Bones and Ancient Whispers: an Italian Halloween post

On our 2015 Girls' Trip to Italy, our first day full day in Rome began with the Pope's Angelus Blessing in St. Peter's Square, after which we visited the  Catacombe di S. Domitilia featuring 15 km of catacombs, an underground church, and a 2nd century fresco of the Last Supper. 

The catacombs were both beautiful and somber. As we walked through those ancient passageways, we could hear the whispers of those early Christians who not only escaped to the catacombs to secretly practice their faith, but who may have also been secretly buried there in a Christian ceremony.  

Catacombe di S. Domitilia

2nd century fresco of the Last Supper

ancient passageways and ancient whispers

After the catacombs, those ancient whispers became a little more spine-chilling when we visited a Capuchin Crypt where walls, furniture, and chandeliers were decorated (or built) with ancient human bones from Capuchin brothers. 

Evidently, in the early 1600's Pope Urban VIII, whose brother Antonio Barberini was a Capuchin brother, ordered the remains of thousands of Capuchins excavated from a nearby monastery and had their bones placed along the walls of the crypt like works of art and symbols. The crypt houses the remains of about 3,600 brothers buried between 1500 and 1870.

While seemingly macabre, the Capuchins believed that ossuaries are a silent reminder of our own mortality and the passage of life on earth. 

But what did we think? Yikes! This was one of those places where we could say, "Been there, done that. No need to go back."

 And then, like the final BOO! at the end of the Haunted Mansion ride, we encountered this sign upon exiting the Crypt:

"What you are now we used to be; 

what we are now you will be."

When NOT to count carbs

Yesterday my mom hosted a luncheon in honor of Sister Lorraine, a Polish nun visiting from Chicago. Seated around the table were five Italian women (Silveria, Rosanna, Gemma, Carla, and my mom, Massimilla), one British woman (Shirley), and me.

I love it when I get to hang out with these women because, let me tell you, they know how to live life to the fullest. Case in point: almost every one of them showed up to my mom's house carrying a bottle of wine.

Oh, yeah.


And they are funny!


They tell funny stories and tell funny jokes and are incredibly self-deprecating. They speak English one minute, Italian the next, and sometimes they combine the two and make up words which somehow make perfect sense.


At one point I realized there were a gazillion conversations going on at the same time, and when you consider there were only eight of us seated at the table ... well, it's mind boggling. And crazy. And all kinds of wonderful.


When I took out my iPhone to take a photo, they obligingly posed; afterwards, it was funny to see all these Italian women (and one British one) whip out their phones to take photos, too. Then they texted the photos to each other. And tried to send them via WhatsApp and Facebook Messenger. It got a tad confusing, and before I realized what was happening I was holding three phones with instructions to do this and do that.


And then there was the food, which is always phenomenal. The problem was that I am currently practicing carb cycling and Mondays are always low carb days and my mom made pizza. Homemade pizza, with dough she kneaded that morning. Pizza with prosciutto and arugula, my absolute favorite. It was going to be hard to stick to my program.


Earlier that morning I looked in the mirror and gave myself a pep talk about the importance of steely resolve and resisting temptation and how I was only allowed two small slices of pizza. I mean it, I told myself in the mirror.


But seated with these wonderful women my steely resolve slipped just a little; HOWEVER, in my defense I dare anyone to sit at that table and NOT get caught up in the moment and just enjoy life.


So I had THREE slices of pizza with prosciutto and arugula. Oh, and apricot crostata for dessert.


La dolce vita ... what can I say?

Buon Compleanno, Roma

Today the Eternal City celebrates its 2,771th birthday (based on the legendary founding of Rome by Romulus in 753 BC). Auguri, Roma! I have been there four times, but there is still so much to see, do, and experience. I keep a running list on what I plan to do on my next visit so, Roma, a presto (until then)!


And in case you don't have anything else to do this weekend other than read about Rome, here are some links of my adventures in Rome over the years.


1- The first time I visited Rome, go here.


2- Here's the time I attended the Angelus Blessing with Pope Francis along with 22 women who traveled with me to Rome.


3- Yes, I lost my temper in Rome. You can read about it here.


4- From Caravaggio to Reality. Planning a Girls' trip to Italy. Read all about it here.


5- McDonald's in Rome? In which I speak about the Slow Food Movement in Italy. Go here for an excerpt.


6- In which I share some Pope stories.


7- God, Michelangelo, and light sabers. Read about my art lesson here.


8- St. Peter's Square, after dark. A story about the light in the Pope's window.


9- How to parallel park in Rome. See the photo here.

Unbeknownst to me, my friend took that photo of me (upper right) as I was

listening to Pope Francis' Angelus Blessing. It's not a particularly flattering photo,

but it's real. I'm smiling, but also crying, and reflected in my sunglasses is the

window where the Pope was speaking.

St. Joseph Feast Day Box

Today is the Feast Day of St. Joseph, or la festa di San Giuseppe! It's a big celebration in southern Italy, and it's one we celebrate as a family. Some years we go all out and host a big party, inviting the parish priests and setting a table filled with Italian food and wine; some years we celebrate quietly with just the family; one year I hosted March Bunco and shared the tradition with my friends.


This year I wanted to give the means for our older boys to carry on the tradition no matter where they are in the world, so I prepared a St. Joseph Feast Day box and mailed it to them. The contents included: a small St. Joseph statue, prayer cards, a published article I wrote on St. Joseph, the story behind the tradition, a package of pasta, a container of breadcrumbs, and fava beans.


Now, I don't know if my sons will do anything more than open the box and give its contents a cursory glance. And that's okay. But maybe, on a March 19 in the future, they will share the tradition with a girlfriend or some roommates; maybe one feast day they will prepare a simple pasta dish and set out a bowl of breadcrumbs signifying sawdust of St. Joseph the carpenter; and maybe there will be a year when they will need the comfort of family and tradition and reach for the box.


St. Joseph will be waiting for them.

**********************************************************************************


You can read about our traditions below:


I Never Knew, a published article about my affinity to St. Joseph


Celebrating Italian Style, how we celebrate St. Joseph's Feast Day


Photo collage of St. Joseph celebrations through the years ...

The Tent

This time last year I was one of the featured speakers of the Sacred Heart Garden Festival, and in the days leading up to the event I was nervous. While I had spoken to women's groups and Bible study groups on numerous occasions, this time I would not only be speaking in a larger venue, but I would also be addressing an unknown audience; specifically, an audience of  gardeners when I was not (by any stretch of the imagination) a gardener.


To add to the nervousness, I wasn't even sure how many people would attend my talk. If anyone at all.


But I had a topic for which I was passionate (The Peasant Kitchen and Slow Food: The Italian Approach to Food, Dining, and Healthy Living) and after several months of preparation, I was ready to take everyone on a journey from Nonna's kitchen, to Rome's Spanish Steps, and finally to a garden party ... Italian style.


Ultimately that day turned out be a fun journey on so many levels. To be sure, it was a LOT of work. I used many props and visual aids (including a farm table), all of which had to be lugged down to the festival. And next time I speak in a large tent I am going to insist on air conditioning because between talking for almost an hour, assembling three different tablescapes, and channeling all my Italian passion and animation -- it got a little warm hot. But it was all good.


And best of all?


People came. The tent was full.

**Below is a synopsis on my presentation ...

"Open my heart and you will see, Graved inside of it, Italy."

Robert Browning, British poet

Andiamo a fare una passeggiata, my Nonna would often say to me, Let's go for a walk. Those walks are the reason why Verona -- and indeed, all the boot that is Italy -- holds a special place in my heart. I've visited the big cities (Rome, Venice, Florence, Naples), driven along the winding roads of the Amalfi Coast, hiked through the Dolomites, and sailed to Capri. I've watched the sun rise and set behind a row of Cypress tress and heard the rain spattering on ancient cobblestone streets.

This past Saturday, I spoke at the Sacred Heart Garden Festival and invited my listeners to accompany me on a different passeggiata as we explored the mystique that is Italy and delved into the reasons why so many non-Italians have fallen in love with the country.

Ultimately, Italians have been shaped by land, climate, history, food ... and when you throw in the quintessential Italian attitude and passion ... there isn't a single (or simple!) reason that can adequately explain why people are so drawn to the country. Like the people themselves, it's complicated; however, just as all ancient roads led back to Rome, part of the answer of discovering Italy's charm somehow seems to always circle back to food.

Italian food and Italian people are inseparable, and their love affair with food spills over into lifestyle. Robin Leach once said, "In Italy, they add work and life on to food and wine," and there is an element of truth to his words. The food makes the people and the people make the food, and this marriage translates into all areas of life: how they entertain, socialize, do business, and celebrate life.

To begin our passeggiata, I quoted the opening lines of Carlo Collodi's book, Pinocchio: "Once upon a time there was ... 'A king!' my young readers will instantly exclaim. But no, children, that's where you're wrong. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood."

Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. Not a wood carver named Geppetto, not a puppet named Pinocchio, but a block of wood. Ultimately, the author is reminding his readers to go back to the origins of the story, to the essence of what is. The block of wood represents the roots of our humanity.

And so our passeggiata began at the hearth of the Peasant Kitchen, where most of the foods we know and love today found their origins. From there we moved forward in history to 1986 with the grand opening of the first McDonald's restaurant in Italy ... an event that threatened not only Italian food, but contemporary Italian lifestyle and culture. As a result, the Slow Food Movement was founded as a way to preserve a way of life which revolves around producing and eating great food in a relaxed, sociable way.


Our passeggiata ended with an invitation to a garden party in which I demonstrated how to incorporate concepts from the Peasant Kitchen and the Slow Food Movement into our lives here, in Augusta, Georgia. Some of those concepts included simplicity (simple does not mean easy!), the magic of dining al fresco, the importance of embracing the seasons, a reminder to slow down, and how the company around the dinner table is an ingredient in and of itself.

Of course, this is just a synopsis of my presentation. I actually spoke for almost 50 minutes, during which I told stories, passed out recipes, and used a beautiful farm table to create several tablescapes that corresponded to various stopping points along our passeggiata.

It was a beautiful and fun way to spend a Saturday, and the Sacred Heart Garden Festival is one of the most beautiful events our city has to offer. I want to thank  Mary Louise for taking a chance and inviting a pretend gardener (me) to come speak; all the wonderful organizers at the festival for making me feel welcome; my friends who, despite a ridiculously busy Saturday (can we say prom?), came to listen to my presentation; and finally to Joe, Jonathan and Timothy who lugged that farm table from antique store, all the way home, to the festival, and back again.