Friday the 22nd
Jun. 24th, 2007 07:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xiphiasOne of the other things we learned back on the 21st was that the 22nd was going to be a train-strike day. Only a few critical trains would be running on Friday.
So, we let everybody back at the house know this, and suggested that this made an excellent excuse to just chill and take it easy.
See, my grandmother is an Italian Catholic (not hugely practicing). My grandfather is Protestant, at least technically.
They run the family business together, along with my father, his brother, and his brother-in-law. Plus other people, too, but the point is, what happens when you add the Italian temper and temperament to the Protestant work ethic?
You end up with a situation where, when you suggest to my generation the idea of having a day just hanging around the beautiful villa, lying out by the pool, maybe wandering down to the village for a beer or coffee, and generally taking it easy and hanging out, they react not only enthusiastically, but with genuine relief. Lis and I hadn't been in Italy when everyone else took the day trip to Lucca, but, frankly, I'm GLAD we weren't there. Everyone agrees that Walter is an AMAZING driver for being able to take the ten-person van down the medieval streets in which they had to fold in the mirrors on both sides in order to fit, but nobody seems to really dwell on the fact that they were only IN those streets because everyone was completely ignoring Patrick, who had the map and was saying, "Um, we need to turn left here to avoid going into tiny little medieval streets in which our van isn't allowed. . . "
In any case, Fabio, who is the owner of the villa we are renting, came by and asked if we all wanted to go on a car tour of the area. He'd take his van, we'd take our van, and he could show us cool things in and around Bucine.
This seemed like an excellent, low-key plan, and we did it. We drove over a bridge in which the structural part was Roman work, and above it was medieval work, and then they put modern pavement on it. We stopped at an apiary to watch them extract honey from honeycomb. We went to a partially-restored medieval castle, which is now a village with five families in it. We went to the winery that Fabio is part-owner of, then went to Fabio's father's farm, and saw the more traditional setup with which his father-in-law makes and bottles HIS wine. As well as meeting the gentleman and wandering around his farm. And then we went out to dinner.
That's the overview. Let me now zoom in and tell you a couple cool bits from here and there around the day. . .
The ruined castle: the guy who was in charge of the restoration is also a sculptor (in clay -- pottery and ceramic work, mostly) and was showing off some of his work which was for sale.
The castle had a dog which was the size of a small bear and very friendly -- several of us played fetch with him for a while.
There was also a cat who mainly ignored us, while soaking up the rays. The cat looked a bit elderly, maybe eight or ten years old, and lying down on a sun-warmed flagstone just hanging out in the Tuscan sun seemed like a pretty reasonable thing to do for it. Seemed pretty content.
The sculptor started restoring the castle, using entirely volunteer work mainly from archetechture students worldwide, sometime in the mid-seventies. My grandmother mentioned that his name sounded familiar, and he said that, yes, he'd been written up in several magazines -- "thirty years ago -- when you were young and beautiful."
Papa smiled and laughed a bit, and said, "You mean, last Tusday?"
But, see, I was standing behind him, and, the way he was standing, I think I may have been the only one to see how Papa clenched his fist while he was saying that, and how he shifted his weight. I realized that, if the guy persisted in being an asshole, Papa was going to knock his block off.
I also realized that, if that happened, I'd totally have his back. And that my left hand was also in a fist just like his was.
Mom and Dianne both think that he just put his foot in his mouth and was actually trying to give a compliment, but failing utterly. I think Papa and Nonnie think the same thing, and, frankly, so do I. I think that the three of us, however, ALSO feel that that fact doesn't mean that Papa didn't have the right to take the guy down for insulting Nonnie.
See, I think on this trip, I'm starting to understand Papa a little more. He is one of the most gentle men I know, very even-tempered. We suspect that not much has bothered him since the Battle of the Bulge -- we think that, whatever happens to him, he's thinking, "well, compared to that, this really isn't bad. . ."
So, you kind of think of him as a fairly mild, quiet man. And that's not untrue -- but he's also a man who volunteered for WWII. And a man who, after volunteering and being tested for aptitude, chose NOT to be a medic or engineer when they offered them both to him, but chose front-line combat. (Not that, as WWII turned out, he would have avoided front-line combat as a medic or engineer, and, maybe if they'd explained to him that "combat engineer" involves at LEAST as much "combat" as "engineer", he'd have gone for it, but the point remains.)
I have never seen him actually encounter something that he thought was worth getting violent over. But I'm beginning to understand that that does not mean that he wouldn't get violent if there was a genuine REASON to get violent, if he was faced with a situation in which that WAS the only choice, or even the "least-worst" choice. He has no love for violence, but I am starting to realize that that doesn't mean that he lacks the capacity if it was absolutely necessary.
And "someone is insulting his wife" is much, much closer to "necessary" than you might think.
See, watching Nonnie and Papa, I've started to realize that they have almost exactly the relationship they had when she was sixteen and he was twenty. They are somewhat closemouthed about what they were like, um, sixty-four years ago, but we think that they were in high school together because he'd been held back a couple years for ditching school so often, and they were probably drawn together because of hormones.
And, the thing is, I'm pretty sure that that's STILL one of the things that holds them together.
We think that, as far as Nonnie is concerned -- and this is pretty much speculation because they just won't tell us -- Papa is still the hot "bad crowd" guy with the awesome car, and, to Papa, Nonnie is still the cute little thing that he picked up to impress the other guys with how much of as stud he is because look at how hot his girlfriend is.
And, see, as far as we can tell, they're right.
They won't tell us. They've got four kids, three kids-in-law, nine grandkids, a grandkid-in-law, two expected grandkids-in-law, a house, a business, and a place in society. They're not going to tell us what they were like when they were dumb kids. But, see, they don't HAVE to, because they haven't fundamentally changed. . .
And, well, I watch how Dad looks at MY mother. And it's the same for him.
So why should I be surprised that my mouth gets dry and my vision gets blurry and I get butterflies in my stomach every time I see my wife? I'm pretty sure that the same thing happens to my father and to my grandfather when they see their wives.
So, we let everybody back at the house know this, and suggested that this made an excellent excuse to just chill and take it easy.
See, my grandmother is an Italian Catholic (not hugely practicing). My grandfather is Protestant, at least technically.
They run the family business together, along with my father, his brother, and his brother-in-law. Plus other people, too, but the point is, what happens when you add the Italian temper and temperament to the Protestant work ethic?
You end up with a situation where, when you suggest to my generation the idea of having a day just hanging around the beautiful villa, lying out by the pool, maybe wandering down to the village for a beer or coffee, and generally taking it easy and hanging out, they react not only enthusiastically, but with genuine relief. Lis and I hadn't been in Italy when everyone else took the day trip to Lucca, but, frankly, I'm GLAD we weren't there. Everyone agrees that Walter is an AMAZING driver for being able to take the ten-person van down the medieval streets in which they had to fold in the mirrors on both sides in order to fit, but nobody seems to really dwell on the fact that they were only IN those streets because everyone was completely ignoring Patrick, who had the map and was saying, "Um, we need to turn left here to avoid going into tiny little medieval streets in which our van isn't allowed. . . "
In any case, Fabio, who is the owner of the villa we are renting, came by and asked if we all wanted to go on a car tour of the area. He'd take his van, we'd take our van, and he could show us cool things in and around Bucine.
This seemed like an excellent, low-key plan, and we did it. We drove over a bridge in which the structural part was Roman work, and above it was medieval work, and then they put modern pavement on it. We stopped at an apiary to watch them extract honey from honeycomb. We went to a partially-restored medieval castle, which is now a village with five families in it. We went to the winery that Fabio is part-owner of, then went to Fabio's father's farm, and saw the more traditional setup with which his father-in-law makes and bottles HIS wine. As well as meeting the gentleman and wandering around his farm. And then we went out to dinner.
That's the overview. Let me now zoom in and tell you a couple cool bits from here and there around the day. . .
The ruined castle: the guy who was in charge of the restoration is also a sculptor (in clay -- pottery and ceramic work, mostly) and was showing off some of his work which was for sale.
The castle had a dog which was the size of a small bear and very friendly -- several of us played fetch with him for a while.
There was also a cat who mainly ignored us, while soaking up the rays. The cat looked a bit elderly, maybe eight or ten years old, and lying down on a sun-warmed flagstone just hanging out in the Tuscan sun seemed like a pretty reasonable thing to do for it. Seemed pretty content.
The sculptor started restoring the castle, using entirely volunteer work mainly from archetechture students worldwide, sometime in the mid-seventies. My grandmother mentioned that his name sounded familiar, and he said that, yes, he'd been written up in several magazines -- "thirty years ago -- when you were young and beautiful."
Papa smiled and laughed a bit, and said, "You mean, last Tusday?"
But, see, I was standing behind him, and, the way he was standing, I think I may have been the only one to see how Papa clenched his fist while he was saying that, and how he shifted his weight. I realized that, if the guy persisted in being an asshole, Papa was going to knock his block off.
I also realized that, if that happened, I'd totally have his back. And that my left hand was also in a fist just like his was.
Mom and Dianne both think that he just put his foot in his mouth and was actually trying to give a compliment, but failing utterly. I think Papa and Nonnie think the same thing, and, frankly, so do I. I think that the three of us, however, ALSO feel that that fact doesn't mean that Papa didn't have the right to take the guy down for insulting Nonnie.
See, I think on this trip, I'm starting to understand Papa a little more. He is one of the most gentle men I know, very even-tempered. We suspect that not much has bothered him since the Battle of the Bulge -- we think that, whatever happens to him, he's thinking, "well, compared to that, this really isn't bad. . ."
So, you kind of think of him as a fairly mild, quiet man. And that's not untrue -- but he's also a man who volunteered for WWII. And a man who, after volunteering and being tested for aptitude, chose NOT to be a medic or engineer when they offered them both to him, but chose front-line combat. (Not that, as WWII turned out, he would have avoided front-line combat as a medic or engineer, and, maybe if they'd explained to him that "combat engineer" involves at LEAST as much "combat" as "engineer", he'd have gone for it, but the point remains.)
I have never seen him actually encounter something that he thought was worth getting violent over. But I'm beginning to understand that that does not mean that he wouldn't get violent if there was a genuine REASON to get violent, if he was faced with a situation in which that WAS the only choice, or even the "least-worst" choice. He has no love for violence, but I am starting to realize that that doesn't mean that he lacks the capacity if it was absolutely necessary.
And "someone is insulting his wife" is much, much closer to "necessary" than you might think.
See, watching Nonnie and Papa, I've started to realize that they have almost exactly the relationship they had when she was sixteen and he was twenty. They are somewhat closemouthed about what they were like, um, sixty-four years ago, but we think that they were in high school together because he'd been held back a couple years for ditching school so often, and they were probably drawn together because of hormones.
And, the thing is, I'm pretty sure that that's STILL one of the things that holds them together.
We think that, as far as Nonnie is concerned -- and this is pretty much speculation because they just won't tell us -- Papa is still the hot "bad crowd" guy with the awesome car, and, to Papa, Nonnie is still the cute little thing that he picked up to impress the other guys with how much of as stud he is because look at how hot his girlfriend is.
And, see, as far as we can tell, they're right.
They won't tell us. They've got four kids, three kids-in-law, nine grandkids, a grandkid-in-law, two expected grandkids-in-law, a house, a business, and a place in society. They're not going to tell us what they were like when they were dumb kids. But, see, they don't HAVE to, because they haven't fundamentally changed. . .
And, well, I watch how Dad looks at MY mother. And it's the same for him.
So why should I be surprised that my mouth gets dry and my vision gets blurry and I get butterflies in my stomach every time I see my wife? I'm pretty sure that the same thing happens to my father and to my grandfather when they see their wives.
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(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-24 07:15 pm (UTC)I have it too, on my mother's side, but it seems to have skipped a generation; my grandparents had a fabulous fifty-year romance (and that short only because of my grandmother's untimely death) and I fully expect to have the same with
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-24 09:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-24 09:58 pm (UTC)Seriously, though:
Papa agreed that all the children would be raised Catholic. Probably largely because Nonnie actually cared one way or the other. Dad was an altarboy for a while, as was his brother.
When they grew up, pretty much ALL of them drifted away from the Church. Dad's brother Bob ended up travelling the world, and, in part, looking for spirituality. He was a Buddhist monk for a while. Neither of his sisters seem to ever particularly have any religious questions even cross their minds. It's just not something that's important or interesting to them. They have their lives, their work, and their families, and they don't really have much need for religion -- they don't really seem to care much about any of the questions which religion tends to attempt to answer.
And Dad was a lapsed Catholic atheist who married a Jew. And after, oh, maybe thirty years of living with a Jew (who was more-or-less nonpracticing at the beginning of it) and maybe twenty years of helping to make and maintain a Jewish home (my parents didn't really start having a Jewish home until I was around five years old), it became obvious that I would eventually marry Lis. And my father realized that he wanted an aliyah at my aufruf (the party the Shabbat before the wedding).
So he decided to convert.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-24 11:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-25 05:07 am (UTC)In all seriousness, though, he converted for neither Mom nor me. He converted for himself, but his involvement in planning a major religious event for his child showed him that he wanted it.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-25 06:48 pm (UTC)