Casa Dolce Casa

Dear reader, I have not written in some time because I haven’t been feeling quite myself. Medically, I needed treatment for Hashimoto’s thyroiditis. Spiritually, I needed replenishing and I found it by taking a recent solo trip to Italy.

Standing on top of a mountain in the Italian Alps, four and a half thousand feet above sea level, I inhaled the sweetest cool air and was literally engulfed by descending clouds. The view was completely peaceful and brought me to tearful prayer. It was the living embodiment of this scripture, Psalm 19:1: “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands.”

I thanked God for my life and my family and friends. I prayed for their well being. I also spoke to my nephew who left his earthly home for his heavenly home one year ago – telling him how much we all missed him.

A day spent at a manmade oasis style pool, encircled by a zoo, was a day of whimsy. Swimming under a manmade waterfall followed by strolling amongst free roaming lemurs was magical and made me feel young again.

A lakeside day brought gorgeous views, cooling breezes and refreshing lemon sorbetto at a restaurant passionately devoted to American movie culture. There were statues and figurines of Star Wars, Marvel, DC Comics, Transformers and many other movie franchises in glass cases and the walls were papered in comic book covers. It was a surprising reminder of home tucked away on the side of an Italian road.

Two days in Verona fulfilled my writer’s dream to see the House of Juliet. Thousands of lovesick tourists travel here to drop a handwritten letter in Juliet’s mailbox hoping for her advice. I first learned of the ‘Secretaries of Juliet’ in the 2010 movie, Letters to Juliet.

According to JulietClub.com, “The story of the Juliet Letters started in the 1930’s when Ettore Solimani, the guardian of Juliet’s Tomb, began gathering the first letters people left at the grave and, moved by this phenomenon, he started replying, thus becoming the first “Juliet’s secretary.”

Thanks to Juliet’s secretaries each letter is read, translated, answered and then kept in our one-of-a-kind archive, that contains thousands of love stories and countless words of love.”

For those who weren’t looking for advice from Romeo’s famous girlfriend, tourists stood in a mile long line waiting to cup the right breast of Juliet’s statue as it is purported to bring them good luck in love. Her poor statue sees more action than the busiest mammogram clinic. As I am nearing my 35th wedding anniversary with my own precious Romeo, I left Juliet’s statue unmolested.

A few hours on the Freccia Rossa ( Red Arrow) speed train returned my host and I from Verona through the Italian countryside to Turin. Wandering Turin, I could literally feel myself becoming very spiritually unsettled. The Holy Spirit gives all believers different spiritual gifts. (1st Corinthians 12) One of mine is, “discerning the spirits.” Beautiful architecture sharply contrasted with ubiquitous graffiti left me with a pervasive feeling of spiritual oppression, sadness and despair. Upon inquiring about it, my feelings were confirmed as correct. I learned that Turin is known as the city of ‘Dark and Light magic.’ According to an online guide to Turin, in the Piazza Statuto stood the Vallis Occisorum, (Valley of the Slain) the place where those condemned to death were killed, as evidenced by the ancient necropolis found underground during excavations for the construction of the railway. This is no indictment upon Italy, as I previously found myself feeling the same sense of demonic oppression in New Orleans in the United States, which is a city steeped in voodoo and the site of the largest mass lynching of Italian-Americans occurring on March 14, 1891.

I learned many things while In Italy – one of which is that children are very similar no matter where you travel. My host had a four year old daughter who suddenly shrieked, “Il pavimento è lava!” which translates to, “The floor is lava!” and then she quickly jumped off the grass of the piazza ( town square) to the ‘safety’ of a stump. My brother said that Italians are the creators of that game, compliments of Pompeii. He said it’s the original, “Fool around and find out” game. My little friend loved to sing and dance and watch movies and knew that my lack of fluency never hindered me from smiling and laughing and tickling her. The language of playtime is universal.

My host had a tiny English bulldog named Gracy and I learned that her dog’s language was the same as mine back home – staring up at you with sad eyes from under the table, hoping for choice little pieces of chicken. The language of pathetic begging is also universal.

My greatest epiphany came while on the train looking out the window and watching the countryside fly by. Dilapidated houses reminded me that Italy still struggles in a huge way economically and when my great grandparents left their respective hometowns in southern Italy and Sicily, they were seeking a better life for themselves and their descendants. I was left with this immense feeling of bittersweet pride in their bravery. I met my great grandmother once, she was turning 90 and I was only 12. It was the only time we would meet before she died. Her name, Leonilda, translates to Lioness. She and her husband, Nicola, ( translates to Victory) fought hard to give their children more than they had. Three generations later, I am unable to speak Italian fluently ( yet!) but I am living a life that they could only dream about. The language of loving our families and wanting better for our children is not only universal, but timeless.

America and its New World opportunities were a dream for my great grandparents. Italy and its Old World mysteries and charms, returning to my roots, were mine.

My host would say, “Casa dolce casa,” (Home sweet home) when she walked through her door.

The language of ‘home’ is universal too, and I was very happy to return to mine, because my Romeo was waiting for me here.

Soul refreshed. =)