We leave in the morning, Monday at 7 AM, to drive ten hours to our next destination. Elaine is finally feeling better; John is with us, whole; Bill is good, and has forgotten nothing; Robert and Elizabeth are peeling off to go to Florence. That is the surface, but not the essence, of course.
We spent a quiet day, in fact, researching some old records we got our hands on. After a nice long and luxurious breakfast together. (Have I said ever, that I love leisurely breakfasts with people I love?)
Some of those interesting historic possibilities go back to the 17th century. We were wondering how we were to spend the day, when this gift appeared, and we hummed our way through two cameras and a lot of copying, as well as battery-power. Happiness Is old records, covered in dusty written in awful old ink, little fluffs of dust and God-knows-what bits.
We even forgot to bring our white -correct-way-to- handle-things gloves. Va bene?
When we go, we know and appreciate that there are many others who aren’t here to look at the cemeteries, and record the old ways, or find their family names, and we do try to do it on their behalf as well.
By 4:00 it was time to clean up and prepare ourselves for the festa. I know that I’ve written about this before, BUT – I cannot pass the opportunity to explain it to people who do not get to one of these.
The feast is on the saint day of the Parish of San Michele, pronounced Me-Kay-lee. That saint’s day is the 29th of September. Every year.
We’ve been here before, and while we don’t have a circle of friends, we do have somewhat familiar people, and that makes for a comfort level of sorts. The festa is now, and as I write this, the accordions are playing outside my winder, with lights and some bright stars winking in the sky, some couples are dancing, and singers are doing ballads, one right now to San Michele, archangelo. Who would think that you could do a dance ballad to a saint who perpetually stands atop a demon with a sword in his hand?? It sounds good, when you don’t understand all of the words. But I’ve got the photo of the statue. Maybe I’ll share it so you see what I mean.
People have been busy all day tidying up, cutting landscape bushes, cleaning the grounds, bringing flowers, crosses, and setting up tables, bring in food, and drink. We see them from out the windows, and doors.
It reminds me of my elementary school, which did things just this way, but I never knew where they got the custom…
People began arriving about 4:00. More sitting, and setting up both. It’s a festa of the community, and everyone comes from around, to dance, sing, gossip, flirt and in general check on everyone else. And eat. I looked out at one point, and everyone had food in one hand or another. I know, because I was serving the focaccia – the cheese one, stuffed and dripping in cheese. The fried dough, the sandwiches, fish, sweets, and all sorts of other edibles were everywhere. Lew and I got to help serve, and John got to cook some. We show up, smile, and say yes, and no one knows that we don’t know a word of things, but can sense people and what they are doing pretty well without language.
The music is still playing. Those two accordions are going fast-an um-pa-pa band is the nearly the same anywhere in the world. Makes me jump around despite looking foolish – like, who the heck cares.
At the moment- Life is very sweet. I’m going to sleep, so that in the morning we can leave to go to the European City of Culture 2019 – Matera. Caves.
Dance. Sing. Play the accordion. Did you know I once took accordion lessons? My mother was indulgent of any musical training we wanted. I still love the sound. Thanks, Mom.