Cimitero

It is Saturday here, and we are all done in from lunch and a beautiful drive, and in the quiet space, I’ll begin a little writing. So far on this trip, I’ve found that one little story I’ve been writing and sweating over this past year, is so short that it doesn’t qualify as a novel at all. It was a work of love, and now it is-sigh-a novelette less than 40,000 words. Now, do I invent something to fill in, or do I trust that what needed to be said was in fact said and that should be enough? I await inspiration. The last book was oversized by 60,000 words, and had to be chopped down, so clearly I have no idea of comparative length. Opinions of my writer/editor friends are welcomed.

The frazione ( too small to be called a hamlet) of Camposasco was close, the road coiling in another direction, closer to Chiavari, and further from Soglio, our mother village. Winding like a corkscrew over the countryside yesterday we found ourselves in front of a church dated 1143. Poking around, we unintentionally found ourselves at the cemetery, hanging around long enough to take pics of most residents, probably 98% of, the photos of headstones. One Great Great grandmother was from this certain village -— Camposassco — and we had wanted to go there to see if we could get into the church. As I have said- before 1866, the only record-keeping was done by the local parish priest.
The village note on the web said they had 52 persons in the town 25 male and 27 women. one American. 100% employed. The old sacred place was drum-tight, with not a soul to be found. But the village is strung along a hillside like scattered beads of color among the lush greenery. Because it is a different town than the ones we know, we settled for gravesite photos, many with family names, all more modern. Someone on our set of Fontanabuona Valley genealogists may find their own folks in the bunch.

Scarcity of priests. Here, sacerdoti are assigned several parishes, with a stable of 5, 6, or ten churches doled out to each, to rotate on assignment, so no one is ever actually living in those places like they used to. They routinely go to each one on a schedule. Not speaking to the authority has made it difficult to obtain records- well, that and a church ruling not to cooperate. Fortunately, some of the records have mysteriously made it out to help us with accuracy.
We tried to make reservations for a local famous restaurant, got the bar instead and will have to try again later. Maybe tomorrow’s plan. We then returned home after a gelati stop. ( Aren’t you shocked?) and a walk at sunset by the sea. I am sure there is a sound of great joy that expresses this adequately. The Germans probably have a word for it in sixteen syllables.

We picked daughter Kelley up from the train station about 9:40 PM, coming back from Venice with memories and a big limp from God-knows-what that is practically incapacitating her. But, since we are on vacation – a night’s sleep and off we went on yet another madcap church quest. It’s so good to have a mission.

It’s like this- Rosa — my personal photo on FB— is the lady from Camposasco, and the other GGGrandmother Maria came from Romaggi- the little town is the home of a former Roman encampment, back a few thousand years. We’ve tried to get access to some records there, but the curia does not allow for recordings to be made. A local is tending and guarding the treasures of each hilltop church.

So it turned out that a handsome young man — handsome young men are everywhere — guarded us and their records, but only after we set off the church’s alarm system that woke up the town. We then were given entrance, the beautiful lad, and an hour of concentrated effort as the best we could do for the moment. Serendipitous is our middle name ( before Lavezzi/ Lavezzo )

If you want to check out the best restaurant in the area, look up Osteria U Pellegrin, in San Colombano, Certenoli and see the family making ravioli for which they are famous. A fully appreciative crowd chowed down there today, us included. We have no idea where they all parked, as there is basically none in the village. Lunch is sooo much better than dinner, even better when it precedes a nap. I think it is Saturday, and while we’ve done little, it seems like we’ve been doing something every day.

A precious friend “P” has been hovering between dangerous/ improvement for about a week now. She got covid and had to give birth prematurely, a C-section — she’s now on a post-covid vent, and we are praying like mad to remind God how loved she is. I believe in the power of prayer even when I have no logical idea of how it works. It is painful to be so far away and feel so impotent to do anything. I bet those people with her feel the same way up close. Baby does seem to be doing well. P is hopeful.
Our night looks quiet- and this blog tonight is as well – lots to be grateful for, and someone to care about- that’s a full life, don’t you think?