George Hansel & Tracey Paleo in NY Production of my play “Annarita.”
My friend George Hansel is the second of my Asbury Park pals to become an Ex-Pat. Maybe it was all that sea air that got us to looking beyond the Atlantic Ocean. George married EB, the Dutch love of his life, and moved to the Netherlands. His journey is full of love and the quirks of being the new boy in a very old city. I follow his blog and when I read this story – a history of one of EB’s elders – I felt I had to share it. We all have someone in our lives who has helped shape us into who we are today. Willy is one of the folks who has had an impact on EB. Read George’s blog about Willy. While your at it, why not look at some of his earlier posts and subscribe. Yeah, you got that right, for years George and I have had a mutual admiration society. He took dramatic chances by producing some of my plays and asking me to direct for his company. It was a joy to see him act in my play Annarita. I love George and know that if you read his work you will too. http://blogdenhaag.wordpress.com/2014/07/22/sunday-at-the-beach-with-willy-sunday-20-july-2014/#comment-41
My woo woo pals will not even blink when I say that at 7:00 AM the other morning I bumped onto my grandma. She died when I was 16 but I remember her vividly – it was her.
Wearing the same kind of caftan I had on when I first saw Ruth St Denis, whoops that’s the mom of modern dance and she has nothing to do with this story. It’s just the magic of the caftan. So wearing this old tied died caftan, I was walking in The field across the street from my house carrying a plate of apricot peels. As I started to toss the peels into the field – there she was. Smiling because I hadn’t been lazy and walked way out onto the field just like she taught me.
Whew, where did that memory come from – why was she here now? When I was a wee thing we had pasta at grandmas house every Sunday. After the locusts in my family had managed to eat everything but the mopeen – dish rag we all used to wipe our saucy fingers on – it was often my job to take the pile of bones and other table scraps out to the field. The instruction was walk far and toss. Sometimes a lazy kid would just dump the plate at the edge of the lawn. ( Jack screams at me now because I’ve turned into a lazy kid and dump on our Flagtown lawn line.)
This was a no no and would draw rats close to the house. We didn’t have a fancy compost pile or Eco box. We had the field. Foxes loved the bones and they were soon gone. The egg shells and the veggie scraps were great for revitalizing the earth. Now 60 years later, here I am in the place where my nonna learned that doing a field dump wasn’t a trailer trash thing. It was simply keeping the cycle of growth happening.
That morning I was doing something I know she had done. The field was a recently shorn hayfield. The feral cats and foxes still eat any meat stuff and the rest just rots back into the soil. Maybe next year this field would be a potato patch – enriched by or simple veggie scraps.
What struck me was how the simple action of tossing apricots peels brought my nonna back to me. She was there making sure I walked out far enough and did the job right. This had a colossal impact on me. After a year long painful inner dialogue about selling our house in NJ, it was this moment in a field that nonna made me realize that I could. The farmhouse was my grandma’s and is the place where I feel the presence of my elders everyday. Nonna let me know that wherever I am they are and all is OK.
Jack and I rented an apartment for a week in a cute seaside town. The Adriatic Sea is just over the mountain from Pontelandolfo. It took us an hour and a half to get to San Salvo. That’s a hop, skip and a jump to a fabulous beach resort. Having lived in Asbury Park and Jack’s growing up in Sea Girt, we are pretty familiar with life at the beach. Well, life at the beach here is a wee bit different than a visit to the Jersey shore. First of all, I wasn’t the pack mule carrying an umbrella, chair, cooler, towel, hat, book, water bottle etc. I was a lady of leisure with my own little spot on the water line.
When we first got to San Salvo I scoped out the beaches across from the apartment. One of the things I love about Italy is the beach system. There are totally free beaches that are well maintained or you can rent a fully furnished spot on the beach. I was determined to get the best deal on renting il posto for a week. This would include 2 lettini (lounge chairs) separated by a little round table with the requisite umbrella. Since it was June and not yet high season I was looking for a sconto. The seasonal price for a week averages €100. For €70 we rented a prime spot in the first row of set-ups with the sea lolling in front of us. Ahhhhhh. No schlepping chairs to the beach – just a bag with our iPads, sunscreen and towels. This beach, as they all did, had a bar. Who could ask for more!
Lounge chairs, a table and an umbrella opened by the friendly beach boy.
While I was lying about reading novels and staring, what struck me smack in the face was how secure the Italian women were and insecure I was. There I was hiding in a beach coverup, hat, towel and just about anything that would disguise my 65 year old pudgy body. There is something about self esteem and bathing costumes. Italian women exude an incredible self confidence and sexuality. That was made even more apparent to me in San Salvo. Scantily clad women of all and I mean all body sizes and types were strolling along the water line. Teeny tiny bikinis were the fashion of the day on everyone – but me. There was no hint of I hate my fat ass and am hiding it under this diaphanous skirt.
These women were laughing, charming, sexy and confident! I hid.
Bare topped little girls, hair streaming as they ran and played, were not embarrassed by their bodies. Even the chubby ones frolicked like nymphs. I’m not saying that I had a lousy childhood. I’m saying models of security begat secure children. Here, that really hit home. Growing up I was used to covering up – hide those imperfections – from Clearasil for zits to bows in my hair to draw attention from my too skinny little girl face (yeah, hard to believe that now.) Thank God I came of age in the 60s and started to uncover but still felt I was too fat, too skinny, too not right. I sat on my lettino staring at the Adriatic Sea thinking about all of this self esteem stuff. Feeling pretty and good about themselves seems to be part of the Italian female DNA or is it cultural? Yikes, I’ve got the DNA it must be cultural!
OK, your bored with this topic.
The Condominium – We were on the top floor.
Back to San Salvo. We rented a 2 bedroom apartment with an ocean view – if I stood on my tip toes I could see out the windows. It only cost us off season €250 for one week. It was on the 4th floor of a building that needs its condo owners to take a little better care of the exterior. The elevator only went to the 3rd floor which was perfect – I considered the steps my daily stair master workout. The apartment was small but clean and the owner was charming. I’d rent it again. Actually, I’d rent his second apartment on the same floor – it has a giant terrace facing the sea. The best part was that we were a scant 2 unencumbered blocks to the sea. Here is the link to one of the apartment listings: http://www.mediavacationrentals.com/campomarino-vacation-rentals/0006966000/84945.
View from our Kitchen window. Our blue beach is on the left.
The Adriatic is incredibly calm. It is easy to see why families come here. I could walk out for at least as long as a football field and still only have water up to my waist – at high tide.
Jetties defined the beach bathing area. It was June so the beach was not crowded during the week.
The best part of the week was when Rosella Mancini, Pasquale Iacovella and my favorite Pontelandolfo kids – Alessio, Gabrielle and Annalaura – came to visit. I rented a paddle boat with a slide and got a great butt workout pedaling around for a hour while the kids slid into the water.
That’s me hiding from the sun in the pink hat.The sliding board was a great idea.
The market comes to San Salvo on Sundays – even before church there were folks shopping. They line up the market trucks along the pedestrian beach walkway. I bet there were 100 stands selling everything from artisanal cheeses, breads, preserves to electrical supplies. The clothing stalls were more high end than the trucks that come to Pontelandolfo. We all ate lunch at one of the pork stands – yummy roast pork on crunchy hard rolls. I would take a ride back on a Sunday just to go to the market.
The vendors went on for blocks along the walkway.This vendor was snoozing. Guess business was slow.Great colors everywhere.
Does coconut grow in Italy?
For those of us who were just too lazy to get off our lounge chairs and walk to the market – the market came to us. Every day vendors of all types strolled the beach. Looking for gold – well maybe it was gold – here comes the guy with the velvet cases. Want your hair braided? How about a henna faux tattoo? Coconut milk to slurp – here comes the rolling cart. Need beach toys – no worry – just raise your arm and the vendor delivers. Rats – you spilled goop on your bikini – for €10 you can get a new one. I loved the action between the vendors and the beach goers and I perfected my ,”no, grazie.”
Wait – I need that wading pool.Color, fashion and a cheap price – who could ask for more!?
What a clever way to display jewelry and walk on a sunny beach.
Moms and grandmoms were buying colorful scarves – not for themselves but for the boys in the family. The pirate look was DE RIGUEUR for all young men – really young. Have you ever tried to get a boy to keep a sun hat on? I haven’t but I’ve seen moms prodding, threatening etc. The pirate look was everywhere and no one’s little head got burnt.
Ahoy matey!
We found a super restaurant, Porto Turistico La Marinelle Osteria del Mare, next to the yacht marina. We quickly became regulars – by that I mean we ate there every other day! We would sit outside, look at the water and order fish. Of course, we were usually there before anyone else and the family was just setting up. 8:00 PM is a bit too early for Italians to venture out for cena. The family didn’t make too much fun of us and were charming to the American who was butchering the pronunciation of the fish. Fresh food, all prepared in house and a nice family staff.
San Salvo is just down the road from Termoli a really interesting beach city with a terrific downtown. Lots of bars, shops and historic sights to peruse. We visited on a day Italy was playing in the Calcio World Cup – every bar but the one I picked was jam packed with folks dressed in their best “go Italy” costumes cheering on their favorite team. We went to the only bar that didn’t have a TV set up – “go aperitif”. Not only did we get the requisite Compari soda for me and white wine for il mio marito but it came with an adorable plates of little snacks. We sat, listened to the sea, munched and watched the world go by. Ahhhh.
Toss the SPF 50 in a bag and visit San Salvo – you’ll be glad you did.
I had been coughing for three days – you know that deep you can’t sleep barely move kind of coughing. The ever wonderful Carmela Fusco insisted I visit the doctor. Last Wednesday morning she pushed me up the stairs to the doctor’s office. After the visit and a trip to the farmacia to pick up antibiotics etc, we sat down at Bar Mix Fantasy for a cappuccino and a cornetto – I needed food in my stomach in order to take the pill. I looked like hell, red nose, dirty hair, don’t touch me I’ll kill you look on my haggard face. OK, you got the back story?
As I sat staring, my head so congested I can barely hear, breaking through the clogged head barrier comes “Sei tu Midge?.” I glance over my right shoulder to spy a tall distinguished gentleman looking down at me. “Si” I reply, “Sono Midge.” Carmella smiled at him and said “Ciao Renato”, so I knew we were OK.
Prof. Renato Rinaldi had wanted to meet me and recognized me sitting there – I’m not sure how – and introduced himself to me. “Buon Giorno,” I say – delighted to meet the esteemed gentleman but also embarrassed at how I looked and felt. You see, I had contacted him a while back to let him know about this blog. http://www.nonnasmulberrytree.com and wanted to meet him. Prof. Rinaldi is the creator and editor of Pontelandolfo’s local on-line news magazine – Pontelandolfo News. He is a Pontelandolfo activist and advocate. Check out his web-site at http://www.pontelandolfonews.com/
I often read the Pontelandolfo News to find out what is going on locally – from politics to real estate. It contains link to news articles on other sites, info on local businesses, reports on government and well, lots of material on Pontelandolfo.
After chatting for a while, Prof. Rinaldi made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, he said that I had his permission to use content from his website for this blog! Grazie mille! I will absolutely take him up on his generous offer. But more than that, he said he had a gift for me and popped back to his car to get this –
By Prof Renato Rinaldi
I was incredibly flattered and touched to receive this huge book. It represents years of research and editing. As the editor, Prof. Rinaldi has created the ultimate compilation of documents that recount the heinous burning and mass murder of Pontelandolfesi on August 14, 1861. Last year the young theater folks of Pontelandolfo staged a venue specific theater piece and frankly, that was the first time I truly understood the story of Il Brigante.
Poster from last year’s show. The work included more than just the massacre story.
Not all parts of Italy welcomed the idea of “risorgimento” – unification as one country. Frankly, the south wasn’t all that interested and it was only the heavy handed military actions that induced their cooperation. One such incident occurred on August 14, 1861. Pontelandolfo and the neighboring Casalduni were attacked – some bad folks had killed a few members of the army and the army took its revenge. The citizens of Casalduni had a little warning and fled. The attack on Pontelandolfo occurred in the dead of night. Gun bursts and fires waking up the town. It is said that about 3,000 men, women and children were mutilated, raped and murdered. The entire town was burned to the ground. We will do a full story on this when I’ve had a chance to read Rinaldi’s thorough collection of essays and historic documents.
Prof. Rinaldi was sharing his insight into this history with me, but I was having a difficult time understanding. My head still spinning with the bronchitis. He gave me his card and offered to meet with me again. He also said he would share some historic photos with me. I can’t wait to sit down with him.
Prof. Rinaldi took my miserable morning and turned it into a wonderful Pontelandolfo experience. I thank him for that and his generosity.
When my nonna told stories about life in Pontelandolfo she often mentioned the fountains. There is a massive one in the main piazza but there are others scattered among the hills. Some of these fountains date back to Roman times. These fountains were a hub for gossip, doing laundry, getting a quick drink on a hot day and gathering water to drink, cook with and wash in. For generations, mountain spring water has run through ancient pipes and spurted out into jugs that were carried home.
The fountains still exist – but there is a new kid in town! This year when we drove into the center of Pontelandolfo we noticed this big stainless steel box – Acquaself – and a bunch of people hanging around with plastic bottles. Holy smokes – they are getting water! It costs only €.05 a liter for spring water – sparkling or plain. Oh no, I thought, yet another rural ritual blown out of the water.
Years ago, Jack joined Mario Mancini and went up into the mountains to one of five or six ancient fountains. Mario, a foodie and mountain gatherer, knew where to take his bottles to get the best tasting water. They drove miles away from the village center and what did they find – other men filing bottles. Jack was flabbergasted when one of the men turned to him and said in English – where are you from – “New Jersey” – “Me too – Livingston”! That is the magic that happens around the fountain.
The Pontelandolfo main fountain has been a meeting place, photo op and life blood of the community. In the summer kids fill water balloons from the constantly flowing spring water. When that happens I run in the other direction – cross fire can be pretty wet. Can Acauself – a stainless steel box – really replace all that? Interesting question. I’ve gone for our water – I mean .05 for a litter of sparkling water – and chatted with folks who were filling their bottles. Maybe the conversation will continue at the box but I can’t see anyone doing their laundry. The talented Annalaura Iacovella will explain how Acquaself works – so those of you who speak Italian can test your skills – those of you who don’t can read the titles. Happy mineral water to you.
A few nights ago the family phone tree clicked into high gear. We got a call telling us there would be a evening of theater at this incredible winery – Terra di Briganti in near by Casalduni. How could we not go. We love theater and we love all of the organic wines that we have tasted from Terra di Briganti. To get a feel for the space check out their website – http://www.terradibriganti.it/
Tony De Cicco is passionate about eating and drinking local!
Terra di Briganti
Società Agricola s.a.s.
Contrada Tacceto. 6 Casalduni (BN)
We met the vinyard’s owner, Tony De Cicco, last year and were blown away by his passion for the land, the heritage of the area and sharing the pure goodness that grows in Casalduni. Terra di Briganti deserves its own blog post, but I will save that for another day and talk about theatre as a marketing tool.
Chairs were set up on a hill above the rows and rows of grape vines and thousands of olive trees. It was a beautiful night and the audience was packed with folks of all ages. I’m always amazed at how little tykes are brought to dinner, events, festas – everything that an adult would do in the evening the kids do. Baby sitters need not apply – kids are introduced to all manners of culture at a young age.
The moment the four actors entered they captured and kept everyone’s attention. What really was amazing for me was that I actually understood them! The “spettacolo” was in Italian and the local dialect but the actors articulation was so incredible that I was able to not only capture the essence of the work but understood the dialogue! It truly was said “trippingly on the tongue.”
But what was the play about – you ask. Olive oil! Who knew that you could work an entire piece about the beauty, taste and uses of olive oil! I’m wondering if the local agriculture and tourism council underwrote a piece of the program. The play could absolutely be used to help sell local artiginal oils. It opened with a wee bit of the history of olive oil and moved into a tasting – one actor in a jacket being the “tastee”. A personal aside – how come I feel like I know the actor in the jacket? Anybody else recognize him or did I just bump into one night in a Manhattan bar? I never got his name.
Who is the guy in the Jacket? Is that my former student Jonathan in the cap? Was I just lonely for people I knew?
Through comedy and music the company stressed that local oils taste best because they are made with the olives of one area. We learned that many oils that are marked “Made in Italy” are simply pressed here and shipped to places like the USA. The olives used are a big mystery and could come from Spain, Greece, Turkey….. You want oil that is grown and pressed in Italy. That means – when you can go to the source – buy your oil or order directly from the source. If you can’t buy from a vendor you trust.
We were all howling at the varied uses of olive oil. It only take three (3) drops in blessed water to cure the mal’ochio – evil eye.
The local strega will cure you of anything.
Other uses of the precious oil? H’mm any of these guys could have given me the massage they were lampooning. Open that stuck lock – olive oil. Fix the crud in your hair – olive oil. The music really opened up my heart and hunger to pane con olio d’olive. The singer lovingly – I mean I was wanting some loving – sang a ballad to olive oil on bread. Be still my heart.
This actor was able to make bread sexy.
Foodies and non-foodies were all laughing, engaged and engrossed in the variety of ways to eat bread and olive oil – my favorite was with tomatoes. Again – how could four actors and a playwright turn olive oil into both an educational and entertaining evening?! I want to meet the playwright!
The talented quartet was from Solot Compagnia Stabile di Benevento. It is a theater school and agency. I wonder if these men are also on the faculty. it would be great for the students if they were.
As we left the playing area to have some wine we passed Tony’s display of products. Terra di Briganti has expanded their offerings to include their own olive oil – but you guessed that right? We can’t wait to try some. We left happy and with 6 bottles of Tony’s fabulous sulfite free organic Falanghina. If you are ever in the area or want to buy his products wholesale just visit his web-site.
What a magical day I had. The day really had nothing to do with me but it really felt like I was on a roller coaster of a journey seeing Pontelandolfo for the first time and sensing the connection to my past, present and future. Only it wasn’t my past. It was the past of the Domenico Mancini family. Like many other Mancinis this family can trace it roots to a section of Pontelandolfo called Minicariello. Whoa – let me start at the very beginning.
Last year I got an e-mail from a woman who had googled Pontelandolfo and hit upon my blog. After pumping up my chest like the winning rooster of a cock fight – I mean someone actually googled and found my blog you’d be all proud and cheeky too – I responded to Kristen Ross’s request for help. It seemed like her good family friend, Domenico Mancini, had left Pontelandolfo when he was 18. When he was a tyke, his dad had died in World War II and the family didn’t know where his body was. Check out this post to get the back story – http://wp.me/p3rc2m-dw. Now, many months later the entire Mancini clan was coming to Italy to visit the grave and see where their dad was born. Their first stop was the Sacrario Militare dei Caduti d’Oltremare (Military Memorial to the Fallen Overseas) near Bari.
Kristen sent me this shot of Domenico reunited with his dad.
Domenico had not been back to Pontelandolfo since he left as a young man – about 64 years ago. Kristen – the point person for organizing the trip – asked if we could meet when they got to the village. What a magical meeting and day we had! After getting the “we’re here” text, Jack and I pulled into the piazza and saw the biggest shiny silver mini-van/mini tour bus I had ever seen here. Pouring out of it was the Famiglia Mancini. Never having seen these folks before or even really knowing their names I was swept into a stream of “I’m Kristen -Nancy – Domenico- Rich – Marylou – Tony”, hugs and kisses. It was as though they were my family too. After a few seconds of where should we go and what should we do, it was decided that we visit the Cemetary so that Domenico could look for his family. Everyone – the men in the family are really tall – leaped back into the van. I, being the shortest person in the crew, had to climb, pull and crawl my way in. The trip to the cemetery couldn’t have been better.
Rito Sala, the caretaker/administrator, warmly greeted the family, pulled out his trusty typed sheets of who was where and led the search. Unfortunately, Domenico didn’t really remember the dates of when his nonna died etc. Without the dates it is hard to truly figure out who is who. Remember, in this small town hundreds of people have the same last names but are not related. Domenico had seen my blog about the boxes of bones in the cemetery chapel and wanted to see if his ancestors were there too. We went on down and he found a number of boxes with names that he remembered. The caretaker took us to visit the older section of the cemetery walls (see blog http://wp.me/p3rc2m-hI ) to see if Dominico could hone in on relatives. It was a very emotional exploration.
Dominico really wanted to see if he could find the house that he was born and lived in until he came to America. This section of Pontelandolfo is really off the grid. I knew of one person who could guide us there – another Mancini! My incredibly kind and generous cousin-in-law, Mario Mancini, was pressed into service. With he and Jack in the lead car we wended our way, up, up and up a mountain over the kind of narrow winding roads that worked really well for donkeys. Soon we made it to Minicariello and started climbing up to medieval ruins looking his his house.
The cutesy sign was not original. The folks who are buying these old stone houses and restoring them for weekend joints made the sign.
Now he hasn’t been here in a really long time. When he left there weren’t any roads and you really used donkeys to get around. Now there are roads and some folks from Naples are buying up the ruins and redoing them as weekend houses. Things look and feel different. The tenacious Mancini clan would not give up.
Two Mancini men from different families discuss the strategy for finding Dominco’s old home.
One of Domenico’s sons found a group of people sitting outside a restored house. Tony tricked his dad into meeting them. Dominico speaks the dialect of Pontelandolfo as though he never left and started sharing his story. This group showed the family another group of attached abandoned ancient homes. It was there that the family gazed upon the first home that Dominico ever had. It was an incredibly emotional moment.
The first time I came to Pontelandolfo in the 1970’s with my Aunt Cat and cousins she had memories of an ugly place full of poverty. We drove in, stared at the fountain and practically fled. Dominco related similar feelings to his children. His memories are of incredible poverty and the feeling that they were lucky to get out.
Through the eyes of the younger Mancinis, the beauty that is the Pontelandolfo was reborn for Dominico. Everyone was overwhelmed with the incredible mountain vistas, the friendliness of the people and the sense of community that one can feel in the piazza. During our descent, Mario surprised everyone and pulled his car over. He made us trek through a short field to see a Roman Fountain – yes ancient Romans actually got their mountain spring water here. Just another of Pontelandolfo’s fabulous secret spots.
We all drank from the Roman Fountain.
After a beers at Bar Mix Fantasy, I led part of the crew up the hill to the Mother Church. Luckily, it was open and they could take a quick peek inside at the alter where their dad was baptized and nonna was married.
They invited Jack and I to join them for dinner along with Mario Mancini and Carmella Fusco. Carmella, Dominico and Mario were real “chiacchierone” laughing and chatting away in the dialect of Dominco’s youth. The night was filled with sharing stories, trying to figure out if we were all somehow related and feeling – well just like family.
Shout out to subscriber Kathy H. who said “I feel a blog about being silenced is in your future.” Now, Kathy knows I love to chat. We Facetime, Viber or Magic Jack call each other a lot. What do we talk about? I haven’t a clue, but for about a week the chatting stopped.
Run Dorothy Run!
On those chatless days we were plagued with thunder, lighting, whooshing rain and turn your umbrella inside out wind. The internet went kaput. No Internet no chatting.
What? No Magic Jack or Viber?
Suddenly I was silenced!
Yeah, yeah I know – I could still e-mail from my smart phone but it ain’t the same as voice to voice chatting. For one whole week I couldn’t verbally reach out to family and friends in the USA. WHAT!
It was a great opportunity to read books, sit in the caffè and gossip and maybe even play at writing something. It also made me realize that my blabbing about our great cheap ways to communicate with folks in other parts of the globe needed a revision. Here in the hills we have one communication tragic flaw – storms knock out the internet.
Our internet is provided through an antennae on our house and a signal sent from an even bigger antennae somewhere in the hills. When the wind is whoooooooooossssshhhhhhhing the signal starts swirling and may be providing internet to Saturn.
How does one overcome this dilemma? First, make sure you have a good cellular telephone provider. We use WIND and pay ten Euro a month for 200 minutes of calls, 200 texts and UNLIMITED data. Second, make sure you have a phone that can become a wi-fi hotspot. I have an iPhone 4s that works well as a hotspot.
I will caution you, there were times when the storms also limited our ability to use our cell phones but not often.
To make quick calls to the USA – really quick because the more you use the unlimited data the slower it becomes – I would turn the cell phone into a hot spot and call through my iPad or Macbook Air. Apple doesn’t send me dime for saying what I’m about to say (though I would gladly accept the latest iPhone.) Apple products all work incredibly well together.
I’ve installed Viber and Skype on my iPad. Facetime comes with the iPad and Macbook. Magic Jack also now has an application for smart phones a well as your computer. Our New Jersey phone number is our Magic Jack number so folks can easily call us and/or leave a message. (Though I wish telemarkerters would stop calling at 6:00 PM Eastern Standard Time which is MIDNIGHT here.)
Bottom line – I may not be able to sip Campari Soda and talk about nothing with pals in America for an hour but thanks to a good cellular provider and the hotspot on my iPhone we can still get our words out.
Nonna's Mulberry Tree 