About Looking for Relatives

This is my second post of the day so if you're not tired of reading when you finish, go on to the next.

Yesterday started many months ago when we got a letter from our daughter's mother-in-law. Jean DiCocco's mother and father immigrated from Sicily near the turn of the century (the last one, that is) and Jean was born here (oops, there) in the States. Jean's letter asked us to see if we could find anyone from her family still living here. With the letter she sent a photo of her with her father and his birth certificate listing the name of the town in Sicily where he was born.

We put this off for as long as we could because........... I think our greatest fear was "What if we found them." What do you say. Hi? We came to see what you looked like? You don't know us but you might be related to someone we know in America? Good-bye. Seemed a bit eccentric to drive four hours to not know what to say. Besides....we don't speak Italian well enough to ask all the right questions or know what the answer is.

But, Jean had asked us to do it and we're always up for an adventure so finally we chose the day to go. Taking our map and trusty GPS we set off on our adventure. Even on the map the road to Basico was a miniscule snake slithering into a never-never land and we were a bit nervous.

The drive was amazing. Tiny little towns nestled between giant hills. Herds of sheep drifting lazily across the road, cows sidling into our pathway so that we had to get out and "encourage" them to move on. Puffy chestnut balls clinging to their trees, not willing to let go for another week or two. And the road itself..........let's just say that not even a snake has that many wiggles.

We finally entered the town of Basico and immediately were impressed with it's beauty. High on the hill overlooking valleys of trees and farmland, it was clean and new and modern looking with just enough antiquity to capture our hearts.

I took the plunge and,while Bob took photos and video,I stopped everyone I saw (both of them) and told them my story. In my broken Italian I said we were looking for the mother of the husband of my daughter--(why didn't I just look up the word for mother-in-law.....or even just say friend?--hindsight). One lady said she used to know some Chiofolos (pronounced: key-o'-fo-lo accent on the first o....not that it matters) but they moved to Messina.

Then we went into a little pastecierra (pastry bar) for a drink and bathroom. I told the young woman our search and she replied, "La mia madre (got that so far?) e' Chiofolo." So, there we had found a possible relative. I got her mother's name and address and will send that to Jean. Mission accomplished.

But-----don't stop here. There's more to come.

We walked around the town a little and kept coming back around to an older man who was taking things out of his car, carrying them into his "house." About the third time we passed him he asked if we were looking at antiquities. We said yes and he pointed up the mountain and mentioned the castle and church. Then he asked us to come inside to see something. When we followed him in we were surprised to see it was not a house at all but the place where he made provolone cheese---of course the old fashioned way. There were barrels of whatever it's made from. Shaped provelone soaking in vats of salt water and provelone hanging from the rafters ready to take to the shops. He cut some off and gave us a taste. Soft and mellow, I could have eaten much, much more of it. It was so much better than the provelone I'm used to, and we get it "fresh" from the market. I wish we could have bought some to take home but the stores were closed for riposo--"riposo" means "I rest" in Italian. We had to be satisfied with the chunks of manna we had.

As we were leaving his little one-person factory, I told him of our quest. He stood up straight and tall and said, "Io sono Chiofolo." You guessed it, we had found another possible family member. What a treat. We took his picture and thanked him as best we knew how but he wasn't ready to let us go yet. He urged us into his car and took us up the mountain to visit the church he said was so beautiful. When we got there, it was closed in preparation for a wedding. (There were people arriving as we got into the car to leave). I could tell he was disappointed that we didn't get to see what he was so proud of. We said good-bye to Antonio Chiofolo back at the car and thanked him again.

What more could there be to top this experience? We reluctantly left Basico and headed for home. What an Italian experience. We really do live in paradise.

Pizza the Italian Way

Last Sunday was another "festa" at Giuseppe and Mimma's house. They are such party people. Ten thirty in the morning Mimma started the pizza. A wooden trough held a yellowish flour, yeast and salt. There were four of us women in the kitchen and it was as much a social affair as it was about making the dough.

As water was poured into the flour mix we took turns working it into the dough. What a great experience. Bob came over and took these photos. When the dough was just right Mimma scraped the bottom of the trough with a metal scraper and poured olive oil into the bottom, then worked it just enough to get the dough enclosed in the oil and pushed it over to the side. Next it was cut off a chunk of dough, slap it on the bottom of the trough, work it into a ball and set it on a cloth-covered board to rise. Mimma covered it with a cotton cloth then about five or six layers of heavy blankets. (And here we're always careful to put something very light on our dough.)

The dough rose while we women chatted. The men went off somewhere. (Which was probably another Italian experience Bob should talk about sometime.) All came back together to put the pizzas together.

Everything from anchovies to zucchini was available to put on pizza. Bob and I brought sun-dried tomatoes (which I can never get enough of) and calamata olives. Everyone brought something.

The pizza was cooked in a pizza oven outdoors. Made of bricks and stone, the pizza oven is a staple at those houses with room for it. It's used not only for pizza but also for the wonderful Italian bread that just doesn't cook the same in our American ranges.

Wood is burned in the oven to get the stones hot enough to cook then the wood is pushed to the back and the stones are brushed to be ready for the mixture of wonderful ingredients--fresh mozarella, fresh tomatoes (they don't use pizza sauce like Americans do), prosciutto, olives, whatever the mind can imagine. (Mine had my favorite of sun-dried tomatoes and chopped basil.) Each pizza is placed onto a "peel" (in the left hand of the lady in the back)and is slid off onto the "floor" of the oven. It cooks in about 5 minutes to a golden brown and is ready to eat.

Eating it was the best part, of course. I think this was the best pizza I had ever had in my life. The crust was light and tender, the toppings perfect. Do you think, when I get to heaven, God will let me eat that same pizza daily for the first few hundred years?

Another encounter with the traffic police

Do you recall when we first got here and parked in the wrong place in Caltegirone and came back to find the tow truck pulled up to the car? Well, today was a de ja vue day.

Our principal, Nadine, had to fly out to go to a friend's funeral and apparently drove around the airport for an hour and a half to try and find a parking place. None to be had. So, finally, in desperation, she parked in a lot but in a part of the lot that was reserved for specific vehicles. Her plane was scheduled to leave in about a half hour and she had to check in at the counter--no room to spare timewise.

She immediately called our friend and school counselor, Le, to ask her to come get the car. Le grabbed Bob and I and we set off for the airport. The directions we had to the car were, "In the old parking lot, near the rental car place, in front of the terminal."----------5000 cars were parked in the lots that fit that description. (Oh, yeah, she left the doors unlocked and the keys in the car--in a major city airport--and--it's a new Saab convertible

So Le went in one lot and I went into another and Bob drove around and around the airport waiting for us to find the car.................up one aisle, down the other, trying the doors of any silver convertibles with black roofs. Luckily we each found only about five and none of them blared out with a car alarm.

Finally, at the back of one of the lots Le found the car but there were several men gathered around it. She was speaking to them in English and they didn't seem to understand so I tried my (very bad) Italian. I guess one guy got tired of trying to make out what I was trying to say because he finally said, "Speak English." We explained that our boss asked us to pick up her car but the end result was the same.

Yup...tow truck and parking ticket. We had to pay 40 Euro ($53) to get out of the lot and Nadine will be paying another 35 Euro ($47) for the parking ticket when she gets back. What a day--what an adventure living here is.

Ken and Lynette are coming!!!

We bought the tickets yesterday for Ken and Lynette to leave Kansas City on October 2. they get to stay for a little over a week. Now we just have to decide on all the special things we want to do while they're here. I suppose we should ask them first. But in the meantime I can think of a few things.

1) Dinner with Giusseppe, Mimma, Alfio, Marissa, etc. Just a huge dinner with all our Italian friends.

2) Go to the market in Misterbianco. That's almost a must because there is so much of Sicily there.

3) Have gelato in a gelateria. They won't eat ice cream ever again without thinking of the wonderful gelato. But then, again.....granita is nice, too, especially since I've discovered "tonica con limone" (tonic with lemon granita). Or...a granita with brioche, m-m-m-m.

4) Taoramina is essential for both its beauty and the shopping. Oh, and they have a 13th century Greek/Roman ampitheater there that is still in use today.

5) We want them to be able to say they waded in the Mediterranean Sea so we'll need to go to Donna Lucato or somewhere like that. We could take them closer (like Catania) but they'd have to go back and say they'd dipped their toes in the Ionian Sea and then they'd have to explain where that was.

6) Bob says you almost can't come to Sicily without seeing Agrigento. What a beautiful place with ancient Greek temples just like in all the photos.

7) We've been looking forward to taking them to the fall festival in Zeferana for a long time. It will just be starting and people travel far to go to it. A typical Sicilian festival.

8) Our friends have a pizza oven and live near Zeferana so we'll probably have to do both those things in one day. We want them to see a pizza cooked in one of those ovens. It's really interesting.

9) Sicilian food. Ah-h-h-h What more is there to say about that?

10) The Gambino winery. Another very interesting place and it's way up the mountain.

11) Maybe the mountain if it's spewing out lava. It was doing that one night just this past week and people from the school hopped in their cars and drove up to get a good look at the spout. A really great sight. One way or the other they will see the mountain, it's the central focus of everything in our area.

Ken and Lynette.....don't get nervous. We won't run you too much but.....could you stay maybe a year?

Such a nice place to be

Dear ones, I have to begin this blog by saying I love you, I miss you and there were many tears when we left you to come back to Sicily. Saying that, I now can begin my blog.

Last week, sitting among Italian friends and acquaintances drinking strange (to us) drinks of lemon granita in tonic water (not bad, by the way) watching the parades and people of our little town, (check our our flikr photos) I was reminded once again of what a wonder life we are living, what a wonderful place we are living in and what wonderful people the Sicilians are to accept us as friends. We are very blessed.

Most Americans never have this opportunity. They, like we have before, travel to a new place, quickly take photos and hurry to the new place to take more photos never getting the chance to get to know a place and its people. Even most of the Americans here in Sicily don’t get to experience it like we have because they live with other Americans, work with them and eat with them either on or off base. Many of the apartment areas in town have several Americans living there and, frankly, if I were a woman living alone, I might choose the same thing.

I am very thankful we live where we do and that the Fortunatos have chosen to bring us into their circle of friends. They, as most Sicilians, are very gracious people.