March 14, 2013
Yay! It stopped raining for five minutes! Let’s hang out the sheets!
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March 8, 2013 Umbrella days. A Sicilian face peering out from under a coppola. A river of cars streaming past his eyes. Angelus bells clanging. But he sits calmly waiting for the bus.
Until the americana approaches. “I have a cousin in Florida!” he says. “My name is Emanuele.” His skin is cracked as a Sicilian riverbed in summer. “Give my greetings to America.” “OK!” I say, because I can think of nothing better. “Buona serata!”
*** March 2, 2013 After three days of dreary downpours and hellish winds–during which I worked so slavishly on a translation that getting out of my PJs completely slipped my mind–Saturday dawned sunny! I put on real clothes and clickety-clacked my way down to the piazza with Marcella Hazan in my bag. I dropped into a chair, leafed through Marcella, and wondered: will I EVER be able to cook like an Italian? I am studying this 1973 book–bought for a buck at a library sale–as if it were the Bible itself. I’m trying one recipe a day and have loved every one. (The updated version is Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking).
Then I looked at the palms waving overhead and wondered: Will you survive, dear friends? Horrible winged black bugs are eating palm trees to death in Sicily. Our piazza has already lost one. I mourned it like I’d mourn a best friend.
I looked to the right and I saw a gaggle of guys. I got up and asked for a photo. They were a little shy, especially when I spoke to them in English. They wore braces. They were sweet sixteen.
I remember the braces I wore at that age, gap-toothed and horribly shy. And I wondered: Would I like to be sixteen again? Would you? *** February 26, 2013 ITALY’S general elections are over, there’s a hung parliament, a comedian holds the cards, the eurozone is having conniptions, the markets are falling, confusion reigns. But life goes on in Sicily. People were out and about today, looking unfazed. Here is Angelo, who lives a block or two and a few flights of stairs below me, in front of his lovely red doors.
Carmelo was chasing down his dog, Attila. When he finally nabbed him, I asked if they’d pose. (Attila was way more eager than his human.)
These women didn’t seem to mind my camera or that I interrupted their gabfest, but, boo, I forgot to ask their names.
Angelo #2. He spotted me in his alleyway and asked what was I doing walking all alone (!) on a chilly day (mid-50s)? I said I had a job to do, that I loved his smile, and would he mind ?
February 21, 2013 How beautiful to see a lifelong dream coming true! My friends Diana and John, who hail from Montana, had schemed and dreamed for years about how to make a life in Italy. Then in 2006, they bought a country property in Sicily (about 30 minutes from my village), complete with an army of olive and almond trees, and a roofless farmer’s house. They would arrive on the island for a few months every year to toil away on the house, staying till their money ran out. Then they’d go home to work some more at their jobs. Italy makes you sharpen your wits. They battled the Italian bureaucracy and eventually nabbed residence permits and a power line to their property. We drove out to their house last week as afternoon ripened into evening and clouds boiled in the sky. A chill wind rippled the olive leaves as we rattled up a long driveway. Then our eyes feasted on this:  A view of the back of the house.  A view of the front of the house. From left to right: Diana; Cynthia, a neighbor originally from Malta; and my husband, happy that he has no olives to take care of… The house is still raw inside, but all the original stonework will remain untouched: niches, shelves, and horse-tying stones.
Diana and John plan to live full-time in Sicily, raising donkeys and making wine. After years of patience and persistence, their dream is close. Real close. Complimenti, amici. Auguri!!!! *** Click to subscribe to BaroqueSicily.
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