The tall, austere cabinet lines the wall with ornate dark-wood carvings of vines and fruit. Evening light streams through the white curtain from the grey cloud covering and the wet world outside.
Boisterous voices, melodic and chimed like chrystal wrap around a double bass, violins and timpani drums. Opera, from Arena in Verona city, recorded and played from a mere disc spinning in the CD player.
He nestles his face into my neck as my hand wraps around his. I side-step in time to the music, spin and twirl in an attempt to mimic a timeless ballroom waltz.
He is peaceful, content and smiles when I spin us around and around in fast motion.
When each song ends, he rocks back and forth impatiently, longing for the next track to start and to move to the rhythm once again.
My son, my son. I cradle his head with my free hand. It is perfectly round, reminds me of my father. I smirk as I recall my father boasting about how his head was perfectly round; he would boast with a cheesy, jovial grin.
My son, my son. He smells like... my son. A smell I never knew yet know so well like he has always been with us.
He has grown so much in the past few weeks. I have learnt to call him "Mio Uomino" = 'My little man". He is a little man.
He smiles and shrieks with delight as I spin him around and let him arch back dramatically to match the tone of the opera. I lift him up above my head and then bring him down swiftly until his feet almost touch the floor, then lift him back up to my arms. He holds my hand and rests his other hand on my shoulder, ready to dance. His Nonna Tina in Australia taught him this.
We dance cheek to cheek and I can feel his cheek rise as he smiles. It is so soft. Suddenly my mind races to the future. I imagine dancing with him one day when I am older and he closer to my age now.
So proud, as I am now.
My son.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Siamo Arrivati - Health check, happiness check: tutto posto 20-02-10
I am sitting at the desk, listening to the rhythmic hum of cars, trucks and motorino's gliding by. Ten feet away, my son is having his mid-morning nap, cuddling up to his Hungry Caterpillar toy and wrapped warmly in sheets, blankets and soft padding woven inbetween the bars of his cot. Incoherent chatter wafts from downstairs along aromas of homemade pasta, cakes, roasted vegetables, chicken and freshly sliced deli meats.
Doors are opened and closed, many shuffling footsteps sound and clink-clanks of utensils on pots and pans during cooking and washing.
On the 10th of February 2010 my son, my partner and I got on a plane bound for Italia. About a week ago we arrived here in Bovolone, a town with a population of 15,000 that resides just 20 minutes drive south of Verona.
Bovolone is as old as most towns in Italy and like most towns in the world, has strong characteristics of its own.
Warm amber coloured paint coats atleast one in 10 buildings. People say 'Va Bon' instead of 'Va Bene'. The furniture, 'i mobili' hand-crafted here in Bovolone is imported all over the world, as its fine sculpted artistic quality can stand proud beside any precious antique pieces.
The handful of times I've gone for a stroll down the main street, which we live on, I am met with many friendly faces, smiles and greetings. 'Foto' they say, amongst other dialect words I can't decipher, noddng and grinning away and I understand that they recognise me from the photo that Giuseppe's parents have displayed in their shop.
Giuseppe's family are well known in the town as they run the local 'Gastronomia'... hmm I'm not sure if that's spelt right. No it's not a stomach illness but Gastronomia means a shop boasting delicious nutricious freshly cooked and prepared food. People come to their shop from as far as Milano, (two hours drive away,) to purhase a package of gnocchi, homemade salami, or the crispiest chicken schnitzels (cottolette)you can find.
Living in the same building as a Gastonomia - dangerous, you may think? Perhaps. I told Giuseppe's mum to lock up the shop at night incase I am so inclined to do a midnight raid. However, that being said, since arriving in Italy, I have been to the gym four times, gone on a handful of hour long walks and played tennis, (or tried to play something that somewhat resembles tennis... patience please while I learn...)
Have I eaten an entire tray of crispy cottolette? (chicken shnitzels.) Nope. I restrict myself to one a day alongside a mountain of spinach and or salad and other cooked vegetables. The veges are always there, always ready to eat. I've been drinking water. Half a glass of wine a day, if any.
It suddenly all seems easy again, like it was before my weight increased by a third during pregnancy. The gym is 25 metres away from home. Tennis courts are 10 minutes walk away. The main street is interesting to walk along, always bustling with people going to and from a variety of shops.
Valentino has taken to bike rides, (the trainer bike that we control with a handle at the back,) and enjoys getting outdoors as much as I do. He is now eating chicken, ham, (prosciutto cotto,) cheese, polenta, (corn meal cooked to perfection,) and loves chewing on fresh bread rolls. He is basking in the admiration of everyone around him, from family to strangers at the shops: 'Ma, che bello!'. He waves at them and does high five or 'batte cinque' and laughs and smiles. He stands without wobble now and moves fluidly around furniture, steady on his feet. He seems to have aged a month in a week.
Giuseppe has started working already, fixing PCs. It didn't take long for the town people to hunt him down as soon as they realised he was back. He is already renowned here for his skills as an IT Technician.
There are schools in Verona where I don't need to know Italian well, I can teach English to adults and get by on my limited Italian. I just have to translate my CV and start researching for opportunities.
Today we are going to catch up with Giuseppe's best friends Marzena and Raffaello, (brother and sister,) and Raffaello's wife Karolina. Looking forward to it.
Will keep you posted.
Here, it's all OK = tutto posto.
Doors are opened and closed, many shuffling footsteps sound and clink-clanks of utensils on pots and pans during cooking and washing.
On the 10th of February 2010 my son, my partner and I got on a plane bound for Italia. About a week ago we arrived here in Bovolone, a town with a population of 15,000 that resides just 20 minutes drive south of Verona.
Bovolone is as old as most towns in Italy and like most towns in the world, has strong characteristics of its own.
Warm amber coloured paint coats atleast one in 10 buildings. People say 'Va Bon' instead of 'Va Bene'. The furniture, 'i mobili' hand-crafted here in Bovolone is imported all over the world, as its fine sculpted artistic quality can stand proud beside any precious antique pieces.
The handful of times I've gone for a stroll down the main street, which we live on, I am met with many friendly faces, smiles and greetings. 'Foto' they say, amongst other dialect words I can't decipher, noddng and grinning away and I understand that they recognise me from the photo that Giuseppe's parents have displayed in their shop.
Giuseppe's family are well known in the town as they run the local 'Gastronomia'... hmm I'm not sure if that's spelt right. No it's not a stomach illness but Gastronomia means a shop boasting delicious nutricious freshly cooked and prepared food. People come to their shop from as far as Milano, (two hours drive away,) to purhase a package of gnocchi, homemade salami, or the crispiest chicken schnitzels (cottolette)you can find.
Living in the same building as a Gastonomia - dangerous, you may think? Perhaps. I told Giuseppe's mum to lock up the shop at night incase I am so inclined to do a midnight raid. However, that being said, since arriving in Italy, I have been to the gym four times, gone on a handful of hour long walks and played tennis, (or tried to play something that somewhat resembles tennis... patience please while I learn...)
Have I eaten an entire tray of crispy cottolette? (chicken shnitzels.) Nope. I restrict myself to one a day alongside a mountain of spinach and or salad and other cooked vegetables. The veges are always there, always ready to eat. I've been drinking water. Half a glass of wine a day, if any.
It suddenly all seems easy again, like it was before my weight increased by a third during pregnancy. The gym is 25 metres away from home. Tennis courts are 10 minutes walk away. The main street is interesting to walk along, always bustling with people going to and from a variety of shops.
Valentino has taken to bike rides, (the trainer bike that we control with a handle at the back,) and enjoys getting outdoors as much as I do. He is now eating chicken, ham, (prosciutto cotto,) cheese, polenta, (corn meal cooked to perfection,) and loves chewing on fresh bread rolls. He is basking in the admiration of everyone around him, from family to strangers at the shops: 'Ma, che bello!'. He waves at them and does high five or 'batte cinque' and laughs and smiles. He stands without wobble now and moves fluidly around furniture, steady on his feet. He seems to have aged a month in a week.
Giuseppe has started working already, fixing PCs. It didn't take long for the town people to hunt him down as soon as they realised he was back. He is already renowned here for his skills as an IT Technician.
There are schools in Verona where I don't need to know Italian well, I can teach English to adults and get by on my limited Italian. I just have to translate my CV and start researching for opportunities.
Today we are going to catch up with Giuseppe's best friends Marzena and Raffaello, (brother and sister,) and Raffaello's wife Karolina. Looking forward to it.
Will keep you posted.
Here, it's all OK = tutto posto.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
I'm starting to pack...
OK firstly, I have NO idea what to pack! I want my books... which I have never counted so I'm about to do a sort of 'guess how many jelly beans in the jar' guess and say that perhaps I have 356 books. Nice number, one for each day. It costs approx. $150 to send a 20kg package that will arrive in three months. It costs $400 if you want it to arrive in one month.
So I'll start with 3, perhaps. One will be 'Eat right for your blood type,' because I'm sort of following that guide with some cheating involved. Cheating = I had some lemon and ginger tea when according to this book, I'm not supposed to have ginger.
I should bring my all time favourite novel, 'Wuthering Heights' by Emily Bronte. The book that eluded me into thinking that a handsome brute with the most extreme selfishness and behaviour problems is romantic. OK I won't bring it.
My astrology books? Giuseppe has already been read all his pages, as he sat quietly as a perfect gentleman and nodded and smiled, probably for the first time elated that he didn't understand some words. Not many other people that I'm going to instantly know in Italy speak or understand English.
I would usually pack something in my carry-on luggage to read on the plane. Though with Valentino, I don't think there'll be much reading time. There isn't any reading time at home, why would there be any reading time on the plane?
I have too much stuff. In the last ten years, I have not moved very far... still, I have moved ten times, back and forth. That and the fact that I am not very good with organising material stuff, I have accumulated boxes upon boxes of miscellaneous junk.
Now... I am going to leave it all behind, tucked away in corners of built-in robes and stacked neatly in the garage of my mother's house. If I don't feel the need to see or use any of it in 5 years, then I will have it thrown away and anything that may be useful to others can go to the Salvo's.
I have one box clearly labelled 'Sentimental Stuff,' or something to that effect, that has an odd assortment of letters, photos, drawings, old school diaries, trinkets, etc. that I just can't discard.
It makes me think of the character in the movie 'Amelie,' the man that she returns the metal box full of his trinkets and memories to. And it's true what he says - one day you are older and all of your memories can fit in one box... so you better be making the most of the time you have left before you end up in a box yourself.
And now we are going to live in Italy for who knows how long? We will send some of Valentino's toys, (especially toys that were gifts,) and I am simply going to re-order his collection of books in Italy because it will be cheaper that way. We have two nephews in Italy, the youngest is three years old so all of his clothes, toys, his cot, pram and anything else we may possibly need is there waiting for us.
I know what to do about packing. I will pack like we are going on an extended holiday, because that is all it may be, we don't have certaintly yet. I don't need all of my books. I'm not going to require any of the miscellaneous junk. I don't need to pack my life into a box. I certanily can't pack my family and friends into a box. People are my life. And Giuseppe and Valentino are my core.
So I'll start with 3, perhaps. One will be 'Eat right for your blood type,' because I'm sort of following that guide with some cheating involved. Cheating = I had some lemon and ginger tea when according to this book, I'm not supposed to have ginger.
I should bring my all time favourite novel, 'Wuthering Heights' by Emily Bronte. The book that eluded me into thinking that a handsome brute with the most extreme selfishness and behaviour problems is romantic. OK I won't bring it.
My astrology books? Giuseppe has already been read all his pages, as he sat quietly as a perfect gentleman and nodded and smiled, probably for the first time elated that he didn't understand some words. Not many other people that I'm going to instantly know in Italy speak or understand English.
I would usually pack something in my carry-on luggage to read on the plane. Though with Valentino, I don't think there'll be much reading time. There isn't any reading time at home, why would there be any reading time on the plane?
I have too much stuff. In the last ten years, I have not moved very far... still, I have moved ten times, back and forth. That and the fact that I am not very good with organising material stuff, I have accumulated boxes upon boxes of miscellaneous junk.
Now... I am going to leave it all behind, tucked away in corners of built-in robes and stacked neatly in the garage of my mother's house. If I don't feel the need to see or use any of it in 5 years, then I will have it thrown away and anything that may be useful to others can go to the Salvo's.
I have one box clearly labelled 'Sentimental Stuff,' or something to that effect, that has an odd assortment of letters, photos, drawings, old school diaries, trinkets, etc. that I just can't discard.
It makes me think of the character in the movie 'Amelie,' the man that she returns the metal box full of his trinkets and memories to. And it's true what he says - one day you are older and all of your memories can fit in one box... so you better be making the most of the time you have left before you end up in a box yourself.
And now we are going to live in Italy for who knows how long? We will send some of Valentino's toys, (especially toys that were gifts,) and I am simply going to re-order his collection of books in Italy because it will be cheaper that way. We have two nephews in Italy, the youngest is three years old so all of his clothes, toys, his cot, pram and anything else we may possibly need is there waiting for us.
I know what to do about packing. I will pack like we are going on an extended holiday, because that is all it may be, we don't have certaintly yet. I don't need all of my books. I'm not going to require any of the miscellaneous junk. I don't need to pack my life into a box. I certanily can't pack my family and friends into a box. People are my life. And Giuseppe and Valentino are my core.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Farfelle hanno comincato... (The butterflies have started...)
Two hours ago I was sitting in Brunetti's, Carlton, (very Italian,) sipping my soy latte (not very Italian,) and enjoying good company with mio amore Giuseppe, his parents Fernando and Teresa and my sister Lucia.
If you sit in the first, more restaurant-type left side of Brunetti's, (Oh I am so rusty with my word flow,) there are enlarged, beautiful black and white photos decorating the walls. One photo is of a man baking bread in the street, round crusty baked bread the size of car wheels. He is lifting one of the loaves on a giant shovel that you see being used in the wood-fire oven pizza restaurants. Another is of two elderly women straining freshly-cooked spagetti in an old-style kitchen. My gaze shifted back and forth between these images and the tranquil faces of Giuseppe's parents as I listened to their words and tried my best to understand them.
Tonight, it started. I thought it started a few days ago, but I can see now that was a false start. The realisation, that this time next month I will be LIVING in Italy has started to grow in my belly and the farfalle (butterflies) are beginning to flit about. Is flit a word? Who cares - I need to learn it in Italian before I start focusing too heavily on polishing my English. I'll ask Giuseppe... OK he said "I am not a butterflies expert" and then started listing five or more different ways I could say 'flit' or 'fly' about. Volare is 'to fly'. Like the song: VOLARE, O-OH! Ugh. Is flit a word? If anyone can help me out I'd appreciate it very much.
If you sit in the first, more restaurant-type left side of Brunetti's, (Oh I am so rusty with my word flow,) there are enlarged, beautiful black and white photos decorating the walls. One photo is of a man baking bread in the street, round crusty baked bread the size of car wheels. He is lifting one of the loaves on a giant shovel that you see being used in the wood-fire oven pizza restaurants. Another is of two elderly women straining freshly-cooked spagetti in an old-style kitchen. My gaze shifted back and forth between these images and the tranquil faces of Giuseppe's parents as I listened to their words and tried my best to understand them.
Tonight, it started. I thought it started a few days ago, but I can see now that was a false start. The realisation, that this time next month I will be LIVING in Italy has started to grow in my belly and the farfalle (butterflies) are beginning to flit about. Is flit a word? Who cares - I need to learn it in Italian before I start focusing too heavily on polishing my English. I'll ask Giuseppe... OK he said "I am not a butterflies expert" and then started listing five or more different ways I could say 'flit' or 'fly' about. Volare is 'to fly'. Like the song: VOLARE, O-OH! Ugh. Is flit a word? If anyone can help me out I'd appreciate it very much.
A part of Italy comes to Melbourne
Today I got my Visa for Italy and we received Valentino's Italian passport! A weight has been lifted off my shoulders - this was the most stressful aspect of it all. Not to say that it has been overly stressful. But paperwork and organising documents is not my preferred passtime - is it anyone's? Hermes from Futurama comes to mind.
On Saturday morning, Giuseppe's parents arrived. They have come straight from winter in northern Italy to Melbourne's scorching January heatwave. They actually prefer the heat here though - in the north of Italy it is extremely humid; probably more like the north of Australia.
I feel bad because we haven't taken them anywhere too exciting yet - but the heat and their jetlag coupled with Italian siestas limit big day trips at the moment and Valentino limits big nights out. Siesta? Wait I'll consult Giuseppe for Italian term rather than Spanish... 'pausa' - ah, like a pause in your day.
'Voglio una pausa' = I want to take a break.
Yes since Giuseppe's parents have arrived, I've been practising Italian more - since they don't speak a word of English. I even did 'spesa' (grocery shopping,) with his mum today and we got by with my limited Italian speaking skills.
I've just realised it has been so long since I sat down to write creativly - that I am very rusty and the words don't flow like they used to. That and the fact that for the past few years I have been both teaching ESL (English as a second language,) and supporting my partner to learn English. This has resulted in my vocabulary being condensed to basic words, eliminating phrases and needless complex language.
Anyway - I was actually writing this yesterday but Valentino woke up and I had to slam my notebook shut and run. Luckily, when I turned on my PC just now this page was still up and I could save my work. If I am going to get back into my writing, these are the things I need to be flexible about. Let's hope I warm up soon and de-rust and dust off my fluency and vocab.
'Woo!'
On Saturday morning, Giuseppe's parents arrived. They have come straight from winter in northern Italy to Melbourne's scorching January heatwave. They actually prefer the heat here though - in the north of Italy it is extremely humid; probably more like the north of Australia.
I feel bad because we haven't taken them anywhere too exciting yet - but the heat and their jetlag coupled with Italian siestas limit big day trips at the moment and Valentino limits big nights out. Siesta? Wait I'll consult Giuseppe for Italian term rather than Spanish... 'pausa' - ah, like a pause in your day.
'Voglio una pausa' = I want to take a break.
Yes since Giuseppe's parents have arrived, I've been practising Italian more - since they don't speak a word of English. I even did 'spesa' (grocery shopping,) with his mum today and we got by with my limited Italian speaking skills.
I've just realised it has been so long since I sat down to write creativly - that I am very rusty and the words don't flow like they used to. That and the fact that for the past few years I have been both teaching ESL (English as a second language,) and supporting my partner to learn English. This has resulted in my vocabulary being condensed to basic words, eliminating phrases and needless complex language.
Anyway - I was actually writing this yesterday but Valentino woke up and I had to slam my notebook shut and run. Luckily, when I turned on my PC just now this page was still up and I could save my work. If I am going to get back into my writing, these are the things I need to be flexible about. Let's hope I warm up soon and de-rust and dust off my fluency and vocab.
'Woo!'
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Introduction...
I have always been, in a sense, 'The Italian Friend,' or colleague. Even though I was born and raised in Australia. My father was also born in Australia and raised here. He never saw Italy. My mother was born in Italy, but migrated here when she was six years old. That was in 1952.
Nonetheless, I am 'The Italian' living in Melbourne.
I was the girl at school who had melanzane sandwiches (eggplant parmigiana.) I talked about my Nonna rather than a Nana or Gran. I spoke of my Papa` and Mamma and Zias and Zios (uncles and aunts). Friendly discussions among the older generation of the family sounded like heated arguements. At Easter I ate crostoli and at Christmas I ate panetone. I wasn't allowed to sleep over my best friends house until 15 years of age. A boyfriend had to come in and meet my father, discuss cars over an espresso or beer and await approval from him. At weddings we danced the tarantella and the duck dance. These things are pretty typical for an Italian family living in Melbourne.
Today, I have a family of my own. My partner Giuseppe and our 8 month old son Valentino.
Valentino was born in Melbourne. Giuseppe was born in Verona, Italy.
We are about to leave Australia for Italy.
Soon I will be 'The Australian' living in Verona.
Nonetheless, I am 'The Italian' living in Melbourne.
I was the girl at school who had melanzane sandwiches (eggplant parmigiana.) I talked about my Nonna rather than a Nana or Gran. I spoke of my Papa` and Mamma and Zias and Zios (uncles and aunts). Friendly discussions among the older generation of the family sounded like heated arguements. At Easter I ate crostoli and at Christmas I ate panetone. I wasn't allowed to sleep over my best friends house until 15 years of age. A boyfriend had to come in and meet my father, discuss cars over an espresso or beer and await approval from him. At weddings we danced the tarantella and the duck dance. These things are pretty typical for an Italian family living in Melbourne.
Today, I have a family of my own. My partner Giuseppe and our 8 month old son Valentino.
Valentino was born in Melbourne. Giuseppe was born in Verona, Italy.
We are about to leave Australia for Italy.
Soon I will be 'The Australian' living in Verona.
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