A Change is Gonna Come
Tonight we are bringing our new puppy home.
He’s an 8-week old Havanese, white with gold and black colorings. We picked this particular breed because they are supposedly not yappy, they’re easy to train, hypo-allergenic and their small size is perfect for us.
We’ve gotten flack for picking a ‘lap dog’ or a ‘toy dog’. Some think they’re fake dogs because of their small size. But we don’t want a dog that will take over the house, or one who will knock us over when greeting us at the door. Just because they are small doesn’t mean that they are less of a dog. Just because they are small doesn’t mean they won’t give us big love.
We picked the name LEO.
A few reasons…
- Astrologically speaking, Leo is his zodiac since he was born August 12.
- King Leonidas – a strong, loyal, passionate and humble leader.
- Leonardo da Vinci – a genius.
- Corleone – infamous family from Mike’s all-time favorite movie.
- And most importantly, the name Leo fits him more so than any other name that we considered.
(Our lawn guy’s name is Leo too. I hope he doesn’t mind that it’s what we decided to call our pup. )
All week, we’ve been preparing for his arrival. We bought food and water bowls, a few chew toys, some treats, a gate… all good stuff. We’ve also been preparing ourselves emotionally and psychologically by doing more research on how to raise puppies, Havanese in particular. We don’t want to mess up.
We are excited and anxious at the same time. Both Mike and I have never had dogs of our own. I’ve lived with a few dogs in the past, and cared for two. But I’ve never had one to really call my own. Mike on the other hand was huge on being anti-house pet. He used to believe that animals belong outside. With time and more exposure to these wonderful critters, he started to have a change of heart. When he met Leo for the first time, he fell in love.
I hope that we measure up to the responsibilities that lie ahead. I hope that we are granted the patience, selflessness and the wisdom that we’ll need to raise a puppy. I hope that Leo is blessed with a generally good disposition and health.
Tonight, our lives will change.
I look forward to discovering untapped characteristics and instincts within ourselves that only the experience of dog-owning can possibly unlock. And of course I look forward to the gift of his company and all the joy he’ll bring.
Simplicity – A Virtue in Life and Food
Before I could get the last matted bunch of bed hair out with a comb this morning, we were already walking to Ciccio Sul Mare for some cornetti with i Dottori and Mike’s parents. It was barely 10 am, and Ciccio’s was out of cornetti and pretty much everything on their menu, so we settled on servings of granita instead. It’s fascinating how such a prominent beach establishment can run out of their menu staples so early in the day, and somehow nobody is fazed. I can’t quite decide if this is a charming, laid-back Southern Italian quality or an annoying inconvenience. My cornetto-deprived taste buds are prodding my better judgment to pick the latter.
Mike’s parents and most of his relatives are like modern-day hunters. They get up early in the day and start ‘hunting’ for the day’s consummables. Instead of a bow and arrow to kill the fowl or a line and hook to catch the fish, they take a trip to the early morning markets and get first pick on the day’s choice produce. They have established relationships with the fishmongers who come by early in the morning and see if there’s anything good in stock. Sometimes his father takes special trips to the forest to pick asparagus. He would leave l’acqua blu to drive up to the other house only to pick tomatoes and zucchini blossoms from the garden. In the past they’ve gone on excursions destined for a specific fountain in a neighboring town only to bottle select drinking water.
It is their every day’s mission to feed everyone well. With this, comes the task of finding the best food possible. Undoubtedly, this is wonderful for us but sometimes I worry that his parents tire themselves out or stress too much about our meals. Sometimes I wish that they take it easy and not worry about food too much. Mike dismisses me with “They are retired and they have nothing else to worry about.” I suppose he’s right. I couldn’t think of a better diversion than food. But I still wish that they’d stop worrying about us dying of starvation if we sleep past 10 am!
Over the granita that was much too sweet to be enjoyable, it was agreed that i Dottori will have lunch with us and enjoy the fresh little clams that Mike’s father bought from the friendly fishmonger just hours before. We walked back to the house and immediately started working on lunch. Dottoressa and Mama worked on the clams and the linguine, and I started making some bruschetta from some AMAZING tomatoes. We all loved the meal and were licking our lips afterwards to get every last taste of the clam sauce. The few ingredients that were the white wine, olive oil, clams, parsley, and red pepper flakes, tossed in with some pasta made for some Italian magic. Such a simple meal, yet it was so good.
Over lunch, there were discussions on dinner which couldn’t come soon enough. It’s Suriaca Night after all and we had been looking forward to this night. We were going over to Mike’s cousin Lina’s house to enjoy white beans that have been slow-cooking all day long in a terracotta jar atop a tripod set over a low wood-burning fire. Of course, it was never to be just suriaca like the name we’ve bestowed on the special night would lead you to believe. Lina served a handful of different antipasti like roasted peppers, salumi, eggplant, potato brasciole. Though all of it was delectable, the main attraction didn’t need much of an introduction. She plated the suriaca, generously drizzled some olive oil, topped with chopped onions and put some crusty bread on the table. There were big pieces of onions that we used as ’spoons’ to scoop up the suriaca into our mouths for proper enjoyment and authentic peasant experience. White beans, water, herbs, salt, onions and oil, accompanied with the bread made for another piece of Italian magic. Who knew that something that was considered as peasant food could be so tasty and satisfying! Lina’s finale is her famous crostata con marmellata which I’ve been deaming about since I last had it two years ago. Her marmellata is home-made from the fruits that grow in her own garden. There was nothing fancy about the entire meal, yet again it was so good.
Mike’s parents are staying in the other house tonight. We are at the beach house. Tomorrow, we are left to fend for ourselves. I can’t bring myself to think of any more food right now. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow’s food will be a different story.
Someday Mike and I will turn into hunters too. It’s an inevitable fact since we are predisposed for such food-centric behaviors. Maybe when we’re retired, if we’re so lucky? As for tonight, I go to bed content with the present and delighted by all things simple and good.
I may not know what we shall eat tomorrow. But I know one thing. Since we had a late night, and the chances of us starving to death in our sleep is slim — I’m certain that we will be sleeping in past 10am.
Time is on my side, yes it is!
The past couple of days have been quiet, except for the occasional visits we get from cousins who are still popping in to say hi.
The water has been a bit rough. Because of this, we haven’t gone out on the boat again. But still we are having quite a vacation – or staycation since we’re pretty much rooted in Santa Maria. We’ve been swimming, feasting on Nutella for merenda, and basking under the Mediterranean sun.
I started a new book - I, Mona Lisa, by Jeanne Kalogridis. I am loving it. Mike is not a big fan of the book, since he has to compete with it for my attention. Too bad for him, my books usually win.
Aside from enjoying a handful of leisurely activities and savoring my precious reading time, I with Mike have also been getting back in touch with nature. Everyday, we enjoy the sight of purple and orange sunsets. We take pleasure in sitting on his balcony at night, listening to the waves crash while looking up at the sky to look for the Big Dipper. We’ve been tracking the size of the moon, and the direction that the wind blows. Is it maestrale? In which case the wind comes from the northwest, and brings with it nice and sunny weather. Is it scirocco? In which case the wind comes from the South (the direction of Sahara). It brings with it unbearably hot weather preceding stormy winds and big waves that take away the sand in front of Mike’s beach house.
I’ve learned so much the past few days about things that put me back in touch with nature and the world. Back home, I don’t even look up to see if the sky is still blue.
Before leaving for vacation, I busted my chops while making sure that I finished my list of tasks for work. Of course, task lists never truly end. I was still thinking of technical issues even on the plane en route to Rome. Now with all the beauty of nature around me, I’ve come to realize that whatever was going on at work, whether it was a pending change control or configuration issue, is all quite trivial, really. There IS a bigger picture, and there exists a world such as this – a beautiful one too!
The world’s wonder is beyond the four walls of the office and its beauty extends farther than the laptop monitor. So much is out there for us to explore and experience. And to appreciate it, we simply must open our eyes, utilize our senses, and recognize the goodness that surrounds us. Along the way if we’re lucky, perhaps we’d learn to see and cherish those things that truly matter and let go of all that’s trivial and small.
Here, I Don’t Hate Mondays
On Monday, Mike, his parents, their neighbors and I went on the gommone (a large inflatable boat) and took a trip along the coast up to the beaches of Grotticelli, and the secluded spiaggietti (small beaches). I say secluded because the beach can only be reached by boat, or if you hike down the steep path from the mountain above (Belvedere) where you can see a great view of the sea and the beaches.
We dropped the anchor in the middle of the sea in front of the spiaggietti. We all went in the water except for Mike’s mom. I personally haven’t been exposed to much open water swimming, so I tend to be apprehensive of the thought. What if I get tired, what if I drink too much water? But I’m open to new experiences so I mustered up enough courage to slide into the deep waters and swim. Mike, of course dove right in.
But the real challenge lay on getting back onto the gommone – gracefully, that is. It was no easy feat, but with this, I fared better than Mike.
The neighbors, whom I will refer to here as i Dottori (The Doctors, since they are both anesthesiologists) are wonderful people from Catania (a city in Sicily). They own the house next door and spend their August holidays in Santa Maria. They are the ones who own the super fast gommone, and they are a fun and groovy couple to hang around.
Later that afternoon, Mike, Ferd and I went for a 5km run, first heading east up the mountain, then northwest through farm roads around Santa Maria. We made it to Groticelli/Capo Vaticano, one of the beaches we went to earlier on the boat, but this time we were high up on the mountain. From there, we took a connecting scenic road with sea views to descend from the mountain, back to the house. The hills were very steep, that’s why now my legs are sore.
While we were jogging, a car started honking at us and it turns out that it’s Nica, one of Mike and Ferd’s cousins who hasn’t come by to visit yet. I guess running into her (literally) saved her a trip to the beach house.
The image below shows the route that we took. On the upper left corner is I Spiagietti and the stretch of the 3 connecting arches just south is what makes up the Groticelli beach.
The boat ride on Monday morning and the 5KM run that afternoon was the perfect way to start the week off. Maybe it won’t be a lazy type of vacation after all. Maybe we’d even lose some weight if only Mike’s parents aren’t so good at feeding us! But hey, I’m not complaining — yet, at least.
Keep It Slow Here
Mini-packets of condiments conveniently placed on top of tables in restaurants usually contain salt, and pepper. You know you’re in Italy when the condiments are olive oil and balsamic vinegar instead of Heinz ketchup and Hellman’s mayonnaise.
These were in the restaurant Tavola Calda in Fiumicino Airport when we ate there for lunch during our layover on Saturday. It was my first time seeing these packets of oil and vinegar. It’s quite surprising really, because Italians take their olive oil and balsamic vinegar quite seriously. I can’t imagine Italian foodies (aren’t they all?) using ones that come in tear-open packets, where they can’t see the color and consistency, and from which they can NOT ceremoniously pour!
Another observation I made is that some places now allow espresso to-go. I wonder if this and the oil and vinegar packets are signs that the MickeyD’s culture may slowly be penetrating the seams of this Slow Food Nation’s eating culture. I hope not. This is where the Slow Food Movement started after all. This is a place where meals and coffee are always reasons to pause, linger and socialize, never gobble, gulp and go! That’s a great thing, and I hope it doesn’t ever change.
Buon Giorno Santa Maria, Buon Giorno Cornetto!
We can’t seem to wake up before 10am.
I want to wake up early to make an early start and enjoy the scene from the picture below, which is the view from the window of Mike’s parents’ house. The second picture is the view from their balcony.
Beautiful, no? How nice it is to wake up to this!
Cappuccino and cornetto are among the things Mike and I like to eat for breakfast whenever we’re in Italy. He prefers cornetto con marmellata, and I prefer cornetto con cioccolato. The thing is that you need to wake up early to get these goods otherwise local bakeries run out. They bake it daily and seem to only have a supply that last until 9am. You would think they’d just make more if the demand is there, but nope! As for the cappuccino, it’s practically illegal to order one after 10 am. Ordering one after 10am or after a meal make it VERY apparent that you’re American. They look at you strangely and if you’re unlucky, they’ll call the carabinieri on you.
Though we didn’t wake up til late yesterday, Mike and I still walked over to Ciccio Sul Mare to get our first cup of capuccio, and first bite of cornetto. Unfortunately, they were out of cornetto, but we bravely ordered cappuccio anyway. Mike recognized his cousin behind the counter so we didn’t get sued for ordering a cappuccio 11:15am . (It seems that everyone is his cousin.)
We then went for a jog up the mountain, took in a view of Capo Vaticano from up high, but decided that it was too hot to continue jogging. We headed back home for a swim instead. So many of Mike’s cousins stopped by to give us their benvenuti. We stayed in the water until it was time to eat lunch. It was a BIG Sunday lunch with a BIG family to boot. Then we took our afternoon siesta that lasted longer than I intended (siestas in the beach house are OUT OF THIS WORLD.) We woke up and had some Spumante and Pan di Spagna with cream and peaches, then heard mass where we saw and greeted more cousins.
Around 10pm, Mike, Ferd (Mike’s cousin who attends University of Pisa) and I headed to Tropea, a city perched on top of a mountain with a great night life and fantastic views. We went for some late night pizza and midnight snack gelato. I am hooked — to both the pizza from Pizzeria La Boheme, and the gelato from Gelateria Mimmo! Mike and I shared a pizza with rucola, grana padana shavings, and prosciutto crudo. It was perfect. The melt-in-your-mouth prosciutto was laid on top after the pizza came out of the oven, hence it’s crudo, or uncooked. The crust was perfectly thin, but not dry. Just how we like it! At Mimmo, I had un piccolo nocciola (hazelnut) and panna cotta flavor. Here, the small is truly a small and not mammoth like in America. Mike got his own nocciola. I don’t like sharing when it comes to ice cream. I want my own piccolo cup.
Needless to say, we had a very filling day yesterday – and food here is amazingly good.
But I still want my cornetto.
Today, we woke up late again (it must be jet lag, or the late night in Tropea). Mike’s parents must have anticipated this since they know that neither Mike nor I are morning people. They had gone to the bakery early and gotten us some cornetti, both marmellata and ciccolato before they ran out! YAYY!
They’re great at making sure that we’re well-fed.
Time at a Stand Still
August 2 is my father’s birthday. He turns 60 today and will be celebrating with my mom and some friends back in Texas with a dinner party at a nice restaurant.
Last night, we spent a few hours eating and chatting with Mike’s family. I didn’t do too bad with communicating. I can understand way better than I can speak. For some reason, the language came much easier to me two years ago. I need to be better at practicing my Italian even when I’m not in Italy!
After everyone left, Mike and I stayed out on their balcony and listened to the waves crash. The air here is different. It’s fresh, light and has no smell to it, unlike the Jersey shore where the air is thick, and there’s a smell that you could recognize from blocks away. I think we Jerseyans have associated this to the ocean smell, and some have come to love it. But I’ve realized that there’s no distinct smell or heaviness to the air in beaches not on the Jersey shore.
I was determined to wake up early today even though we got to bed late last night. At some point, my eyes opened and my gaze fell straight to the clock in the room, anxious that I’d slept through the morning of our first full day of holiday bliss. The clock read 7:45. Okay, not too bad. I closed my eyes and slept some more.
The next time my eyes opened, I felt that I’d slept too long. So I dreadfully looked at the clock again. It said 7:45. Okay, not bad. But wait… I felt much more rested. DOH! Turns out the clock was broken.
It was almost 11 am. Boooo!
How I wish that time could stand still just like it does in the broken clock. I don’t want our vacation to zoom past us. I wish it goes by slowly, and I want to make sure that we savor every moment of it.
I wonder if my father, as he turns 60 today, also wants time to stand still or if he feels that time is going too fast and his life is zooming past him. To me, he will always be 48, strong, tall and handsome even when he’s 90 and gray.
Making it count is what’s important. That goes for this holiday, my dad’s 60 years, and more importantly, our lifetime.
Happy Birthday Pops!
A Small Town in Southern Italy
Mike’s parents come from a small town in Southern Italy called Spilinga. They moved to the U.S. in the 60’s to escape the post-war depression that gripped Italy especially small towns in the south. Since they’ve retired, they spend half of the year in Italy (May-October), and half of the year in the U.S. (October-May) They still have a lot of relatives who live in Spilinga so they feel right at home when they go back. How nice it is to be retired and settled, in two countries nonetheless!
Our flight from Fiumicino to Lamezia was 40 minutes delayed. We, together with our 3 pieces of luggage, were welcomed by Mike’s father and his cousin at the airport. Sporting his 5-Series, his cousin flew on the Autostrada, and made it to Spilinga in half an hour. Had his father driven, it would have taken an hour. But normally it takes 45 minutes. In any case, I love being on the road with Italians. Most drive fast, and those who drive slowly know how to get out of the way or stay in the right lane.
Spilinga has a population of about 1500 people who are referred to as Spilingese. It may be safe to say that the population of Spilingese in northern New Jersey is bigger than that of the actual town. I think it’s interesting that even though the post-war exodus has limited Spilinga’s population growth, generations of Spilingese, both old and new still manage to find a reason to return.
Below is an image of the map showing this particular region of Southern Italy. Circled in red is Lamezia, and in white is Spilinga. Clearly, it’s at the top part of the shoe, close to the toe of Italy.
Upon arriving in Spilinga, we quickly said hello to a few cousins and then got back in the car to find our way down to the beach house. Mike’s parents have a beach house in Santa Maria, one of the beaches in Capo Vaticano. It’s about 5 kilometers from their house in Spilinga, and the journey down is quite nauseating because of tight windy roads on steep slopes of the mountain. The image below doesn’t give the terrain any justice, but it gives you an idea.
Finally, we arrived in Santa Maria, our base for the next 2 weeks. The water is still and blue, and the weather is lovely. The house sits right on the Mediterranean, the water crashing 5 feet away during low tide.
Below is a map image of the coast, marked where the house is situated.
Mike put his bathing suit on the moment we got to the house and jumped right in the water. You could almost see his head in the image above! 
He’s so much like a happy child right now, it’s cute. Come to think of it, this is the place where he spent practically every summer of his life. It’s where his roots are. It’s like being home.
For dinner, Mike’s mom made stuffed pizza and Mike’s cousins are coming over. And so our vacation has begun.
Ciao Italia!
Our long awaited vacation is finally here. It’s our last planned trip to Italy where my boarding pass still bears my father’s last name. This is the last time I will be referred to by servers as Signorina. The next time Mike and I come back to Italy, we will be Mr. and Mrs. Pontoriero. Then I shall be addressed as Signora. I am NOT ready for Signora.
The trip to Fiumicino went quickly. We took a late night flight from Newark to Rome. Then we had to connect to Lamezia where Mike’s father was fetching us. I woke up on the plane just before the flight attendants served the dependable croissant with butter breakfast while flying over the alps.
As we disembarked and started walking through the terminal, I was filled with excitement.
The Passport Control official barely looked at me or my passport. He was working on his computer like it was a matter of life and death. Without a stamp on my passport, I looked behind me only to see that the matter of life and death was Tetris!
It’s beginning to feel a lot like Italy!
The big Samsung billboards with the Squadra Azzurra and scenes from their 2006 World Cup victory still dominate the walls of Fiumicino. I reckon they’ll be up there until the Azzurri boys win another World Cup, whether it takes another 24 years or not. And of course the Dolce & Gabbana and Ferragamo adverts aren’t missing either. The cleverly named duty free shop Good Buy Roma, seemingly present in every corner while selling the same goods, is still present… in every corner. And selling… the same goods. Walking further, the smell of Italy fills the air as we walk past a few espresso bars, a gelateria, and a pasticceria with our beloved freshly-baked cornetti (a better version of the French croissant) filled with chocolate or marmellata (usually apricot or peach marmalade). Close to our gate is a ‘fast-food’ type of eatery, however instead of burgers and greasy firies, they offer sandwiches with prosciutto and arugula, or fresh mozzarella and tomatoes. While feasting on the smells and the sight of all that was good around me, I thought to myself, Ciao Italia! We meet again.
Being in this familiar airport gave me joy. Having gone through Fiumicino numerous times in the past for business and leisure trips, I know what to expect and it’s quite reassuring that not much changes. This sense of comfort in a way eased my worries about meeting Mike’s relatives the second time around. Worries like: “Will I be able to communicate well, even though I haven’t practiced my Italian in a while?” “Will I fit in?” “Will they find me too different, since I am not Italian?”
I know it’s silly that I let my nerves get to me, since I’d already been to his hometown in southern Italy and met most of his relatives two years ago. It went amazingly well and I loved it! But as time passes, one forgets what to expect, the familiarity between acquaintances fades and anxiety over the unknown builds all over again.
Still in familiar Fiumicino, we were getting hungry, and everywhere we turned, there was food! But first, we wanted to check if we could get on an earlier flight to Lamezia. The domestic terminal was bustling since it’s the beginning of the August holidays in Italy and everyone is travelling. We fell in line at the Alitalia counter to inquire about getting on the next Lamezia flight. There were three counters open, and two people ahead of us. Three different people on separate occasions cut in, pretending to ask a ‘quick’ question at first, but somehow held up the attendants indefinitely. Funny that nobody was incensed by this, except of course the Americans (or non-Europeans) who were waiting for their turn. That saying “When in Rome, do as the Romans do” came to mind. But we couldn’t quite do what the Romans did! We patiently waited. And when we finally had our turn forty minutes later, the earlier Lamezia flight was too full and about to leave. At least we tried. And I thought, Really, not much changes around here! Forming lines is still optional. Moving lines are still slow.
We had over three hours to kill and we were starving. We snagged a spot in Frescobaldi. It’s a wine, salami and cheese bar in the terminal. We got 2 glasses of red Tuscan wines, and ordered a plate of carpaccio (wafer thin-sliced raw beef, with arugula, parmiggiano, and capers). It was divine, considering we hadn’t stepped out of the airport yet. Then we decided to try Tavola Calda for lunch, a restaurant in the airport that had reasonably priced meals. We found the food to be less than mediocre, but it sustained us anyway.
Afterward, Mike had his shot of espresso at Gran Cafe Illy, and I tried crema illy for the first time. It’s reminiscent of a frozen shot of espresso, that has a texture of an in-between shake and ice cream. I loved it so much that I’m adding this to my list of favorite things.
With full bellies and powered by potent coffee, we eagerly waited to board our flight. I eagerly anticipated the next 14 days of our vacation and looked forward to falling in love with this beautiful country as I did during my previous visits.
As we climbed the aircraft’s stairs, I took a breath of some Italian fresh air — well, as fresh as tarmac air gets. I set my silly worries aside and greeted Italia with a happy Ciao! And Calabria, here we come!
Nosy Questions Irk Me
Sometimes people ask money-related questions that make me feel uncomfortable.
Since Mike and I recently got engaged and bought a house, such questions have come up on several occasions from different people.
Questions like:
“How much did you pay for your house?”
“How much was your down payment when you bought your house?”
“How many carats is your ring?”
“How much did Mike spend on your engagement ring?”
These irk me!
It’s nosy, not to mention rude.
Why do people feel the need to know specific financial details of others? And they ask so blatantly, often prefacing the question with “If you don’t mind me asking…”.
I want to answer, In fact I do mind, what’s it to you?
The answers to these materialistic questions should NOT have any bearing on anyone’s life but ours. Does it make someone’s life better knowing how much our mortgage loan is, or how much Mike spent on the ring? If the intent is to inquire about the home-buying or diamond-shopping process, then questions like “What were the requirements to get a home loan?” or “Can you recommend a jeweler you trust?” may be more fitting. Otherwise, “Congratulations!” really is sufficient, thank you.
Unless they’re planning to move to the same block in the same neighborhood, they should be doing their ‘market research’ elsewhere. Even then, realtors can provide the comp prices. Don’t ask me. But wait, what am I talking about? These nosies aren’t moving into our neighborhood. Thank goodness for that. They ask because they’re NOSY!
These questions are materialistic, superficial and irrelevant to any conversation. I feel like my worth or Mike’s is being assessed. Any answer gives the person the power to judge. Anything I say could lead to thoughts like “Wow, such big spenders!” or “Wow, they’re cheap”, depending on how the nosies subjectively perceive the answer.
I don’t want to be judged. However, not giving an answer or dodging the question somehow makes ME the rude one.
Asking these questions is inappropriate. These questions should NOT be asked unless the inclination to find out serves a good purpose and makes someone’s life better somehow.
The price of my house, or the ring on my finger, or the shirt on my back is nobody’s business. Especially not the nosies’.