Il Mio Tesoro

A "treasury" of my Italian inspirations

Viva L’Italia! April 25, 2012

The war years in Italy were difficult – innocent people were killed by the Germans because they were believed to be helping the Partisans (see my post about this at  An Italian Tragedy), people were hungry and not sure if they would get food, and idlyllic and peaceful places full of history, art, and beauty were being destroyed.  Once the Americans came in and the Partisans triumphed, Italy began to breathe a sigh of relief.  La Festa della Liberazione, a National holiday in Italy marking the end of World War II and the fall of the Fascist government, is celebrated today, April 25th, with parades and other festivities all over Italy.  Rebuilding Italy after the War would turn out to be a significant and difficult task, but the Italians worked hard and persevered.  Even though it is not immune to the problems plaguing the rest of the world, Italy has come a long way from those horrible days during and after World War II to become the Italy that so captivates and enchants those that visit her.

Below is a song written by Partisan sympathizers and sung during the War by the Resistance.   It was sung in the underground and only became popular to the public after the War when it was introduced by some Italian student singers at Berlin’s Youth Festival in 1948.  I have to make note, here, that I am purely sharing this song as part of Italy’s history and I’m not making ANY political statement here!!!  With that said, here it is:

BELLA CIAO

Una mattina mi son svegliato O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao Una mattina mi son svegliato Eo ho trovato l’invasor

O partigiano porta mi via O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao O partigiano porta mi via Che mi sento di morir

E se io muoio da partigiano O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao E se io muoio da partigiano Tu mi devi seppellir

Mi seppellire lassù in montagna O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao Mi seppellire lassù in montagna Sotto l’ombra di un bel fiore

E le genti che passeranno O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao E le genti che passeranno Mi diranno: “Che bel fior”

È questo il fiore del partigiano O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao È questo il fiore del partigiano Morto per la libertà

**********************

One morning I woke up O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao One morning I woke up And I found the invader

Oh partisan, carry me away, O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao Oh partisan, carry me away, For I feel I’m dying

And if I die as a partisan O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao And if I die as a partisan You have to bury me

But bury me up in the mountain O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao, But bury me up in the mountain Under the shadow of a beautiful flower

And the people who will pass by O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao, And the people who will pass by Will say to me: “what a beautiful flower”

This is the flower of the partisan O bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao This is the flower of the partisan Who died for freedom

***************************************

Here is a song that was sung by the Alpini – a branch of the military that patrols the mountains all around Italy.  It captures the sentiments felt during the War by those Alpini soldiers and their love of the mountains of Italy.  It is in a sort of dialect, and therefore I will try to translate it as best I can!

IL TESTAMENTO DEL CAPITANO

 El capitan de la compagnia l’è ferito stà per morir el manda a dire ai suoi Alpini perchè lo vengano a ritrovar. el manda a dire ai suoi Alpini perchè lo vengano a ritrovar.

I suoi Alpini ghè manda a dire che non han scarpe per camminar O con le scarpe o senza scarpe i miei Alpini li voglio qua. O con le scarpe o senza scarpe i miei Alpini li voglio qua.

Cosa comanda, siòr capitano, che noi adesso semo arrivà? E io comando che il mio corpo in cinque pezzi sia taglià. E io comando che il mio corpo in cinque pezzi sia taglià.

Il primo pezzo alla mia Patria secondo pezzo al Battaglion il terzo pezzo alla mia Mamma che si ricordi del suo figliol. il terzo pezzo alla mia Mamma che si ricordi del suo figliol.

Il quarto pezzo alla mia bella che si ricordi del suo primo amor. L’ultimo pezzo alle montagne che lo fioriscano di rose e fior L’ultimo pezzo alle montagne che lo fioriscano di rose e fior.

*******************

The Captain’s Testament

The captain of the company is wounded and is dying.  He sends a message to his Alpini soldiers for them to come and visit him.

His Alpini soldiers tell him that they don’t have shoes to walk.  He says that with our without shoes, he wants them there.

What do you command, Captain sir, now that we have arrived?  I command that you cut my body up into 5 pieces.

The first piece to my Country, the second piece to my battalion, the third piece to my mother so that she may remember her son.

The fourth piece to by girlfriend so that she can remember her first love.  And the fifth piece to the mountains so that it can be covered in roses.

 

Any Della Robbia’s in Your Neighborhood? March 21, 2012

The other day at a consignment shop, I found a ceramic wall statue with a white face and brightly colored fruits surrounding the head.  It reminded me of a Della Robbia-type of ceramic.

In reality, Della Robbia really only made religious plaques…but the brightly colored flowers is what reminded me of the style.  And this led to my investigation into the ceramics called Della Robbia’s.  Lo and behold, so many examples of Della Robbia’s started popping up all over the place.  Walking around Los Gatos, near St. Mary’s Catholic Church, I saw a wall plaque.  On the side wall of St. Nicholas Church in Los Altos was another one.  At the convent at Dominican College in San Rafael – yet another!  It’s amazing how you begin to notice art when you are conscious of it.  I have walked by those plaques in Los Gatos and Los Altos millions of times and never paid any attention to them.   Last weekend, while visiting the Victorian Avant Garde exhibit at the Palace of the Legion of Honor in San Francisco, I came face to face with one as I was walking through the museum to get to the exhibit.  This was an original one by the famed Andrea Della Robbia!

In my own  collection, I have two Della Robbia’s.

This one is for sale in my shop here.

The other one is a family heirloom which holds meaning for me.  It belonged to my husband’s grandmother and graced her walls for many years.  It is very old and I’m lucky to have it as a treasured possession.

In the tiny, unassuming town of Radicofani, Tuscany, can be found four Della Robbia masterpieces in their church.

The locals believe that Andrea Della Robbia hid his formula of glazing terra cotta in one of their statues.  They have even gone to the extreme of xraying the statues, but to no avail.  Since the only way to see if the document spelling out the secret formula lies within in one of the pieces would require breaking it, they have decided to leave it hidden for now!  The technique seems to have been carried down through the ages just fine.

Andrea Della Robbia was one of the most important ceramic artists of Renaissance Florence.  He learned the technique of glazing terra cotta from his uncle, Luca Della Robbia, and perfected the technique in his own studio.  This technique gained a lot of popularity because his altar pieces could be made more colorful and at a lesser expense than marble altarpieces – and they were MUCH lighter to transport.  His statues and plaques have the distinctive blue background with the white reliefs of Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Saints.  At times, the plaques are surround by colorful fruits and flowers. Today, several ceramic studios in Italy make these beautiful plaques.

 

Baccala’…Made in Italy February 20, 2012

An old recipe, handed down through the generations….
A dried piece of stoccafisso (the best kind of dried codfish to use)….
Three days of patient waiting…

Voila!

Baccala’!

My mom’s family hailed from the Veneto region of Italy where Baccala’ recipes originated. Served on top of polenta, it was a poor man’s delight during those cold nights of winter. Families always had a dried piece of cod in their pantry…it kept forever and they knew that they could follow their “Fish on Friday” mandate of the Church in case fresh fish wasn’t available. I guess they were better dinner planners in those days because in order to prepare the Baccala’, they needed at least three days!

Just last week, my Italian cousin found this recipe and was inspired to make it! This version is known as Baccala’ Ragno!

The first thing he had to do was beat the dried fish with a piece of wood.  This breaks up the tough fibers and softens it a bit.

When the poor dried fish was beaten, it got soaked in water for three days, changing the water a few times a day.

Here is a translation of the above recipe – I didn’t translate word for word to make the recipe read better in English!

1.  Beat the baccala’ wrapped up in a rag (with a stick or a meat pounder).

2.  Submerse it in cold water for 3 days – changing the water 2 times per day.

3.  Skin it and remove the spine.  Cut it into clean pieces.

4.  Saute 1 minced onion, 3 chopped garlic cloves, and a handful of chopped parsley in some olive oil.  Add salt and pepper to taste. (Optional:  add 3 or 4 salted and chopped sardines).

5.  Add the baccala’ and 1 1/2 cups white wine.  Add a vegetable bouillon cube and simmer for a while.

6. Add some water and cook slowly for about 3 hours.  Occasionally add some wine or water so that it doesn’t dry out.

7.  Halfway through the cooking, add 2 cups of milk.

8.  When it is almost done, add some grated Parmesan or Grana cheese and some more milk if needed to make a creamy consistency.

Technology is wonderful….He could share the cooking process with me almost instantly….but, sadly, it hasn’t evolved yet to the point where I can actually taste a bite of this delicious family recipe!  Buon appetito!

 

Snow….Snow…and More Snow! February 7, 2012

Italy, and a lot of Europe, has been covered in record snowfall this year.  Pictures and pictures of famous sites covered in snow have been appearing all over the media.  Rome received a record amount of snow – the most they’ve gotten in over 26 years!  The Cinque Terre has been a winter wonderland – the beauty of the white snow surrounded by the warm sepia toned houses perched on the hills has been better than a postcard!  But, as I recall, the January I spent in Italy in 2009 brought with it more snow than they had had in over 20 years.  I think that was the beginning of the new winter trend – snow, snow…and more snow.

Scenes along the Shores of Lago Maggiore

The Duomo with its “Snow” Frosting 

….and the Castello Sforzesco

Snow covered Santa Maria delle Grazie 

 

Little Known History of Italian POW’s November 15, 2011

Courtesy of Camilla Calamandrei

Prisoners in Paradise, a documentary film by Camilla Calamandrei, is about Italian POW’s in America during World War II.  I am embarrassed to say that I didn’t know this very poignant and important part of my Italian heritage.  I was not aware that so many Italian soldiers (51,000!)  were interned here in the USA during the war. Because my parents immigrated so many years after the end of the war, this subject was never discussed in my family and I didn’t know any of these stories on a personal level.  But after watching this film, I learned so much and actually found out that my mom knew all about this from her neighbor whose sister used to date some of these POW’s!

The film shows some great footage of Italians in North Africa during the War and also footage of their times in the internment camps strewn all over the United States.

It follows the stories of six POW’s and their personal experiences.  One of the most memorable lines in the movie is from a POW who said that while he was fighting in North Africa he was hungry and living in horrible conditions. But after his capture by the Americans and shipment to an American POW camp, he felt like he was in Paradise  – he was fed abundantly, given a pack of cigarettes a day, and slept in warm barracks!  Even though he was a prisoner of war, the Americans treated him with kindness and respect.  The hardest part for him was not having any notice of his family back home.  His letters home went unanswered, and he had no news for the remainder of the war.

The story continues to explore the change when Italy surrendered and switched alliances. These Italian POW’s were given the choice to join forces with the USA to provide assistance to the war effort.  Many decided to cooperate and were given considerable freedoms.  They were allowed to socialize with the Italian-American families already settled here, and many met and fell in love with their future brides.

Several of these war brides were interviewed in the film and just hearing about their experiences brought tears to my eyes.

When the war ended, these Italian POW’s were freed and sent back to Italy.  Their excitement at being allowed to go back home quickly became horror as they entered the port of Naples to find it completely destroyed.  Their homeland was in shambles and they were devastated and scared to find what their homes would be like.  They knew that they would have to work hard to rebuild Italy once again.

Meanwhile, those young American women who had fallen in love with their Italian POW’s were also at a loss.  Their loves were sent back to Italy and could not return unless they were married.  Many of these girls hopped on ships and sailed to Italy to claim their husbands.  They married in Italy and came back with their Italian husbands.  But, I can just imagine how many never saw their loves again….

The end of the movie touches upon the tender memories of the POW’s who have made America their home for many years now.  They tearfully mention that America has given them everything, but that a big part of their hearts still belong to Italy.

I can highly recommend this movie – it is available for purchase at www.prisonersinparadise.com.

Below is a very informative essay written by Camilla Calamandrei and she has given her permission to post it to my post – thank you, Camilla, for all the hard work you put in on your research into this very important part of our Italian heritage.

Italian POWs held in America during WW II:
Historical Narrative and Scholarly
Analysis

by Camilla Calamandrei

From
June 1940 through May 1943, hundreds of thousands of Italians were sent into a
war for which they were ill equipped and about which they understood little. By
the end of 1943, over six hundred thousand Italian soldiers were taken prisoner
and, of those, 51,000 were brought to America as enemy prisoners of war.

The documentary “Prisoners in Paradise” traces the journey of six young
Italians: from their entry into the war; to internment as prisoners in a country
with a level of abundance and wealth they had never imagined possible; through a
decision that would change not only their experience as prisoners in the United
States, but in many cases, lead them to a second decision that would change the
course of their adult lives.

The first period of critical decision making for Italian POWs began on
September 8, 1943, with the announcement of the signing of the armistice by the
Badoglio government in Italy. Now that Italy was officially an ally of the
United States, Italian POWs were faced with the dilemma of whether to “
collaborate” (i.e., perform war related work) with the nation that had, until
that moment, been their enemy captor. To understand how confusing this concept
was at that time, it needs to be noted that during this same period Northern
Italy was still occupied by Germans who managed to free Mussolini on September
12th, and place him at the head of a newly declared fascist republic. If these
simultaneous contradictory scenarios are confusing for us to follow with fifty
years of hindsight, one can only imagine how shocking the shifting alliances
must have been for young Italians who had only recently been pulled from combat.

Looking at the data, it seems clear that Italians POWs in America were,
overall, sympathetic to the Allied cause. Almost 90% of the Italian POWs agreed
to support the U.S. war effort by joining what would be called Italian Service
Units. This summary view unfairly disguises, however, the difficulty, and in
some cases trauma, of being asked to make this kind of decision. If these men
had gone to war with the understanding that they didn’t have to believe in the
war–they only had to believe in the greatness of Italy–then what did it mean
now to change loyalties? Did this constitute further loyalty, in obeying the
government of their homeland? Or, did it constitute a pathetic move to avoid
being associated with the losing side? For young enlisted men there were all
these questions as well as: the fear of being sent back into combat–possibly
this time in Japan; fear of helping supply munitions that would be used in Italy
where their families might be in harm’s way; and fear of some kind of
retribution against their families if it became known that their sons were
helping the Allies. For Italian officers, who tended to be more indoctrinated in
the ideology of fascism, changing sides was incomprehensible because it meant
that there was no such thing as the courage of one’s convictions. Finally, for
some individual enlisted men and officers who had fought side by side with
Germans for two and a half years, there was also the simple question of loyalty
to fellow soldiers.

Italian POWs were right to view the decision to support the U.S. war effort
as a serious one. It would dramatically affect the quality of their experience
as prisoners in the U.S. And, in turn, for those who would become immersed in
relationships and the abundance of life in America, it would lead them to the
question after the war of whether they should live in Italy or seize the
opportunity to build a new life under the flag of another nation.

The almost 45,000 Italian POWs who eventually agreed to join Italian Service
Units were relocated, almost immediately, to coastal and industrial sites across
the United States. They worked with American civilians and military personnel in
combat related work for the remainder of the war. By contrast, non-collaborating
Italian POWs were kept in highly isolated camps in places like Texas, Arizona,
Wyoming and Hawaii.

In addition to having jobs and earning money, men involved in the Italian
Service Units were given increased freedom of movement and as a result, incre
ased interaction with American civilians. Across the country, there was an
outpouring of interest on the part of Italian Americans who were looking in the
Italian POW camps for relatives, family friends or simply people from their
hometowns. As a result a number of Catholic parishes in many states arranged to
host dinners where Italian Americans could meet and visit with Italian POWs.
These courtesies were extended almost exclusively to POWs who had agreed to
support the war effort and even the freedoms granted these Italian Service Unit
members varied greatly depending on where they were situated in the U.S.

Comparing and contrasting the experiences of Italian POWs on the East Coast
with POW experiences in the mid-West and on the West Coast reveals that, while
their lives inside camp walls were quite similar, surrounding communities had a
strong influence on how much freedom POWs had to move outside camp boundaries.
It seems that community responses varied by region according to immigration
patterns prior to the war, local politics, regional economic realties and
involvement and/or perspectives on the war. For example, one might assume that
the East Coast, because of its old world, European connection and large Italian
American communities, would have been the place where Italian POWs were received
most sympathetically but this was not necessarily the case. While there were
many Italian Americans who wanted to retain contact with the prisoners (by
travelling to visit them on Sundays) it was generally accepted that this should
be a relatively reserved activity. The fact that these Italian POWs were
contributing to the war effort did not erase the knowledge that Italy had
contributed to escalating the war in the early years.

In contrast in the middle of the country, in states like Utah, Michigan, and
Ohio, Italians serving in Italian Service Units had some modified privileges and
an unofficially sanctioned freedom of movement. POWs could be escorted out of
the camp by U.S. soldiers (which usually required a bribe) or POWs could sneak
out of the camp and sneak back in, under an unofficial agreement by which
American soldiers would turn a blind eye. In Ogden, Utah a local church held
chaperoned dances each weekend for the POWs and Italian American families could
visit POWs on Sundays.

Finally in California, where the war was palpable through to the end of 1945
because of the intensity of fighting in the Pacific, Italian POWs working in
support of the war effort were actually received most enthusiastically. While
local West Coast Italian Americans had felt some tension in their neighborhoods
early in the war (i.e., that they should not too openly be supportive or
concerned about Italy) once Italy switched sides community animosity turned more
consistently to the Asians. As a result, Italian POWs had a rather significant
amount of freedom in the camps in California. The most amazing story being that
of the Italian POWs stationed on Angel Island who held regular dances in a hall
in San Francisco that they rented with their own money. In addition, Italian
American families in California could, with official permission, take Italian
Service Unit members out of POW camps for picnics and outings. It is important
to note that immigration patterns during the 20’s- 30’s in California set the
stage for a sympathetic reception of Italian POWs. Italians in the preceding
decades had immigrated in large numbers and established themselves as fisherman,
farmers and winemakers. In this state, heavily populated with immigrants from
all over the world, by the 1940’s Italians were seen as relatively established
–especially in contrast with Asian laborers who were seen as a threat to the
local “white” labor movement. Racism towards another group took the edge off
racism or fear of the Italians. A point which actually refers to a larger
transition that was occurring for America during this period: the change in the
perceived definition of who was a true American.

During WWII white ethnic Americans (e.g., Italian Americans, Jews, Irish
Americans) were drawn into a more integrated, accepted status as they were asked
to go to war for their country and as they had the experience of forming bonds,
while in the army, across ethnicities and class. Early in the war Italian
American communities were fiercely divided as it became clear that some were
embarrassed by Mussolini’s actions and others were still sympathetic to the
fascist regime. In families where perhaps only the father had become a citizen
when they first immigrated, wives and children quickly moved to establish their
American citizenship. With this as the backdrop, we see how Italian POWs and
Americans were each facing their own questions of personal identity, loyalty and
nationality during the period when they were called upon to work together for
the larger Allied cause.

In addition to the stories of Italian POWs interacting with Italian
Americans, there were numerous situations in which Italian POWs developed
relations with Americans of diverse heritages (e.g., Italian POWs in Colorado
and Nebraska were sent to do farm work for German American farming families; in
California and in New York POWs were guarded by Irish American guards). In a
remarkable number of instances, the human impulses towards connection and
camaraderie allowed the labels of “enemy,” “prisoner” and “foreigner” to fade
away and be replaced by life long bonds of friendship and love. This was credit
to both the Italians whose vitality and good will flowed freely and to the
Americans whose curiosity and humanity led them into vibrant, warm relations
with the Italian prisoners.

By the end of the war in December 1945, Italian POWs had contributed millions
of hours to the war effort. When they were repatriated in January 1946, a number
were leaving significant relationships behind—hoping, but not sure, that they
would find a way to stay connected. Their joyous return to the homeland was, of
course, tempered by the devastation evident throughout Italy and the realization
that opportunities for young men returning from war were few. For Italian POWs
who had not collaborated with the U.S., the return to Italy also meant coming to
terms with the fact that in many cases friends and relatives had in the end
decided to support the Allied war effort, and the non-collaborating position was
no longer a popular one either officially or unofficially.

In the years following the war, some of the couples who had met in America
did decide to marry. In order to do that the American women had to go to Italy
and marry there (because of quotas restricting immigration into the U.S.). Most
often, due to financial difficulties in Italy, these couples would return to
raise families in the United States in the areas where the women had lived and
where they still had jobs. We don’t know, officially, how many ex POWs chose to
come back and live in America—but a number of them do now live as American
citizens in the towns where they were first enemy prisoners of war. Others
(especially officers from the “fascist” camp in Hereford, Texas) have written
books and created art about their experiences in America, and have returned to
visit periodically. Clearly the experience of being a POW had a big impact on
the 51,000 men who were brought here. And, they–in turn–had a big impact on
all the lives they became part of, whether it was for the war years only or for
the fifty years to follow.

copyright 2000, Camilla Calamandrei

 

My Italian Mamma – Growing Up August 24, 2011

Filed under: Culture,History,Memories,reflections,Traditions — tesorotreasures @ 7:19 pm
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My mom’s “coming of age” stories are beautiful, even though I can feel the difficulties she experienced.  Life was not easy for them.  They did not have the modern conveniences that we so take for granted.  To wash their clothes was a real chore.  During the summer months, they actually took their laundry down to the lake to wash them, and let them dry on the white rocks at the lake’s edge.  According to my mom, the sheets came out sparkling white!  During the winter months, they would heat up water on the stove and wash their clothes in tubs.  Then they would string them up inside to let them dry.  Bathing was kind of the same thing…during the summer, my mom and her friends would go to the lake and wash their hair in the sparkling clean water!  Again, it came out shiny clean!

My mom started working when she was 11 years old!!  Can you imagine a child so young being so responsible to work?  But times were definitely different then, and children had many more responsibilities.  Families needed the extra income that the children provided just in order to survive. My mom was a very good seamstress, and her first job was with a furrier in town.  She would cut the skins with the patterns and sew up the pieces to make beautiful coats.  She worked with fox, otter, mink, and other furs.  Her boss was so impressed with her that he asked her father if he would allow my mom to live with him and his wife in Milan.  Milan was a big city one hour away by train…My grandfather could not bear to have his youngest little girl taken away from him, so he refused.  Being a widower, he was so protective of his little girls that he would never allow them to be taken from him.  Even though it would mean more money for the family, his family was more important to him than the extra income.  So my mom left this job and began working at “La Camiceria” – the shirt making factory in town.  There she was in charge of making sure all the machines were threaded properly while the shirt fabrics were being made.  She spent her entire day walking up and down the long aisles housing the cloth making machines.

She would ride her bike to work everyday…no matter if it was summer or winter.  Her father would check her tires daily, and would either blow up the tires or let air out of them as needed for the weather. Girls did not wear pants then, so she would wear her father’s long socks to keep her legs warm.

In the evenings, especially during the summer months, my mom and her friends would go to the town dances. These dances would be held at an outdoor park at the shores of the lake which was done up especially for these dances.  It was called La Ballera (the ballroom) .  There they would dress up in their favorite dresses, and always with their very fashionable shoes, they would spend the evening dancing and flirting with the boys.  The beauty of growing up in a small town is that you know everyone…and, of course, the drawback is that everyone knows your business!!

August in Italy is vacation time!  Factories shut down and everyone heads out of the city.  Fortunately, my mom lived in a place that was so beautiful that she didn’t need to go anywhere during August.  She and her friends would spend entire days down at the lake, soaking up the sun and swimming.  The lake was THE HANGOUT!  All the youth of the town would congregate at the shores and enjoy each other’s company.  Boys and girls would hang out together in large groups and youthful flirting was always happening! There was always a new crush and life was never boring!

According to my mom, life was simple – they didn’t have a lot, but they still enjoyed their life immensely.  She felt safe in her community and she looks back on those days with extreme affection!

 

My Italian Mamma and her Childhood Fun~ July 28, 2011

My mom grew up along the shores of beautiful Lago Maggiore, where the summers were spent at the lake and the winters were cold.  My mom learned to swim when she was a small child!!  This is a big deal because alot of women her age never learned this very important skill!  But being that she was raised on a lake, she spent her summers at the “colonnia” ~ a sort of summer camp!  Here they learned the side stroke – and this is the only stroke she has ever used!  She never put her head under water, but gliding along above the water became her forte!  Very elegant, I must say!  But….it was strictly forbidden to enter the water less than one hour after eating!  This was a big no no, which she carried on to me as a child…and boy was it hard having that restraint when all my friends would go swimming right after eating!  Part of this summer camp included embroidery lessons, too.  The nuns from the convent would teach these girls the fine art of embroidery, and they made some beautiful things.  Most of the items they embroidered were to be put away for their dowries!  Sheets, towels, pillow cases – all with beautiful stitchery.  A lot of these embroidered fineries had monograms on them…luckily my mom’s initials remained the same, even after marriage!!

One winter, my mom’s friend got a sled and, of course, the kids wanted to try it.  So they dragged it up one of the steepest hills in their town.  This was the slope of a monument that went from the main road in town all the way down to the lake – a nice long run.  The only problem is that at the end of the slope, where it met the lake, there was a decorative railing with cement posts.  Of course, being children, they just saw the huge hill and knew it would be a thrill!  But, they didn’t look at the end of the path…One behind the other on the sled, with my mom in front, they took off down the hill!  When they got down to the bottom, after picking up quite a bit of speed, they found themselves heading right for the cement railing!  My mom’s guardian angel was definitely on duty that day because my mom’s head aimed right for the space between the posts and avoided a head on collision with the cement posts!!!  Needless to say, that was the last time she went sledding!!

Summertime view of the "deathly" sled run

My mom seemed to get herself into physical trouble quite a bit (or maybe these are just those memories that make for good stories), and she has the scars to prove it.  One day, while her and her sister were walking to school, hand in hand, a person riding a bike and with a chicken coop on the front of the handle bars came up behind them.  Because the chicken coop was blocking the person’s view, he did not see my mom (since she was small and not tall enough to be visible above the coop!)  He knocked her over while the chicken coop fell and all the chickens fluttered about!  My mom has a pretty good scar behind her ear from this mishap.  Her mom actually passed out when she saw her from all the blood gushing from the back of her ear :(

And then, the last mishap occurred with a bunch of big dogs!  My mom has always been afraid of dogs and it probably stemmed from this incident.  She was riding her bike home from school and came around a corner.  As she turned the corner, two BIG dogs came out and attacked her!  I’m not sure what they did to her, but obviously she fell off her bike and gashed her head…once again.  She has some scars, luckily close to the hair line in the back, from this incident!

It’s a miracle she survived her childhood…but, like all of us, these are those memories that make you remember those childhood days :)

 

My Italian Mamma! July 15, 2011

Filed under: Culture,History,Memories,reflections,Traditions,Travel — tesorotreasures @ 4:33 pm
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Those I tell my stories to about my mom say that I should share them!  So, over a series of several posts, I will pass on some tidbits about her:  her life in Italy before she immigrated, and also her life now as an Italian/American.  Her stories always mesmerize me because they depict so vividly what life was like before all those modern conveniences we so take for granted – how much harder, but at the same time, how so much simpler it was back then.  It’s like a living history movie, and because I know the locales she talks about, it brings it to life for me.  I have been to the home where she grew up – it is still there and it is in the “old town”.  Therefore, the insides can be modernized but the outside has  remained the same as when she lived there.

My mom is turning 80 this year, so if you do the math, she was born in 1931.  Her early childhood memories are not as vivid as those of her teenage years, but interesting to say the least.  She was the youngest of 3 daughters, and by far, the most vivacious.  Because she was the baby, she was also a little bit spoiled!  (Well, about as spoiled as you can be when there is barely any food to go around!)  She was actually the only one of the girls born in a hospital because her mother suffered from asthma (or at least that’s what they called it then).  During her early childhood, the family moved from the Veneto region to Lombardy, on the  shores of Lago Maggiore.  This is where all her memories are from.

When she was nine years old, her mother passed away.  Her father was left raising three daughters on his own.  Grandpa and an uncle lived with them at that time - now,whether that was good or bad is hard to say, because my mom’s oldest sister, who was only 15 at the time, had to wash and clean for all these men and her two sisters.  She instantly became the “mother” of the family.  Fortunately, her father was a good cook so he took over the cooking duties of his family.

When my mom was in the 2nd grade, she had an unfortunate accident.  Her sister and her were in charge of cutting some wood to use in their wood burning stove (which heated their living area).  While my mom was holding the wood, her sister chopped off the tip of my mom’s middle finger!!!  Ouch!!!  Luckily, the bone was fine – fortunately, she had only gotten the tip.  But because it was her right hand, she couldn’t write until it healed.  Schools were tough back then, and because she couldn’t write, they made her repeat the 2nd grade!  (as a side note, my mom told me that if someone was left handed, they would force them to learn to use their right hand – left handedness was NOT ALLOWED!)  To this day, my mom reminds her sister of this incident and shows her her shortened middle finger!

Another story deals with food and the rations that was put on food around the time of World War II.  One of the food items rationed was jam.  This particular day, her and her sister were in charge of going to pick up the month’s supply of jam.  It just so happened that the jam being given out was cherry jam.  Yum! My mom and her sister were kind of hungry, so they thought it would be OK if they sampled some on their way home.  One bite for her, one bite for her sister….and before you know it, all the jam was gone!  Gone was their ration for the whole month!  I’m sure they got an ear full when they got home, but maybe it was worth it :)

I wish I had some photos to post of her as a little girl, but unfortunately, the only photos they had were some rare professional ones – AND HER SISTER THREW THEM AWAY!!!  I can’t believe that these would not be treasured items!  If only I could have them now!  So, instead, I will post some pictures of the town she grew up in the shores of Lago Maggiore.  What a gorgeous place to live…and so many of her memories center around this beautiful lake.

 

Blessed Pope John Paul II May 3, 2011

As many of you know, Pope John Paul II was beatified in Rome yesterday before more than one million faithful followers.  St. Peter’s Square was filled to the brim and many of those present were dignitaries, royalty, and heads of state.  Lech Walesa, the leader of the solidarity movement in Poland, was also present.

Pope Benedict XVI declared that Pope John Paul II is blessed, and will be canonized once a second miracle can be attributed to him.  The first miracle was the cure of a nun in France who had been suffering from Parkinson’s disease, the same affliction that the late Pope suffered from.  She awoke one night, after having prayed to him for his intercession, completely cured of her symptoms.

Pope John Paul II performed many wonderful deeds during his 26 years as the head of the Catholic Church, but his greatest achievement was most likely his involvement with the fall of Communism in his beloved Poland and the rest of the countries behind the Iron Curtain.

I never had the privilege to meet the Pope in person, but I do have family members that did.  They described a feeling of knowing that they were before a very spiritual person while in his presence.  His demeanor and mannerisms were “holy”, and he truly exuded something indescribable.  Here a couple of pictures of my cousin and his visit with the Pope.  You can see how much he loved the children :)

A bit of Pope John Paul II hit close to home yesterday while attending Mass at St. Anne’s of the Sunset Church in San Francisco (this was where I attended elementary school) .  There was a chair sitting on a side altar which hadn’t been there before.  It was adorned with gold cords and on it was a plaque that the Knights of Columbus had placed.  Evidently, back in 1972, while Pope John Paul II was still a cardinal, he visited St. Anne’s and sat in that very same chair.  If and when he becomes a Saint, that chair will be a Holy Relic that will remain at St. Anne’s.  BIG NEWS for this little neighborhood church!!!  The priest couldn’t help but show it off during the homily!  He was so proud!

 

My Inner Italian March 30, 2011

Today, I was reading something I wrote a few years ago for a piece on “Being Italian” and I felt it was a good piece to share on this beautiful California day….when I’m dreaming of Italy!!

Italy has always been in my heart, only I didn’t realize it until I had my own children. I was raised by Italian immigrant parents who came to the US in the late 50’s. Back then, it was important to assimilate into your new culture. But both my parents had the good sense to teach me to speak Italian (in fact, I learned Italian before I learned English) and to continue speaking it to me throughout my life. As my relatives in Italy tell me, I am lucky because I never had to learn to speak a language – it was always there for me!

In so many ways, I am a true combination of American and Italian – and not really totally one or the other. Sometimes this is a bit unsettling because I feel I don’t really fit in with any one culture. My actions and decisions are based on my intuition which results from being exposed to both cultures throughout my life. But I feel that I have been blessed with the best of both worlds. My inner Italian is evident in so many aspects of my life from cooking to interpersonal relationships. I almost always cook in an Italian tradition – using fresh ingredients and creating simple, yet tasty meals. I enjoy sitting around the dinner table, long after the meal is over, to talk to my family or guests and to catch up on the happenings of the day. Whenever I hear a traditional Italian song, I am instantly happy and want to start dancing and singing to it. I love Italian home decor with its brightly hand decorated ceramics. To my eyes, there is nothing more perfect than seeing an Italian landscape – every part of Italy is beautiful. And it’s funny, I also have an inner Italian that worries like every good Italian “mamma” does about their children – are they eating enough? Are they sleeping well? Did they arrive home safely?

I can honestly say that when I am in Italy, I am at home. Italy is in my core and in my heart.

 

 
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