After a super supper at the local restaurant, “È n’ata Cosa” (cda santa caterina, 82027 Pontelandolfo), we drove into town. Oops, I need to pause the story for a second. All the foodies are wondering what we ate and how much we spent.
Thinking it would be a light food night, while reading the menu, we started with a dish of olives and a bottle of the local Aglianico wine. Our thought of sharing a simple pizza margherita was abruptly erased. The waitress described the “frutta del mar” – mussels, clams, calamari, other fish I can’t remember, oil and garlic – and we too were hooked. Both of us ordered the seafood on linguine and were not disappointed. We added salad and a bottle of aqua frizzante to round out the meal. Oh the cost – only 30 euros. That is about 40 bucks for lots of fresh seafood, a bottle of great wine and more.
Back to the story, We wandered down towards Piazza Roma for an after dinner drink or two at one of the outdoor bars. We love sitting outside and people watching. We only grasp about 20% of the conversations – mostly spoken in dialect – but it is great fun to play Harriet the Spy and listen in on the plots and twists of everyday life. Oops, Jack just looked over my shoulder and “ahhemed” – OK, OK, I’ll drop the papal “we”, I’m the only one that eavesdrops on folks. We drove into town chatting away about the great meal when blinking lights and a temporary fence barred the way.
Whoa – a police barricade had closed off access to the piazza. We screeched to a halt, were detoured to a one way street and wondered what was happening. Screams and shouts could be heard through our closed car windows. Was that fear? Could something heinous be happening. I looked at Jack and knew we had to get closer and find out what was going on. He looked at me with that “are you pazzo?” expression. We parked near the town recycling bins – far enough away to be safe and close enough to hear the sounds. The screams turned into a wail – the piteous kind of forlorn wail that could only mean one possible thing in a small Italian town – some evil team scored a goal against Italy.
Out the dark came the shouts of fans.
We rounded the corner and could see a movie screen set up in front of Bar 2000. The street was closed off, picnic tables filled the street and about a hundred people were gathered watching a calcio match of Italy versus Brazil.
What a great marketing strategy for the bar! I asked my cousin if the town charged the bars for closing the street – a potential additional income stream. She didn’t think so. Then I remembered I had to stop thinking like an American. People of all ages from babies in strollers to great grandads were enjoying the cool night air together. All the town had to do was put up a fence and a community event could be created.
Picnic tables in the street.
We watched for a moment or two and walked the half a block to the next bar. There, a flat screen TV was perched on an outdoor bar tuned to the same game. A smaller but no less vocal crowd watched the game – or is that a match? We stood there for a while too, adding our cheers, jeers and sighs to the sounds of the crowd.
In 2007 my mug graced my brand new Italian Passport. The process to become a Cittadina Italiana took me about three years and numerous trips to the Philadelphia Consulate. It took my sister less than one year and two trips to the Newark Consulate. It took my niece (her picture is above) about 6 months. It will take my cousin about three years plus. WHAT???? Let us start at the beginning. The questions most people ask me are these: Why would you do it? What is the benefit of having dual citizenship? Is the process difficult? How much did it cost you?
Why would I do it?
Why wouldn’t I do it is more like it. In the early 1990’s I started actively researching the Guerrera Family Tree. Piece by piece, I was collecting data, adding branches and getting more and more involved with the lives of people I had never met. To get a better handle on the research, I knew that I had to go to Pontelandolfo and visit the archives of the commune. Zia Caterina, Jack and I made that journey in 1995 – another blog will tell you that whole story. We not only added numerous branches to the tree but discovered my father and Zia Caterina’s first cousins! When Zia Caterina and I had gone to Italy in the 70’s their uncles were still living – we missed an incredible opportunity then. After meeting my extended Italian family, I became even more obsessed with all things Italian. Particularly, all things related to this small village in Campania, Pontelandolfo. While we were there I bought a few copies of my grandmother’s and grandfather’s birth certificates and certificate of marriage. That was an incredibly smart thing to do since folks have told me it is difficult to retrieve those documents via mailed requests – unless you use a service like http://myitalianfamily.com.
Nonno and Nonna
A quick search on line revealed that I was indeed eligible for citizenship – an act which would bring me even closer to my roots. There was no “aha” moment or benefits lightbulb that exploded in my brain – just the deep seated need to be closer to my “i parenti,” the DNA that makes me who I am.
What is the benefit?
How American of us to want to know what the hell we get out of the deal. Like feeling closer to ones heritage isn’t enough! Well, let me think what do I get out of it? If Jack and I really do retire to Italy we are already part of the Italian community. During the Bush Jr. years, My sister and I did talk about moving quickly forward so that if the draft was reinstated and we didn’t particularly agree with the why behind the war we could get her kids out. Now, that might have been our 1960’s sensibilities kicking in, because Italy had mandatory service until January 1, 2005. The other benefit is being able to work anywhere in the European Union – a benefit that my niece is actively using. Further, I can stay in Italy or any of the Schengen Treaty countries for as long as I like – no ninety days for me! ( Of course we are only staying 90 days this trip because Jack hasn’t applied for spousal citizenship yet.) The USA State Department explains all this. http://travel.state.gov/travel/cis_pa_tw/cis/cis_4361.html OK, I am bored with the what is the benefit idea – the benefit is IT MAKES ME HAPPY.
What is the process?
Ah, this is tricky! In the over ten years since my family has gone through this process it has changed based on who we spoke to in which consulate and new regulations. Here is the basic tenet – if one of your parents was an Italian citizen at the time of your birth – no matter where you are born – than you by blood are an Italian citizen. Yikes, my dad was born in Manville, NJ – does that disqualify me? No! My grandparents had not become American citizens until after my dad’s birth. That automatically made him an Italian citizen living abroad. Did my father know that? No! When I explored the process I explained it to him and he couldn’t believe it. He had served as a Navy pilot during WWII, had been Mayor of our home town – how could he also be an Italian citizen? Guess what – lots of you probably are eligible – here is what is currently on The Italian Embassy Website.
CITIZENSHIP BY DESCENT / DESCENT (” jure sanguinis “) And ‘the son of an Italian citizen parents (father or mother) Italian citizens. Citizenship is transmitted from parents to children regardless of generation, with the condition that none of their ancestors ever renounced the nationality.
Go to the web site to read all of the rules and regulations.
The first step is to discover when the elder of your Italian American family became a citizen. We were lucky, my Zia Caterina saved everything. Including her dad’s certificate of citizenship.
We still have the original!
Since my dad didn’t know he was an Italian citizen, he didn’t renounce it. When he found out, he was thrilled and admitted he never would have renounced it. OK, I had the blood line covered. Now what – this is the story of what I went through. Next will be my sister’s story, then my niece and finally my cousin.
Midge’s Story:
I hop over to the Italian Consulate in Philadelphia and ask for a list of the requirements for citizenship. At that time it listed things like : Birth and Death Certificates of my Grandfather, Naturalization Certificate of my Grandfather, Marriage Certificate to my Grandmother, Birth Certificate of my Grandmother,Birth Certificate of my Father, Marriage Certificate of My Parents, Birth Certificate of Midge, Marriage License and Certificate of Midge, Birth Certificate of Midge’s Husband. Easy – no brainer! When I had the time, I drove from city to city in New Jersey and New York and bought the required documents. Full of myself for accomplishing this, I waltzed into the Philadelphia Consulate without an appointment. They took me into a secret room and I waited. After about a half an hour of staring at the art, a lovely woman pulled me into an office and looked at my fat folder. She smiled an said I was on the right track but needed an apostile for each document. An apostile? Wasn’t that one of the men who travelled with Jesus? Turns out an apostile is a certificate from a state that guarantees that the documents that I just bought from a variety of towns were valid. OK, so on the way home I stop in Trenton and go to the apostile office. They explain that they can’t put an apolstile on any of the documents that I just dropped a couple of hundred dollars on because I didn’t buy them from the NJ Office of Vital Statistics. But, I stammered, the oficies of vital statistics in each town were happy to take my money. A week or so later, I go back to Trenton and buy all of the same documents. Since there were so many I had to have them processed. That took a few weeks – when I got them guess what they looked like? The same bloody pieces of paper but they originated from the NJ Office of Vital Statistics! Off to pay for the apostiles. I don’t remember what all this cost me but I think about $25 a piece of paper times two. If you order documents online there are additional fees. This is from the NJ Office of Vital Statistics:
How do I obtain a record with an Apostille Seal?You must purchase a copy of your vital record from the Office of Vital Statistics and Registry and indicate on your application that it is needed for Apostille Seal. You will receive a certified copy, which contains the original signature of the State Registrar or Assistant State Registrar. You must forward this certificate to theDepartment of Treasuryrequesting an Apostille Seal.
Since my parents were married in New York City, it took a full day to gather the documents from NYC Boro Hall and then walk a few blocks to the State of New York Office to request the apostille. During each step of the process, I purchased additional copies of every document so that my sister would have a set. When I had a completed set, I made an appointment at the Philadelphia Consulate and carried the box in. I did make a copy of my entire packet, just so that I knew what I submitted. About one and a half years later I got a letter from Pontelandolfo saying that I was a citizen. Wheeeeeeeeooooooooooo.
Sister Susan:
Susan had copies of all of the documents. When she got around to doing this, residents of Somerset County New Jersey were told to use the Consulate in Newark. We read the website and made an appointment for her – it was about four months out. We also read the new regulations – she needed a translation of every document – including the apostiles. You were only allowed to use an Italian translater from the consulate’s approved list. That cost her about $50 a document. This was all done via e-mail. We scanned the documents and sent them off. Scanned translations came back. This was great we thought – because now my cousin Maryellen can use the same translations. Susan took her two children to the appointment. We figured we would process everyone at the same time. WRONG. Susan had to be certified first. She was missing something – I can’t remember what – but I do remember pleading and begging with the consulate employee because whatever it was I knew was on file from me in Pontelandolfo. Susan made a second appointment and returned with whatever had been left on the dining room table. During the second visit, she is given a document that she is told her daughter can use to prove lineage and easily apply for citizenship. We go for dinner and a drink or three. Just a few months later Susan gets her letter of recognition.
Niece Alex:
Alex lives and goes to university in London. I suggested she use the London Consulate. She took her handy document from Newark and back up documents and headed to that office. They told her she needed to supply the same complete package that her mother had submitted and that the little certificate from Newark was nothing. UGGGGG. All of this is now done electronically, Alex asked if they couldn’t just get the same documents sent back to them? No. Another appointment please. Oh yeah, now we have to make the packet and get it to London! She brings the packet and is nervous about completion. She would like to stay and work in Europe and the EU Passport would be very helpful. Months go by and she hears nothing. She visits and e-mails the London Consulate and they say all things were e-mailed to Pontelandolfo. We asked our cousin to visit the Pontelandolfo office of Vital Statistics and check on Alex’s status. Instantly, her paperwork was done and her certification sent off.
Formal Letter
Cousin Maryellen:
Takes all of the same documents – but adds her dad’s information – translated and in a cute folder to her appointment at the Newark Consulate. There, she doesn’t get past the triage dude. You see, my grandfather’s birth certificate from Italy says Francesco Guerrera but his citizenship papers say Frank Guerrera – how do we know it is the same person? This name change – a common occurrence – happened with her father’s documents and our grandmothers. They told her nothing could be processed until she got the documents certified as belonging to the same person. I was with her and argued up a storm, explaining that two of us had already used the exact same documents and gotten citizenship. Further, all of the documents were already on file in Pontelandolfo. He shrugged. We left and Maryellen hasn’t moved the process forward. So lessons learned. Double check everything. Read all new regulations. If you can, have a local relative in Italy lobby for you! What did it cost me? Do we count the trip to Italy to buy the birth and marriage certificates? I’d say if you include travel and all the mistakes I made it cost me about $1,000. It cost my sister about the same because it was $50 a document for translation plus the cost of the original documents and apostile.
Gardens all over Pontelandolfo are bursting with zucchini flowers. Folks plant tons of plants – not because they are looking for an abundance of zucchini to give to their neighbors, but so they can eat the blossoms!
First step was to pick the flowers. In Flagtown, NJ where we have tried to plant zucchini, the deer get there first. Here in Pontelandolfo, deer are not a problem. Midge, who loves fried zucchini flowers, is the natural predator. Today, when I got back to our house Zia Vittoria,our fabulous landlady, walked out and said don’t cook – I have fiori di zucca. Well, I don’t really know what she said because she speaks the dialect of the village and I only understand about 10 %. But – I saw the flowers – and I knew where she was going. So, I volunteered to help her fry up a batch and learn her technique. I’ve made these too and my recipe is a bit different. We will follow Zia Vittoria’s recipe and talk about mine later.
Flour, eggs, salt and tad of yeast powder. Let it sit a bit.
It looked and felt like the consistency of pancake batter – or a Bisquick batter. She had it resting in front of a sunny window and it was uncovered.
How pretty those sweet things are.
The zucchini blossoms were fairly large. First we popped off the stems. (I’ve never seen that done before) Then we washed them and let them drain.
Squish and they are flatter and bigger looking.
This next step was totally new to me. She took a dish towel, hand dried each blossom and flattened it. Just a bit of pressure between two sections of the dish towel.
Blossoms just floating in batter.
Then she dumped a bunch of them into the batter and let them sit a while.
Most village homes have more than one kitchen. The working kitchen where you make really messy stuff, like huge vats of sauce, smoke prosciutto, can vegetables etc. This home has a working kitchen in a small separate house – with a huge fireplace and wood burning oven – they really do smoke meat there.
Meanwhile she choose a small frying pan with high sides and filled it about 3/4’s of the way with olive oil. She ladled the oil from a big vat in her working kitchen. I was shocked! We have all been told for years not to deep fry in olive oil. I asked her and she said something like, ” why should I buy oil to fry in when we make our own perfectly fine olive oil.” I waited to see if it would smoke or flame or turn us into strega – but no it worked perfectly fine.
Gentle does it!
The next step was to gently turn each blossom in the batter. She used a flick of her wrist and didn’t tear one flower.
At this point my mouth waters.
By now the oil was sizzling and bubbling – stil no flames of death or smoke. Each blossom was plopped in the hot oil until she filled one layer of the pan. After the first side was brown, she used a slotted spoon and flipped them over. Meanwhile, I put paper towels on a number of trays – yes I got the simple job – I washed the dishes too!
I should have doubled up the paper towels.
When the second side was brown the blossoms were taken out – again using a slotted spoon and placed on paper towels to drain. At this point, you can add some salt to them. Here is the finished product! They were enveloped in a light pancake and very tasty.
Instead of an appetizer this turned out to be lunch – we couldn’t stop eating them.
Mine were a little different. What follows is a batch I made last week from some purloined blossoms.
Jack and I had wine and blossoms for a late night snack. Ahhhhhhh
I didn’t use yeast – just eggs, flour, salt and pepper. We had some left over cheese that was drying out so I sliced chunks and stuck a few pieces inside each blossom. Then I dredged them in the batter and fried them in canola oil. As they were draining, I did toss some salt on the blossoms . They came out really crispy and light with oozing cheese in the middle.
Yikes, these Apple products are cool. I had no idea how to make a video blog of myself talking about Pontelandolfo. Then I remembered, I had a Mac Air Book – or is that a MacBook Air – and I guessed there would be a way that was so easy a kid could do it. So I called over a 5 year old Italian kid – who couldn’t read the English directions but pointed the screen of the lap top at me and said “Parli”. So I did. Let me know what you think of the Video Blog idea. As an aging theater professional, it is easy to talk and talk and talk….
I have no idea if this link will seamlessly lead you to Ciao Ciao Linda’s blog – but I hope so. She has just written about truffle hunting in Abruzzo and it made my mouth water. My cousin’s husband Mario also hunts for truffles here in Pontelandolfo and we have had some incredible truffle based meals. Give a glance at Linda’s blog – I bet you’ll get hungry too. Boun appetit.
Yeah, it is officially summer in Pontelandolfo! Yesterday, June 13th, was the festa for San Antonio di Padova – the annual kick off of the summer season. This saint merits a two pronged celebration – check out the poster – “Programma Religiouso” and Programma Civile”. Over two days, San Antonio was given three masses, a procession with a band and his statue was carried through out the town! The not so religious program was a great cover band set up in the piazza that played the canon of Italian rock and traditional folk frenzy music.
Jack and I made it to town in time to see the procession come down a hill from the church. The brass band led the way, followed by the little children in white robes and a group of men carrying the massive stature. There were even more folks processing than I had seen for Corpus Domini. We decided to sit at a bar and watch the actiity.
The three bar’s in the piazza had set up outside service bars, food stations and extra tables. Think the Jersey Shore! Our favorite, Bar Elimar, sported wicker couches and coffee tables. Two of the bars had set up “kebab” stations – we would call them gyro stations. Big hunks of mystery meat on a gyro skewer turning slowly and oozing a great scent.
My favorite place to sit, stare and sip.
We plopped on the comfy couches at Bar Elimar, ordered a vino bianco and a prosecco, and quietly watched the procession wend its way out of the square. When our drinks arrived, we were pleasantly surprised to also get great little plates of olives, mini mini sandwiches and little fried puff pastries. After two drinks each and the whopping 5 Euro bill ($6.60), we carefully walked up the hill towards the medieval tower. We were headed for Il Castello, a great seafood and pizza restaurant.
The band wasn’t starting for another hour and the owners of Il Castello, Salvatore and Lidia, always treat us like family. We knew that munching on Salvatore’s wood oven pizza and chatting up a storm in both Italian and English with Lidia would be a great way to pass the time. We ate our pizza, drank our wine and then felt the drums begin to fill the square. It was time to carefully pick our way over the cobblestones down the steep hill to the piazza. How do young women wear heels on cobblestones? I am tripping my way down in flats. Ooops – #$%#%%.
Since it was a bit chilly – the wind was whipping over the mountain – there weren’t as many people out for the nine o’clock “spettacolo” as I’ve seen at past musical events. Those of us who did brave the chill, with grappa and caffè in hand, danced in place, swayed and sang along. Ba ba boom – and then the fireworks kicked in. Jack and I quickly went to the promenade that overlooks a valley and watched the show. Something really bothered me – no one said “Ahhhhh” or “Ohhhhh”. I tried to get the crowd to ooo and ahh but Jack put his hand on my mouth. I guess I was embarrassing him.
When we lived in Asbury Park and were the insane proprietors of Caffè e Dolce, the money losing bistro from hell, Memorial Day kicked off the summer season. In the good old days, there would be a concert on the beach and thousands of kids would squish together on the sand and hopefully buy stuff from all of us starving beach front vendors. The day after the Memorial Day event the beach was full of trash. The boardwalk was full of trash. The streets were full of trash. You will never guess what I didn’t see walking into town today – TRASH! Last night, there was a concert, dancing in the streets, fireworks and folks sitting all around the piazza. I found one soda can under a tree and a couple of paper towels. H’mmm che cosa???
I must tell you, until yesterday, I was freezing my proverbial ass off (OK, I wish it would freeze off) but you get the idea. May was incredibly cold. I had a visiting nephew pack a pair of sweat pants for me and bring them to not so sunny in May Italy. Today – the day after we celebrated San Antonio, I walked down the hill to Bar Elimar for my morning cappuccino and it was hot. Not a little warm, not maybe a great day, but honest to heaven summer hot – and it was only 8:30 AM! That San Antonio is an incredibly powerful guy!
This post was sent to me by an incredible cook, Kathy Hall. I know she’s a great cook because I have sat at her table and practically licked the plate clean every time she invites me over. She has been following “Nonna’s Mulberry Tree” and sent me this pictorial post of her own. Enjoy!
Kathy:
Homemade fresh pasta has always ranked high on my kitchen bucket list. I have always cooked almost everything from scratch and still have a fond memory of a pasta party at my friend Grace’s college apartment. She was the first in our crowd to get a Cuisinart and we watched in amazement as in less than two minutes the flour and eggs formed a ball of dough right in the bowl. We liked it so much we did it three times. Luckily, being Italian, she had a pasta maker so we all took turns cranking away for about an hour then happily stringing fresh strands on the back of every available kitchen chair.
That was over 40 years ago. This summer my friend Midge traveled to Italy to reconnect with her Italian heritage and I am following along virtually via this blog. One of her first posts was a recipe for homemade pumpkin ravioli with walnuts, parmesan and speck. It looked and sounded heavenly so I dug out my rolling pin and borrowed my neighbor’s ravioli cutter.
It was not a complete success. The filling was a savory rustic delight. The pasta, which I insisted on rolling by hand, was way too thick and cooked up into a gummy mess of semi raw dough not worthy of it’s yummy filling.
Time for technology. I ordered a pasta machine from Amazon and watched a bunch of Youtube videos on how to make home made pasta. This is my second batch in four days (We ate the first one too fast to photograph.)
Mound of flour and one egg – here’s looking at yah!
The recipe is simple, one egg, about 2/3’s of a cup of all purpose flour, a small splash of olive oil and a little salt (if I remember to add it). I mix it old school starting by making a hole in a mound of flour big enough to hold one broken egg. I scramble the egg, olive oil and salt with a fork and then slowly incorporate the flour working from the inside of the volcano out.
Scramble that egg!Make sure you washed your hands!
When the fork gets coated with the thick egg flour mixture I switch to my hands continuing to incorporate flour until I have a not too wet, not too dry dough. It’s not as magical as the Cuisinart but it’s a lot less clean up.
The next step is where practice makes a difference as I transform that sloppy doughy mess by manipulating it with my hands. Pasta making is similar to bread making. You have to experience how the dough should feel as you knead it. Ideally your Italian grandmother shows you this. I’m Irish so I learned by experimenting and seeing how different doughs perform as pasta.
Who kneads a gym?
For those non bakers, here’s how to knead. Flour your hands and the board. Stretch the ball of dough you formed by pushing down and away from you with the heel of your hand, then rotate 90 degrees, fold in half and push again. If it’s too wet sprinkle a little more flour on the ball and keep working it. If it’s too dry wet your hands and incorporate that little bit of water as you knead. A lot depends on the size of the egg, how much olive oil you put in and the humidity in the air. Relax, work slowly and enjoy. In time you will know when you have the right combination of flour, eggs and water. Eventually the dough will stop sticking to your hands and start to become silky.
Keep pushing away, folding and rotating until the dough is smooth and springs back when poked. It takes between six and ten minutes total and is a nice upper body workout. Then form the dough back into a ball, wrap it in plastic wrap and let it rest at room temperature for 30 minutes. Some recipes say to flour the ball before wrapping it, others say to coat it with a little olive oil. I flour if the dough seems a little wet, oil if it seems a little dry.
While the dough rests, I make a sauce and put on a big pot of salted water to boil. One night my sauce was fava beans, garlic and olive oil. The next it was tomato sauce with turkey sausage and mushrooms that I had in the freezer. The classic combination of butter and cheese is also good.
Looks amazing!
After the dough rests, and the sauce and boiling water are ready. Either try to roll the pasta out by hand or dig out a pasta machine and follow the instructions. I strongly recommend the pasta machine. Unlike the Cuisinart, it never has to be washed, just dusted off with a pastry brush.
Roll your pasta dough til it’s thin enough to see your hand on the other side, cut into your favorite shape, cook for two to four minutes depending on thickness, toss with sauce and enjoy. . I can’t speak about left overs since we have had none. This recipe serves two people if you are used to 2 ounce dry pasta servings.
I walk down the cobblestone hill through crushed rose petals tossed at me by sweet young girls in flowing white robes – their hair festooned with crowns of flowers. Birds are singing and the cadence of soles on pavement stirs me. Instinctively, my inner muse comes to life and I begin to move my arms in the fluid style of Isadora Duncan or Ruth St. Denis. POP – POP POP- ZZZEEEEE – I hear the pop and feedback of the sound system and then the rhythmic reading of Mons. Giusseppe Rosario Girardi, the Pontelandolfo parish priest. Whoops, I remember where I am – processing to celebrate Corpus Domini (Corpus Christi) and I start behaving like the good woman I am.
To celebrate Corpus Domini the parish of San Salvatore in Pontelandolfo (Arcidiocesi di Benevento) and many parishes across Italy had a mass on June 2nd followed by a procession. My cousin called and suggested I come to mass and participate in the procession. I didn’t know what to expect. The last Pontelandolfo procession I walked in women were barefooted – silly me not understanding enough Italian at the time thought they were barefoot to protect their expensive shoes from the harsh cobblestone streets – not reliving the pain of Christ. My Italian has improved a lot since then but I still wasn’t sure what I was in for.
The past week I went to mass in this same Baroque style building and the church wasn’t full. Of course, folks do have multiple masses at three different churches to choose from, so it is difficult to assess the strength of the Catholic Church The Corpus Domini mass was held in the church in which my grandmother was married. It was first built before 1500 (Romanesque) and then destroyed totally in an earthquake in 1688 and up and running ten years later. Inside, the church is divided into three naves with incredible paintings – but we’ll save the church/art tour for another post. I love going to the church and imagining nonna on her wedding day or holding her children at the baptismal font. I can feel the presence of my history in these stone walls and sense the eyes of my family looking at the incredible art. Yeah, yeah, I am rambling.
The alter is amazing!
Back to this particular mass – it was packed. There was barely standing room. A group of young girls sat in the front wearing white robes and garlands of white flowers in their hair. At first I thought the boys I saw enter in white robes were alter boys but there were too many of them. I found out later that the children who had their first communion either one or two weeks earlier always get to lead this procession. The sounds of the service surrounded me. The choir, accompanied by guitar, overwhelmed the naves and primary space with sweet music. The priest didn’t have such success with the microphone system which tweaked with feedback and growled irregularly. However, everyone participated verbally in the mass – this really surprised me. Even the children maintained a sense of decorum. I hadn’t a clue as to what was being said but the magic of every voice – without the aid of a missal – responding and singing was chilling. During those brief periods when I attend church, everyone clutches a book and reads along. One of the young women told me that even as children they didn’t look at a book to learn responses. Little kids actually listened in church and mimicked their parents to learn the responses, prayers and creeds.
When the mass was over, I hung back to take a picture of the alter to show you. The little guys in white were all lined up holding candles and also waiting for the space to clear. I didn’t know how the procession worked and – well oops – my presence may have gotten them in a bit of trouble over a missed cue. As I quietly went to the front of the church – to the nave on the left and lit a candle for my nonna – I heard of chorus of sweet young voices say “hello, hello”. I turned and with big smiles and candles waving, six charming elementary students that I had been a guest English teacher too were happily demonstrating their vebal prowess. A quick rebuke from an elder and they stopped smiling and started down the aisle. I snapped my picture and also headed for the front of the church.
Piazza in front of the church – note the girls in white to the right.
I’m guessing there were well over two hundred people waiting to walk in the procession.
Procession started from the front steps of Chiesa Madre del S.S. Salvatore.
Six men carried a golden canopy out of the church and stood poised on the church steps. Under canopy is a gilded cup holding the host. The beautiful young girls stood in two parallel lines, holding baskets full of flower petals. Young members of the church held up the portable speakers and microphones. One young woman started reading and the priest slowly came down the steps. The young girls tossed flower petals on the ground. The priest walked through and the congregation followed.
This is the alter of San Donato, who along with Sant’ Antonio, is the patron saint of the village. He merits a huge festival in August here and in places around the world – like Montreal and Waterbury CT – where people from Pontelandolfo have gone.
Little alters are permanently placed around the village.
As we all walked up and down the hills of the town, the readings were broadcast through portable speakers and everyone was contemplative.
If you go to You Tube you can see quite a few Corpus Domini processions. I felt I would be the ugly American if I pulled out a video camera to record the event. OK, I did sneak a few photos on my phone – —
Silently we walked up and down the village lanes.Two sets of young people carried the portable speakers. One pair was in the front and one in the rear.
Inside, the church is divided into three naves with incredible paintings – but we’ll save the church/art tour for another post. I love going to the church and imagining nonna on her wedding day or holding her children at the baptismal font. I can feel the presence of my history in these stone walls and sense the eyes of my family looking at the incredible art. Yeah, yeah, I am rambling.
