed from the fireplace and placed on the hearth. The stockings were stuffed full, with small toys, a slinky, tangerines, pecans, walnuts, filberts and hazelnuts. Next to each stocking, were stacked gifts. Santa never used wrapping paper which had already been seen under the tree. I was able to keep Santa’s secret for a long time, even though the years after my last brother was born.

Christmas Day continued with a simple breakfast and a family gift exchange and then a trip to a relative’s home, where we had more gift exchanges. A traditional ham dinner in the evening was always proceeded by an afternoon snacking feast. A large table was laid out with h’orderves of delicacies we only had for Christmas: pickled herring, green and black olives, sweet pickles, cocktail onions, goose pate, smoked oysters and clams, cheeses of the world, tiny meatballs, sliced salami, crackers, maraschino cherries, fruitcake, See’s candy, homemade fudge, ribbon candies, British jelly-filled raspberry hard candies, eggnog and any other unusual food item my father could find.

When my two children were at home, I tried to carry on the traditions, in hopes to create the same wonderful memories.

Marina asks me each year, why Francesca do you come to Italy when it’s so rainy and cold? The answer is simple. Christmas! I plan my trips very carefully to coincide with the Christmas season in Italy. When I arrive around Thanksgiving, Christmas lights, while not turned on, have already been strung over the streets. Shop windows are decorated with holiday scenes.

I especially love the candy shops, with their creative displays of chocolate Santas and animals, Panettone cakes elegantly wrapped in cellophane and trays of brightly colored marzipan fruit.

Not even the rain can dampen my Christmas spirit, which is rekindled in Italy. In my walks around Firenze, I come upon Nativity scenes and organ concerts.

Each year I attend the European Christmas Fair in the piazza in front of the church, Chiesa Santa Croce.  This year it was extra special with my friend Laura.

I enjoy wandering from stand to stand, admiring Christmas wares from Europe, Sweden and Russia. This year I ate strudel from Austria, sauerkraut with grilled ham shanks from Germany and gingerbread cookies from England.

On the last Sunday of November, all the Christmas lights in Firenze are switched on and the season officially begins with all stores open for full day of Sunday shopping.
During the first weekend of December, Babbo Natale (Santa Claus) arrives, with snow (from a hidden snow maker), at the “Florence Noel” Christmas festival in Stazione Leopolda, a gorgeous retired train station, opened in 1844, but now used only for exhibitions.

In Cremona, if I’m lucky, the city and its outdoor Christmas trees are brushed with snow, at least once during my November/December visit. I peek in at the enclosed outdoor ice skating rink. I enjoy watching the matrons of the city as they take their slow evening walks, stylishly dressed in their fur coats and hats. I collect these magical moments. This year, in our neighborhood church, I saw the lumber stacked, ready to build the Nativity scene. The large golden star was already in place over the entrance to the church.

I’ve only spent one Christmas in Italy with my family in Cremona. I had bought a wooden Nativity set at a small store in town and set it up in the dining room. Marina, always helpful to educate me, exclaimed…”Oh no Francesca, the camel and Wise Men need to be moved away from the manger. The sheep can stay, because they of course were there in Bethlehem. Place the camel and Wise Men over there. They won’t arrive until January 6th.” So, the camel and the Wise Men waited on another table.

In Cremona, a Christmas tree had been setup in the dining room, but there were no gifts beneath it. On Christmas Eve, we had an elegant family dinner, seated at Nonna’s long dining room table around 8 pm. Then, just before midnight, we all walked to church to celebrate midnight mass. As we climbed the steps to enter, I saw a large golden star, hanging over the church doors, but it was not lighted. Rosa told me at the stroke of midnight, it would be illuminated, to proclaim the birth of Baby Jesus. As we walked home from mass, the church bells began to toll and the man-made star was lighted! The next morning, we drove two cars through sometimes thick fog to Piemonte and had an afternoon dinner with Marina’s family, in their restaurant. I saw a only few gift packages exchanged.

Returning to California that year, I re-staged my Nativity scene and moved the camels and Wise Men over to join the others, on the correct date, January 6. This day is celebrated around the world by the holiday called, The Epiphany, Three Kings' Day, Twelfth Night or La Befana.

I’ve never experienced a Christmas Day with Leo. I try very hard to accept the things I cannot change, but at Christmas it is not easy. Leo writes to me every day and I have many letters which have arrived from him on Christmas Day. For over a decade, each Christmas has reminded me of Leo’s commitments in Italy, which he will never break to be with me.

I believe the magical Christmas days from my childhood triggered something in how I approach living. I saw there was hope to live in a better way. An angry teenaged son once shouted at me “You never see the dark side of life!” Oh, that is so not true. I know firsthand that life can be difficult, unfair and disappointing. We each have choices to make on how we survive the hurt inflicted upon us. We must love and nurture ourselves before we can love and accept people who come into our lives.

I believe it’s necessary to find magic and goodness as often as possible, not just once a year. Every day, we need to be aware of the beauty, wonders and goodness which surround us. We cannot wait for others to bring us happiness.

Day Trip from Longarone to Trieste

The next day Leo and I took a day trip up to Trieste. I love visiting these places and Leo always gives me some historical background.

Trieste was one of the oldest parts of the Habsburg Monarchy from 1382 until 1918. It was a prosperous seaport under control of Austria. It was considered Austria's "Riveria." After WWI, Trieste was occupied by the Italian army and Slavic and German names were "Italianized" by the end of 1930. At the same time, Slovic residents were persecuted and many immigrated to Yugoslavia or South American. During WWII, again Trieste was involved. In 1947, Trieste was protected by the United Nations and it was divided into two zones, A and B. In 1954, Zone B was ceded to Italy and Zone B became part of Yugoslavia. Other parts were divided among the Socialist Republic of Slovenia and Croatia.

The Adriatic Sea was on our right side, as we drove down the Italian coast to Trieste. Our first stop was at the Museo Storico del Castello di Miramare  (Miramare Castle Museum), home of Austrian Archduke Ferdinand Maximilian and his wife, Charlotte of Belgium. Maximillian had supervised the construction of the castle, along with the 22 acre park (Parco di Miramare) surrounding it.

In 1864, Maximilian sailed to Mexico, where he was appointed Emperor. In 1967, in Queretaro, Mexico, he was shot and killed. His wife Charlotte suffered a nervous breakdown and returned to Miramare. She later returned to her native Belgium.

In 1955 the castle was designated a museum and grounds opened to the public. We parked outside the grounds and walked in. A local man offered to let give me food and have some of the wild birds land on my hand to eat. I was sure there was a small fee involved so I declined his offer.

A circular driveway was surrounded by porticos draped with blooming wisteria, in various shades of violet and purple.

We paid an entry fee to enter the castle, which is furnished with its original paintings and furniture. We toured the gardens and encountered some very aggressive swans! The patio of the castle ends right at the cliffs edge, with a spectacular view of the Adriatic.

We planned to spent the night in Trieste but had no reservations. Leo found an adorable hotel which was very beachy. It was off-season and the rates were reasonable. As usual, I needed to give my passport to the hotel desk clerk. I tried not to stare at her. She was young, blond and extremely tall with very Slavic features. I held my comments until we were alone in the room. Leo told me we were just a few blocks from the border to Slovania. There was a bit of unrest in Croatia at that time and Leo felt it best if we just stayed in Italy. We had a wonderful fresh seafood dinner, seated near a warm fire in the restaurant's firepit.

In our room we found an advertisement for the largest underground cavern in the world: "Grotta Gigante." We went there the next day.

One must descend wet stairs, down down down. A brochure showed that St. Peter's Basilica in Rome would fit inside the main cavern. It was cold (11 C) and dark down there! Little lanterns lighted the way. I had a great time.

Information:  http://www.grottagigante.it/

We were starving after our underground adventure. Leo has such a good instinct on good places to eat. We had fish at a trattoria in downtown Trieste. Leo had a plate of French fried baby fishes...sardines? We splurged that day and tried every kind of fish appetizer on the menu.  We spent a lot more than usual on our meal, but we split the cost.

We walked around the pier area of Trieste. Leo told me this used to be a popular port for cruise ships.

I noticed here,  just as in other cities on the Italian sea, there were no barriers between people and water. In Italy, one is expected to see the obvious danger and not tumble into the water.