On to the Next

The end of November marked the first week of Advent. The change in liturgical season welcomed the spirit of preparation, as the streets of Rome were lined with delicate lights, big festive trees were put up in the city center, and the evenings were met with the hustle and bustle of Christmas shoppers and seasonal tourists.

In accordance with the essence of the changing moment, I took residence in a new apartment. My three month lease at the petite apartment of Via di Santa Maria Maggiore was up the first week of December. The invitation arose, thanks to cousin Mario, to move in to an apartment owned by a cousin (on Mario's maternal side, not the Calabrese side) from Cersosimo, the mother land of my family. A few weeks back, I made a visit with my cousin Vincenzo to see the apartment and meet Mario's aunt, uncle, and cousins. Though I wasn't initially planning to move, this new invitation seemed to have all the right marks.

*Perhaps at this point I should illustrate a diagram of my family tree, or maybe one of the population of Cersosimo, which for the sake of ease I will claim as entirely family.

So here I am, now, in a lovely apartment in the zone of another great basilica, the Cathedral of Rome, San Giovanni in Laterano. This zone is a perfect balance of residential and commercial. Unlike the previous zone, which was very touristy, this area prefers locals. To my convenience, I am near to the San Giovanni metro stop (of Line A, the main one I use) and to a multitude of bus options for my route to school and other parts of town. Additionally, I am a short walk away from the tram that takes me to the residence of one of the private lessons I give.
My street is calm and well-secure since it is off one of the main streets. Our building is set back a bit, behind the front building of the complex. Since we are on the sixth floor, the window views are rather lovely. The surrounding buildings present an array of colors, which are complemented by the blue skyline that greets the straight lines of the edifice tops.

There are many benefits to the change, which include a significant drop in rent cost and the opportunity to acquaint myself with a new zone of localities to stumble upon in my new routes. And as the most significant feature of the move, I am now living with two other women, one a "cousin" (Mario's cousin on his mom's side) originally from Cersosimo, and the other a student from the same southern region, Basilicata. Speaking Italian at home is advantageous, of course, for my language acquisition. Though I enjoyed living alone, I consider this change to be multifold in its benefit. It feels like living with family, as we are very comfortable with one another. It is especially comforting to talk about Cersosimo and laugh about the dialectal words, which are familiar to me from home and are native to Mariana. She and her brother Saverio (another relative to add to the list) had a good laugh when we reviewed the various terms with which I was familiar. They were quite surprised to hear the old language of Cersosimo coming from Los Angeles.
Saverio and I have agreed to a language exchange, Italian for English. Saverio is in his thirties, and his study of English is limited to his high school years. I will leave it at that. On occasion, while gathered around the dinner table, we have a "lesson." It may be more fitting to call it a comedy session, as it usually results in laughter.
Anyway, it all makes for a healthy living space.

My room here is very spacious, about the same size as the entire apartment of SMM. I have a wide bed to myself, lots of natural light from the tall window, sufficient storage space, a bookshelf with plenty of availability, and open space for proper airflow, something that was lacking in my previous residence.

As for transportation, I am now two metro stops closer to where I teach. This allows me also the option of walking, necessary during the frequent occasion when the transportation company is on strike.
What was a ten minute walk to arrive at the Angelicum is now a twenty-five minute bus ride. Though the convenience of the prior path was nice, I am enjoying seeing the city a bit before beginning my day at school. And, as long as I manage to get up in time for an early arrival at the university, in time for morning Mass, I am able to beat the morning hour bus traffic. Otherwise, it can make for an anxious start to the day. One would think three doors on a bus would allow for smooth exiting from the vehicle. In reality, however, when people are packed like sardines within the narrow channel of the bus interior, getting off is quite the endeavor. Morning dialogue with the fellow bus-rider is typically limited and goes a bit like this:

"Scende?" ("Are you (formal) getting down?").
And the next person replies either, "Sì," which implies, "get out of the way."
Or one replies, "No, la prossima," which means, "No, the next one." In other words, "be prepared to move soon."

So it goes, September 8: the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lady, marked my departure for Rome. And December 8: the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of Our Lady, designated my beginning anew in this home. Anointed occasions, as I see them.

The Chronicles Continue

More than a month has passed since my last posting. I feel as if a book would be more fitting in recounting the tales of life here.

I'll begin where I left off in the previous post, with a meditative spirit of gratitude and a heavy winter coat.

November fortified the weather's chill and welcomed in the holiday season. This year's Thanksgiving made its way to new soil, sans Dutch pilgrims and Native Americans. Instead, the participants were Italian. The Sunday before the Thursday holiday, I prepared the historical meal for my family and friends of Rome. Mario and Anna special ordered a turkey, and with a trip to the Castroni international market, I managed to scrounge up the makings of the Thanksgiving meal.

Mario took on the task of preparing the turkey, with a few minor suggestions of mine. And, with a bunch of Italian helping hands, our feast was full: stuffing from scratch, cranberry sauce (5 euro jar of Ocean Spray's original), cornbread, sautéed green beans, mashed potatoes, soup, and of course the beloved pumpkin pie with homemade dough (frozen-ready doesn't exist in this land).

Oh what a delight it was to be in the kitchen and to share the authentic American tradition with my dear ones. It marked the "firsts" of a few occasions. My cousins witnessed the versatility of the key ingredient: butter, and they embraced the foreign concept of sweet and savory.

As we sat down at the festively-set table, eleven of us in total, I began with a few Italian words. I shared that Thanksgiving, most importantly, marks a celebration of life's blessings. After I gave thanks for the opportunity to be in Italy and share the tradition with all of them present and Anna shared her thoughts, the feast commenced. We filled the bowls with soup with pastina (a Calabrese Thanksgiving dish that reconciles Italian with American). From there, we continued to the main courses. It was quite entertaining to see the reluctance of the others to put portions from all of the dishes on one plate. They went along with it, nonetheless. I explained how the cranberry sauce complements the turkey quite well, and so the experimenting carried on.

Now for any of you who haven't yet enjoyed a meal Italian-style, I should explain to you the stark contrast between our two continents. First of all, the Italian dinner is in no way rushed. First are some appetizers. Then, once everyone is seated, comes pasta. After clearing the pasta bowls, then arrives the meat and vegetables, and perhaps salad. Each serving platter typically has enough for each person to have a generous portion and is therefore left empty, as the prepared amount is precise to the number of people eating. After the dinner plates are cleared away, the fruit is brought out. Following a pause, caffe is made and the dessert is welcomed to the table.

So, you can imagine the oddity it was to eat the turkey with everything else. And even more strange was the fact that there were tons of leftovers. This is where the American fashion peaks in, inviting you to keep picking and eating, without a designated end in sight. My cousin Anna remarked on this precisely, pointing out how one could potentially eat incessantly.

It was at that point that the consequence of Thanksgiving set in... food-coma. We cleared the dishes, with much to package away for the coming days. Next we moved on to the pumpkin pies. I was especially proud of these sweet treats, as it was the first time I made them from scratch (thanks to the help of cousin Francesco the night before and a great amount of metric conversion).

Instead of American football as background noise, we were entertained with the Derby della Madonnina (Italian title for the rivalry soccer match of Inter vs. Milan), a reminder that despite the transformative setting of our meal, we were still in Italy.

All and all, everyone enjoyed the meal and greatly appreciated experiencing the well-known American tradition first-hand.

A cheerful video chat to America closed the evening, allowing Mom and Nanna to share a greeting with the cousins and see the transported American tradition shared with the extended family here in Rome, a beautiful reality of the transcontinental connection we have.