My Ephemeral Wanderings, Cont,

In my ephemeral wandering thoughts about those who have gone on physically, but are always with me spiritually I remain in Italy. My mind rests on Maria Dellafiora, the wonderfully loving mother of Carlo and Laura, my good friends.

She was a very talented seamstress by trade , and worked out of her home, all the while taking care of her family. When I think of her she always has that amazing smile on her face to accompany her soothing voice and the positive words she constantly shared. Whenever I would return to Italy, and she would see me, her whole face would brighten up as she would utter excitedly, “ Ecco, La nostra Loretta,” (here is our Loretta,) the essence of unconditional love!

Before I leave Pieve di Campi Zio Gianni pops up with his amazing, magnanimous spirit, love of life, people, and wine and it makes me smile. I can still hear him as he once counseled me, “ Speranza; bisogna avere speranza; se non c’è speranza; non c’è nulla! (Hope; you have to have hope; if there is no hope; there’s nothing !) So profound was my love for him that I devoted an entire blog to him after his death a few years ago.

Next, I meander up the hill to Campi. Here I see Zio Geppe, my grandmother’s youngest brother, whose face seemed only to smile, as I can not ever remember a frown! When I was a child, I was rather large in girth, and he coined the expression, “Bambolona,” ( big doll.) On my first return trip, though no longer as hefty, he continued to use this nickname lovingly each time he greeted me.

Next, is Zia Nerina, the wife he married late in life. Generous of nature, she always had open arms, and I spent a fair amount of time with her. She enjoyed talking, gossiping as it were, but still, she was so enjoyable. I see myself in her kitchen, making gnocchi from scratch with her, which we ate with a fair amount of wine after which I enjoyed a nice, long, comfortable afternoon pisolino or nap.

Up the road is Zia Desolina who never married and was pretty religious, but she loved to laugh and was so happy to see me which she demonstrated with her huge grin. She loved listening to my sister and I banter in English and irritate each other , as siblings do.

My very fond memory of her was when a cousin from New York tried to teach her how to say “fork,” but she simply could not pronounce it correctly, so what came out, was the infamous four letter word! F. . . K! I’m not sure if she purposely did not say it correctly, or whether she knew what she saying was inappropriate. I can still see and hear people doubled over in laughter.

Her beauty and love was especially manifested in her creation of a sweet pastry she called a pesca, which means peach . She formed two hollow halves of homemade dough, inside which she inserted a delicious cream filling. This delicacy would only appear when we visited, and always made me feel special.

Down the road in another village, Spalavera, is Zia Adalgisa, my godmother, whom I did not know well, but who always was so welcoming, and always prepared a feast whenever she knew I was coming!

One of her sons, my cousin, Egidio, is the next person who brings a smile to my face. He resembled my dad so much in his mannerisms and calm demeanor that I was naturally drawn to him. As with all the people aforementioned a feast always awaited me when I’d visit, served with that unmistakable love.

Here I rest my mental, momentary meanderings, savoring these special individuals before moving across the English Channel to London and my mother’s brother, two sisters, and cousins, and more smile inducing, spirit raising memories, thoughts, and feelings!