May 17, 2012
In Italy I find myself whispering—for I haven’t stopped talking to my mother—”Are you living this too, madre mia?”
It feels as if I’m picking up where she left off. A leitmotif of my life has been actually doing the things she talked about doing but didn’t because she was saddled with four kids. My mother deposited her dreams into me, like moms always do to daughters.
Gradually the house has become a home. The decision was long, and so far it seems right. Je ne regrette rien. Non mi pento di nulla.
Here are snippets from my new world (yes, I have a thing about green):
 
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May 13, 2012
“It’s happened,” I emailed family and close friends when I finally bought my dream home in Sicily. “The deed is done!”
My euphoria was the kind of helium-filled joy that you recognize much later as one of those few moments in life when every star in the firmament aligns perfectly and glitters with a rare intensity.
A few days later, in response, an old friend forwarded an email from one of his buddies, a British diplomat in Milan. It read: Anyone buying property in Italy needs psychological counseling. I send my deepest sympathies to the lady. If it is not too late, she should withdraw and run—not walk—as far away as she can from this country.
Talk about bursting my balloon…
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May 5, 2012
It took me years–decades actually–to settle in Europe. An adolescent daydream turned into a young woman’s pipe dream, then a middle-aged reverie.
Time flowed fast as a mountain river in spring.
It took my mother’s death to make me really get it. Time is a Thief.
Do you know what I read to her on her deathbed? Under the Tuscan Sun. A book she’d picked out. As her life ebbed away, mine came strangely into focus. A mother’s last gift to a daughter.
Soon afterward I mustered a little courage, went against my cautious nature, and discovered Southeast Sicily.
Never mind that it took me another five years to find the house with the fat green doors. Find it I did.
Cui camina licca, cui sedi sicca.
Who walks gains, who sits withers.
(Old Sicilian proverb)
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April 29, 2012
Sweet spring days…
of broccoflower and purple cauliflower..
What to do with these plump beauties? (Get them from your venditore ambulente, itinerant peddler, or check Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s).
Cut off the cute flowerets and steam until just tender. Beware of overcooking to mush. Ugh.
Sauté chopped garlic and red pepper flakes in hot olive oil. Add the flowerets and sauté briefly. Salt. Pepper. Mash in an anchovy or two if you like (it adds flavor and won’t taste fishy). Toss together with al dente pasta and a bit of the hot pasta water. Top with grated Pecorino, Parmesan, or Grana Padano.
Dish out. Gobble up. Lick your lips. Kiss your fingertips. Drain your wine glass. Nap.
 Broccoflower, broccolo romanesco, cavolo broccolo romanesco, Romanesco broccoli--or whatever you choose to call it--is sweet & nutty & wonderful.  Purple cauliflower lowers your risk for cancer and diabetes! Click to subscribe to BaroqueSicily.
April 22, 2012
Blank-eyed homes in green pastures.
Humming with lizards.
Cooing with doves.
Which one is yours?
Sicily waits.
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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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