October 4, 2015
He was tramping up and down on a twisty road in the mountains of Sicily. Across the wide valley loomed Etna, dark as a savage mystery. He clutched a pink bucket in one hand, a cane in the other. Cigar smoke curled over his head, stinking up the fresh country air.
“What’s in your basket?”
“Boletus edulis,” he says, hauling out a spongy porcini the size of a piglet.
He plans to polish it off for lunch. “In an omelette?” I ask.
“No, no. Tossed with spaghettini!”
“Is it good picking in these woods?” By now Rino and I are on a cozy first-name basis.
“No,” he scoffs, sucking his cigar like a binky. “Over there,” he says nodding at Etna, Pillar of Heaven, “it’s much better.” Though it looks close, it’s at least an hour’s drive to the base from here.
I’d like to ask if he’ll share the fungus with his family at a typical Sicilian Sunday feast, or if he’ll eat all by his lonesome. “Buon pranzo,” I say instead.
“Buon spaghettini!” he cries after me, the cigar still in his teeth.
***
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July 9, 2015
I noticed the sheet, then I spied her.
“Che bella linzuola, Signora!” What beautiful linen!
She took a deep puff of the cigarette and smiled. “It is I who have made it.” Her throat sounded sandy.
“Is that what you do? Make bed linens?”
“Una volta,” she said, with another smile. Once upon a time.
“Not anymore?” (I want one.)
She took another puff. “No, non piu, no more. This is the last one I have.”
And then she agreed to a portrait.
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June 15, 2015
I go to the convent early in the morning. (Ex-convent, actually.) I use the terrace as my office. Anna, shiny as the rising sun–arrives with my cappuccio. I squirm at being served because we’ve become kissing friends. Here are the things about her that I bet you cannot guess:
*She works 3 jobs.
*She has 5 kids.
Really!
Italians have one of the lowest birthrates on the planet. “And what surprises people more than my 5 kids,” says Anna, “is that all of them are with the same husband, and we’re still together!” Her oldest, a girl, is studying architecture in Venice.
People from Northern Italy claim that Sicilians don’t work hard. I have not found this to be true. Anna has two waitress jobs and teaches gymnastics to seniors. For fun she does amateur theater. How does she manage it all, looking gorgeous to boot? “I’ve taught my kids that a family must collaborate. Everyone must do what they can. The little one picks up her toys, and the bigger ones clean and take care of their clothes. I do most of the cooking, but my daughter Lucrezia makes wonderful pastas with sun-dried tomatoes, zucchini, and eggplant.”
Her customers tell her things like: You cheer us up and If there were a contest in Italy for the most beautiful barista smile, you’d surely win.
Anna’s dream, like that of many Sicilians, is to spend a bit of time in the US. She’d like to improve her school English by helping out in an Italian restaurant. Any ideas? Please let me know.
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June 6, 2015
I was happy to spot this beauty with the scarlet scarf. I had only ever seen them tied about men’s thick necks.
“So a woman can belong to San Giorgio’s Association?” This is the group that parades the saint around the village.
“I’m the secretary,” she says.
“So you’re allowed to carry the saint?”
“Oh, no,” she smiles, then shrugs, as if to say “not in my lifetime.”
 Her cameo shows San Giorgio slaying the dragon. And to continue my previous post showing festa-goers:
 What is it about a man in a beret??  He absolutely has what his T-shirt trumpets.  Love her pizzazz. She should have dressed him in a green tie.  Angelina still on the phone. Brad’s eye wandering.  Hmm. Let’s see. Who is San Giorgio and where is he to be found?  Papa, can’t you stop these damn explosions?  She dresses to match her balloons.  Almost as good as a beret. Alla prossima, amici.
jann
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June 1, 2015
We just concluded our festa honoring the town’s patron, San Giorgio, who pranced around on his horse for 3 days amid much fanfare–rocket booms day and night, fireworks, tears, hollering, confetti, mobs, twinkle lights, tubas, drum beats. Tourists thought we were under attack and pigeons had heart attacks. As my Sicilian neighbor said, “It’s all a little exaggerated.”
I’ve written about the festival itself here, so now I’ll show you some shots from the crowd.
 “I used to carry San Giorgio on my shoulders, but now I’m too old,” he said  Balloon vendor: she made kids smile.  She has him and she wants to talk to someone else?  These poor guys deserved a break; they trudged up and down hills following San Giorgio for three days.  Padre & figlio.  Padre & figlio.  All waited with bated breath for San Giorgio’s final exit and stroll.  They had the absolute best view in the house. ********
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All photos and text on BaroqueSicily are Copyright of Jann Huizenga ©2009-2015, unless otherwise noted. Material may not be copied or re-published without written permission. All rights reserved.
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