Oratorio Giovanni XXIII

July 17, 2011
The Oratorio is where it’s at.  It’s the church recreational center in cities and villages across Italy.  In Predore, I was walking home from the Lake Iseo ferry and purposely went out of my way to see what was going on at the Oratorio.  There is this magnetic draw to the complex.  It’s a campus with the church and an amazing soccer field made up of plush plastic dirt and grass.  It’s a dream to play on.  There is also a bar serving espresso, alcoholic beverages, ice cream, candy, and snacks accompanied by a pool table, fussball table, and air hockey. And everyone from the village was there. 

Everyone seemed so friendly and happy.   In fact, some of the people saw me play soccer with the boys I was taking care of, and I was invited to play in the tournament.  (One of teams needed another girl on the team.)

Lost my lingerie in Lucca

Monday, February 28, 2011

While traversing through Lucca’s cobblestone streets, I lost my lingerie.  Yes, my pajamas.  Now, the word lingerie is dressing it up a bit (I just like the alliteration).  Really, I’m a single gal who likes to be comfortable.  So what we’re actually talking about here is a pair of black cotton warm-up pants that I’ve had for 10 years, a 2002 Chicago Symphony Orchestra on tour in Buenos Aries long sleeved t-shirt that I won in a sales contest, and a red tank top that I bought at Walgreens for $9.99.  (Plus a dirty pair of scivies.  Where does the word scivies come from?  I don't know.) 

You ask, when did I realize this?  No, is wasn't while I was dashing madly in the rain to catch the cheapest train to Milan at 5:40 in the morning.  No, not, when I stopped and opened my backpack to put on my White Sox rain poncho.  No, not after going in a circle and making a few wrong turns.  Did I mention the rain and the cobblestone streets with my roller suitcase?  No, not while climbing the sidewalk up the 40 foot high wall that surrounds Lucca or down the stairs on the other side which I dragged my suitcase down.  ~~And I never do that, drag my suitcase down the stairs.  I always pick it up and carry it.~~  No, I didn’t notice it fall out as I was running in the underground corridor to track 6 to catch the train nor when I actually dropped my backpack and collapsed on the seat, panting with my Blackhawks championship t-shirt completely soaked in sweat.  Not for the 10 minutes that I was sitting there reading, sweating and completely out of breath, and ignoring the weird stares from the other passengers in the car, 2 middle aged Italians.  No, it was only after I paid the conductor for my ticket plus the 5 Euro surcharge and was gathering my stuff together to get off at Pisa Rossere did I notice.  Aghhh!!!  My bag was unzippered. 

Frantically, I scrambled to remember what was missing.  I had packed everything before going to sleep.  All I could think of was my pajamas.  Well, I was just telling my mom over Skype at the pizzeria with free wifi the night before about how I was tired of carrying so much stuff.  Little did I know that I'd lighten my load and leave my lingerie in Lucca.  Somewhere between the hostel and the train station lies my lingerie.  Arrivedercie!

Great gelato in Rome: Old Bridge Gelateria

For great gelato in Rome, Old Bridge Gelateria offers a variety of flavors, good value (huge scoops), and a friendly staff.  It's right near the Vatican.

They're on facebook:  Old Bridge Gelateria Facebook Page

Map of the location

Just one word: babysitting. There's a great future in babysitting.

If Mr. McGuire in The Graduate were talking to me today at an aperitivo in Milan, he would put his arm around me and say, "just one word:  babysitting.  There's a great future in babysitting."

I've discovered learning English is a luxury in Milan.  It's optional, only for the most motivated, subject to last minute changes of fancy.  And the schools aren't run the way I would run my business. 

On the otherhand, making sure your kids are picked up everyday for school:  mandatory. 

Babysitting.

Mosquitos in Milan

Mosquitos take their vocation to a whole new level in Milan.  Before, I lived on the ground floor.  Now, I'm living on the 7th floor (8th floor by US standards).  No matter where I am at dusk, whether entrenched in the internet or later sleeping in bed, I am attacked. 

The fear invoked upon your first encounter with these miniature monsters is incredible.  You'll do ANYTHING to avoid getting the swollen bumps and endless itching.  You'll sweat in your room with the windows closed.  Cover yourself with a blanklet or a sheet.  You move your legs around irrationally hoping that somehow this fast-moving and irritating insect will be tricked.

No, sir.  These mosquitos are a different breed from the ones in the US.  They move more quickly.  And they're silent---you can't hear them buzzing.  You can't even feel them sit on your skin. 

They're merciless--they'll bite through your clothes. 

My roommate is smart.  She has netting over her bed.

Why there aren't screens on the windows in Italy, I don't know...

I have begun to stop worrying about them.  Mind over matter is my next move with these blood-mugging manipulators.  I'll let know how that goes.

But until, then, I'm itching and moving my legs away...

Update, July 2:  I'm wearing mosquito spray at home every night--it's much better!

Grandaddy

On Monday night, my grandfather passed away.  I wanted to share some of my memories of my grandfather and Godfather, known as Grandaddy.

Grandaddy was an avid outdoorsman. He enjoyed fishing and hunting. On one of my first fishing experiences with him, I think I was 4, I was holding the pole and was reeling in the fish. After it came out of the water, I took one look at it and said, “Too big” and handed the pole off to him. Too big for me! He got a kick out of that and retold that story for the next 28 years.

Grandaddy loved people. Sure, he had his moments, but he loved people. You could tell by his dedication to greet his theatre patrons at the Art Theatre for over 60 years. My grandmother sold the movie tickets, and Grandaddy took the tickets. He welcomed the guests by name, warned the teenagers, and flirted with the women.

He espoused hard work and education. He worked two jobs, running the movie theater and his advertising specialties business retiring only 4 years ago. He was forever grateful for the education that Purdue gave him. He had no qualms preaching the importance of education to anyone, anytime, and anywhere, even on the elevator at the Museum of Science & Industry or at dinner at Red Lobster, much to my embarrassment.

He was a fixture at Purdue football games; he had season tickets for over 50 years. Everyone knew him.

He loved to travel. Whether it was visiting communist Poland in the 70s, hunting in Central America, or going on a safari in South Africa, Grandaddy was up for it.

He loved collecting things. He was an avid stamp and coin collector. He collected birds from all over the world. Most recently, he collected postcards and nature scenes from calendars. He enjoyed it; he said it relaxed him.

Westerns were his favorite. He enjoyed Gunsmoke and Bonanza.

He enjoyed his grandchildren. He roughhoused with Ed and me when we were little and taught us the card games, Hearts and Cribbage, when we were older. He proceeded to beat me in cribbage most of the time, even last summer!

I loved him very much. He meant a lot to me. He will be missed.

There's no other more appropriate way to conclude this than with, Hail, hail, to old Purdue. Heaven’s got another Boilermaker. Boiler up!

More about my grandfather: http://legacy.post-trib.com/obituaries/posttribune/obituary.aspx?page=lifestory&pid=151428633 

Respighi's Fountains of Rome

When I first heard this piece performed at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, Phil Huscher described in the program notes how Respighi chose 4 beautiful fountains in Rome and wrote a piece for each one at a different time of day.  I left the concert thinking, that’s nice; there are a few nice fountains in Rome.  No, there are more than a few…there are HUNDREDS! 

Trevi Fountain is one of the most popular ones.  I witnessed an engagement there.  I saw the couple walk in.  As I was digging through my pockets to find a coin to toss into the fountain, I heard hooting and clapping.  I looked up, and there was that couple embracing.  The girl was crying.  It was sweet.  Then maybe 5 minutes later, some teenage boys were swinging one of their friends back and forth as if to throw him into the fountain.  They didn’t.  They repeated the same process with another friend… and didn’t throw him in.  That’s when the crowd began to boo.

At every major intersection in Rome, there is a fountain.  Piazza del Popolo, Piazza Novona, Piazza Venezia, Piazzo Pio XII.  Then there are fountains on random corners.  Their public water fountains are elaborately decorated.  I saw people drinking from them and refilling their water bottles. 

Respighi writing about the fountains in Rome would be like composing music about the bridges in New York or the hills in San Francisco…what would it be for Chicago?  Alleys in Chicago?  Pizza in Chicago? 

Enjoy my collection of photos of the fountains in Rome to Respighi’s musical interpretation of Trevi at Midday. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d2xWampfa84