Tag: italian Life

Zucca Rocks Borgo Cerquelle

by midgeguerrera, posted in Food - Eating In and Out!, Local Businesses
Photo Courtesy of Borgo Cerquelle

Borgo Cerquelle is celebrating fall harvests in a joyfully orangey way – pumpkins have crept into every aspect of the bioagriturismo’s autumn offerings. We were lucky to have taste tested their light as a cloud pumpkin gnocchi. Sorry, we scarfed them down too fast to take a picture.

Before I start slurping the pot of pumpkin soup I just made from one of Borgo Cerquelle’s organic pumpkins, I need to explain how visiting this hilltop bioagriturismo is a leap back into the history of Pontelandolfo. Borgo Cerquelle is an ancient – well borgo – hamlet – that in the end of the 1600s housed contadini – peasant farmers. Built entirely of stone, the borgo has been repurposed into an incredible spot for locals and tourists. It is just a few minutes up the mountain from Pontelandolfo’s historic center. Those of you who know me, know that gulp, twisty mountain roads are not my favorite route to anywhere. Jack loves them! That said, Borgo Cerquelle, located about 600 m – 1970 feet – above sea level and surrounded by streams, woods, meadows and olive groves is worth the driving angst. The view of Pontelandolfo from there makes me want to sing Finian’s Rainbow “How are things in Glocca Morra.” Some days I do!

Some members of the original families have returned to visit and marvel at how Borgo Cerquelle was rehabbed, preserved intact and is alive again. Guests stay in the rustically furnished, heated rooms with an independent entrance and bathroom. I must admit, the original inhabitants did not have indoor plumbing. Thank goodness for that upgrade.

Our Cooking in the Kitchens of Pontelandolfo participants stay here and have nothing but joyful comments about the place, the family who runs it and of course – the food.

 

Celebrating fall and the fabulous harvest found on this organic farm also means fall foliage. Borgo Cerquelle is in an area abundant with oak trees. I learned that “Cerquelle” is based on the ancient dialect name for oaks -“cerque.”

The family that has created this unusual place to eat and stay is headed by Alverio and Marianna. Alverio insists Marianna is the boss. They are more than ably assisted by their son Antonino and daughter Serena. Antonino wears the administrative hat now and his sister Serena takes care of the kitchen following the traditional recipes of his mother and grandmother. Serena is a talented potter and her creativity can be seen on every table. Antonino’s photos grace their website.

Sniff, sniff, my zuppa di zucca is percolating on the stove. Yummy. After a day at Borgo Cerquelle eating farm to table fare that featured pumpkins, I knew I had to bring a pumpkin home. You need to know that lunch at this bioagriturismo takes a minimum of three hours. There is no menu choice. What is fresh today is what is cooked. We have never had anything but an exceptional locally sourced feast.

Yeah, I have a pazillion pounds of pumpkin! Jack, borrowing a samurai sword, hacked it into manageable pieces. I had been gifted an old rooster that had outlived his cock-a-doodle and made a rich chicken – or is it rooster -stock. Now, how to put both these quite local food groups together? Simple. 1. Roast the pumpkin which makes it easier to cut up. 2. Take a scant head of garlic, dice it, toss it in the broth and let it simmer. (Garlic wards off fall flu.) 3. Toss in some old cheese rinds, tyme, rosemary, salt and pepper. 4. Let the roasted pumpkin cool. Ok, Jack made me let it cool. I am famous for burning my hands in the kitchen. 5. Cut up the pumpkin, toss it in the pot and let everything simmer to meld. 6. Take out the immersion blender, zzzzzzzzzzz, errrrrrrrrrr, it to a creamy texture. 7. EAT with hearty bread from Diglio Forno drizzled with Borgo Cerquelle savory pumpkin marmalade.

This fall, Borgo Cerquelle has offered a plethora of activities from harvesting, trips to the river, classes in cooking, ceramics, art therapy and my favorite APERITIVO! With a reservation, as the sun sets, we can zip up the mountain and enjoy a cocktail and incredible snacks. As the laughter of guests fills the fall air, an outdoor bar decorated for fall is the anchor.

When I asked Alverio why they do what they do. He explained that they want to revive the activities and traditions of the ancient inhabitants of the village. That means cultivating the land and raising animals organically, providing an oasis away from the stress of the city and offering an experience that is perfect for individuals and families. I have to say that every time I bring children there for lunch they race off to see the animals, climb the rope course and just plain old play.

HEY JACK WHEN YOU READ THIS BLOG POST – AND YOU BETTER BE READING MY BLOG POSTS – WE HAVE TO GO TO THIS AT BORGO CERQUELLE – werwolves and witches – huzzah!

The people, the place and the friendly wolf/dogs Vilcas e Tempesta make Borgo Cerquelle a great place to eat, relax, play and breath. I hope to run into you there.

A group of Cooking in the kitchens of Pontelandolfo cooks pose with Marianna, Antonino and Alverio.

Ci vediamo prossima volta,

Midge

La Befana and Me

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

Every year, the night before Epiphany, La Befana on her souped up broom soars across the winter sky. Which means, every January 5th Italian children across the world hang a stocking, cross their fingers that they’ve been good enough and go to bed keeping one eye open looking for the old woman on a broom who also has a “naughty or nice” list. Nice means candies and gifts are squirreled away in the stocking. Bad – carbone – black coal good only for tossing at the cat – sits there staring at the offender. Snappily dressed in a ratty shawl, babushka, stripped sox and long skirt, the nonnina (tiny nonna) arrives on the Festa dell’Epifania eve. Epiphany is a celebration of the Three Kings visiting the newborn Christ child.

Growing up in Somerset County New Jersey, when there were more horses than houses, I wasn’t surrounded by a neighborhood of Italians. My grandparents loved me, loved their subsistence farm and barely mentioned Italian traditions. I was probably in my fifties when I stumbled upon a magical book in a Morcone bookstore. The grinning, shabbily dressed old woman riding the broom and sporting a huge smile reached into my heart. I bought the book – it was written for six year olds so I could almost follow the Italian – and I became obsessed with La Befana. So obsessed that after midnight one January 6th, determined to see her zoom into our Flagtown farmhouse, I pried my eyelids open with toothpicks.  My SLR camera was ready. Snap! I nailed her. Well not exactly – but this shadow tells the story! 

I guess people on the “nice list” didn’t try to catch La Befana in the act. Not only was there no candy in my stocking, but not even a hunk of coal. I discovered, just a piece of straw from her broom taunting me from my empty scotch glass. That piece of straw reminded me that some mysteries and traditions are best just accepted. Not only accepted but embraced. Did you know that YouTube has hundreds of videos about this charming witchlike old lady? I do! I watched about a bazillion of them. (The WordPress police wouldn’t let me share any with you.)

Some say her name is a riff on the Roman dialect pronunciation of the Italian epifania. The theory I love is that she is really a Christian knockoff of Sabine (also known as “Strenia” and “Bastrina”) a Roman goddess of the new year, new beginnings.

Her back story is wonderful. This is the very short version. Living alone in the woods, she was visited by the lost Three Kings. She invites them to share her meager fare and they invite her to go with them to see the new born king. She bows out to use her handy broom and clean her little cabin. Then it hits her – a new born king! She ought to try to follow the Three Kings and visit the new babe. She doesn’t make it to Bethlehem and instead continues to visit Italian children on that blessed day. She is adored and celebrated everywhere.

Everywhere I go in Italy I see her. Here is La Befana in Sardegna!
Celebrating in Venice!

La Befana crept into my psyche and I knew I couldn’t get relief unless I wrote a play that featured her. So I did and Next Stage Press published it last year. (The digital version is only $1. ) The play is looking for a production by a youth friendly theater or school. Give the Christmas Carol a season off and try something – Italian!

Mamma Mia – La Befana?! weaves the ancient Italian Epiphany tale, La Befana, into a contemporary American setting.  Nonna comes to Vermont to spend Christmas with her daughter, Maria, and nipote (granddaughter) Mary.  Arriving first was Nonna’s ancient magical moving and tweaking suitcase – filled, we discover, not with gifts but the ragged costume of La Befana.  

 On the eve of Epiphany, in response to this family crisis, young Mary determined to save the day, rides off to find their senator’s office and appeal for help.  Texting while biking, she loses control and is hurt. With a severely injured leg, Mary drags herself to the San Rocco Church manger scene and keeps warm by burrowing into the straw.  No one knows where she is but the entire town – including her three pals Bethany, Micah and Gaspar who recently played the Three Wise Men in the Christmas Pageant – searches for her.  

Could the fun loving sixty-something Nonna from Florida really be the thousands of years old Italian La Befana? Every January 6th La Befana finds all the Italian children in the world and leaves them gifts.  This January she found one very special Italo-Ameriana, her granddaughter Mary.

Buy a copy and enjoy the story. Then please let your drama teacher pals and theater for youth besties know about this special holiday tale.

Grazie Mille!

Midge

Pontelandolfo Hosts International Competition!

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo
Cheese Rolling is an International Sport!

This unusual competition takes strength, precision and a passion for the past. La Ruzzola is an ancient game played in the streets of Italy. Members of a squadra, team, toss wheels of cheese down a course. Originally it was a well aged pecorino cheese. The early players were probably farmers and shepherds – pecorino cheese is made from sheep’s milk. The winner sent the cheese soaring down a path the farthest. Today, the goal is to reach a specific point with the least number of tosses. I heard someone in the crowd watching the day I was there say it reminded them a bit of golf.

This is a serious sport. Team shirts, buses, fans and all the trappings of a sport were seen in Pontelandolfo this past weekend. Fifty teams from throughout Italy filled the village on Saturday. Some didn’t qualify for Sunday and took their cheese home.

The sport is regulated by the Federazione Italiana Giochi e Sport Tradizionali e dall’European Traditional Sports and Game Association. What is not regulated are the dogs who dashed into the street chasing the rolling cheese. Or the spectator who took a flop when a huge wheel of cheese hit him in the legs. Don’t stand so close!

I could talk about how glorious it was on an October weekend to what happened a sport that is so unique. I could ramble on and on about the feeling of comradeship. Or talk about the fun I had watching out of town guests amble up the street following the action. I could but isn’t it better to watch this –

Enjoy!

See you in Pontelandolfo (BN), the best village in the world of cheese throwing.

Ci vediamo.

Midge

Click here to discover the world of the plays I’ve written! All looking for a production.
Blatant self promotion – check out the books that take place in Pontelandolfo!

Has it Really Been A Year?

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

The fabulous folks at read furiously sent me this today!

It is hard to believe that just a year ago my first book of stories from Pontelandolfo was accepted by a publisher, printed, distributed and in many of your hands. I just wanted to take a moment and thank you for taking this roller coaster ride with me. Not only have many of you bought the book, but you have come to readings, sent me photos holding the book and dashed off notes thanking me for causing you lips to creep up into a smile and laughter to bubble up from your diaphragm. Mille Grazie!

Wowza! Bravi for sharing! ( I really need to make a video that features all of your pictures!) Each and everyone of you have found your way into my heart. Thank you for all your support. Wait for it – here it comes – the pitch as only our Midge can do it.

It is not too late to get on the humor train and join these happy folks by getting your own copy of “Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos.” They make a great gift and can be ordered Wherever books are sold.

There I did it. Or come and see me next week – laugh at my antics, listen to story or two and enjoy the camaraderie! I will be in Pawling at the Library on Thursday March 30th at 7:00 PM.

Or visit Nyack! The Nyack Library is hosting me on April 1st at 2:00 PM.

Someone asked me the other day “What’s next for this book?” Well – my favorite next dream would be if Fiat’s marketing department would call and say – “Hey, this funny book is all about Fiats in Italy! Why don’t we give one to every new Fiat owner and have you tour Fiat dealers telling your funny tales.” Anybody know anyone at Fiat??? Of course the next biggest fantasy would be the book turning into a limit series on Apple TV!

Again, much love to all of you. Thank you for a fantastic year. Keep on traveling, share your stories and most importantly giggle daily.

Ci vediamo –

Midge – midgeguerrera.com

Quarantine Quirks (Yes, we have Covid.)

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

Sigh… Midge and Jack succumbed to the evil Covid. Beh. Cough, cough, sneeze, sneeze. Now, no need to feel sorry for us. I truly enjoyed laying on the couch for seven days and binge watching Tehran on Apple TV. Sleeping until noon wasn’t so bad either. We are both finally rejoining the living, but won’t be leaving the house until we take a second Tampone Nasofaringeo Covid test.

How did we get it you ask? Well, we went on vacation. I know, I know, being retired and living in Italy is like one long vacation. Think of this as a vacation from vacationing. Or as my pal Marjorie put it, “You staycation all year and this is your going away vacation.” We had booked a Viking River Cruise that would glide us along the Rhine River from Amsterdam to Basel Switzerland. Amsterdam – damp, cold rainy Amsterdam. I know the exact second and place in Amsterdam that I gobbled up a bunch of Covid flying germs. The – they really need new administrators – Ann Frank House was the place. We had reserved time slots to visit the Ann Frank House. It was raining. There was a freakin’ long queue outside the Museum/House. We were soaking wet. My mask was soaking wet. My brain was soaking wet and wanted to ring dry whoever the programming administrator at the museum was that over booked time slots. Excuse me, the place is small and you sold enough timed tickets to fill the coliseum. We squeezed into the place – masked – and really enjoyed the museum portion of the exhibition. As we climbed the steep cramped stairs to the upper levels, I started to panic. They can’t be putting all these people into smaller and smaller spaces. Oh yes, they could. I pulled my mask down only once – to breathe after climbing a flight of stairs. Only for two minutes. That was all it took for the evil flying vermin to pounce on my lungs. Have I mentioned that masks were not required. I saw about 4 out of the crush of people wearing masks. (I do not know if what you just read is true. I cannot confirm or deny this is the place I caught Covid. The above paragraph was based on my Italian woo woo insights.)

We spent two more rainy masked days in Amsterdam before hitting the river. The Viking “longboat” only had about 160 passengers. We never sat with other people. Didn’t go to the main crowded dining room and were definitely cautious. Views along the river were great. Food and booze were great. Laughing with Sue and Phil, the couple we went with was great.

ALERT, ALERT, RING, DING, SIREN OOOOO. According to the European Centre for Disease Prevention and Control, “Based on systematic reviews and meta-analyses in studies investigating infections with ancestral strains of SARS-CoV-2, the incubation period of COVID-19 is, on average, five to six days, with most studies reporting a range of two to 14 days.” I woke up on day 4 of the cruise and went right back to bed. (Notice how average I am – six bleeding days it took for the nasties to turn me into yuck.). I didn’t even think about Covid. Having had two severe cases of Lyme disease, I thought I was having a Lyme reoccurrence. My muscles didn’t want to work and I was incredibly weak. Blah, blah, blah, you don’t need to hear the whole gruesome story. Anyway, I only thought about Covid when I started coughing. That was in the airport flying back to Naples. I double masked and hoped for the best.

Back in Pontelandolfo, we immediately went to the pharmacy and got tested. We both tested positive for covid. What? How could Jack be positive? He doesn’t even have a sneeze happening. Pharmacist, Marco Perone, entered us into the system and printed out our, YOU BETTER QUARANTINE FOR A MINIMUM OF 5 DAYS OR GET A TIME OUT, certificates. Hiding our faces from the world we rushed home. Yes, once in the system the local police can really check on you. Besides that, we didn’t want anyone we knew – which is the whole village – getting sick.

it was official. October 8 we went into quarantine.

We had been away from home for about 12 days. The refrigerator was empty. We looked at each other. Jack sighed. I had a coughing fit, recovered and went into “feed us please” action. The snarky readers out there will read what follows, guffaw and think, you can easily order food in New Jersey too. Supermarkets deliver. Restaurants deliver. Getting delivery is no big deal. Hey snarky – Do they also think for you????

My first text was to Luigi, co- owner of Mini Market La Torre. Think well stocked deli. My list was eggs, milk, bread, water, lunchmeat and wine and whine – I couldn’t think. Lunchmeat – they know us. They know I buy 200 grams each of mortadella, tacchino, e prosciutto motto. I didn’t have to think. Luigi tossed other stuff we would need in the bag. I snuck out side and put a Tupperware container with a bunch of money in it on our outdoor table. He left his store, ran over and put the bag of goodies on the table. Then he routed around the Tupperware and took what it cost.

Vegetables. We need vegetables. Fresh, green and full of antioxidants too. Text number two went to Nicole, owner of Fresh Fruit. Nicole gets up most mornings at 4:00 AM and heads to the fruit and vegetable farmer’s market near Naples. My text to her was briefer – green vegetables, fruit, onions and ???. She too appeared with a bag stuffed with green, yellow and I don’t remember fresh stuff. Nicole exchanged a receipt for cash in the Tupperware box.

Watching her, I started giggling. For years, I would go to farms, put money in a box and take eggs or produce. This is kind of a reverse honor system. Leave money in the box for someone to take and they leave you stuff.

How could we go a week without meat from Marcelleria Mancini? To butcher extraordinary, Stefano, my text was steak, chopped meat, chicken and some kind of interesting cheese. We ugly Americans eat more meat than we should. His other customers get one chicken breast thin sliced into cutlets for ten people. He knew better and two giant chicken legs and breasts arrived. With all the garlic and onions from Nicole, chicken soup was happening. He cut us two thick and scrumptious steaks. Enough for two meals. The cheese was a creamy and yummy caciocavallo – you know horse’s balls – from a local caseificio – cheese maker. Stefano didn’t rummage in the Tupperware box. He had stapled a bill to the bag and said pay me when you are better.

Pay me when you are better??? Would ShopRite at Home say “pay me when you are better?”

Speaking of texts. I texted our primary care physician, Doctor Palumbo. He replied instantly with what meds we needed to buy and what we should be doing. The first person to pick up meds for us was Nicola, our good friend and neighbor. A few days later I texted Dr. Palumbo again – I was worried about Jack’s oxygen saturation. More meds and a new text to my precious cousin Carmella. Vroom she was off and running to the Pharmacy. Yeah, yeah, CVS delivers but does the pharmacist call you and say, ” How are you two? Call if you need us.”

Since I didn’t want folks here to think we were ignoring them, I posted on FaceBook that we were Covid positive and in quarantine. Folks had not only wished us well via replies on my FaceBook post but hit other electric highways as well. I was too tired to answer my phone but I did look at the messages. Many of them came from my Pontelandolfo neighbors. “Call if you need anything.” “Can I do anything.” Those thoughts were said a variety of ways with funny or serious emojis. Those messages kept our spirits up. Thanks Carmella via Michelle for getting us that much yearned for loaf of bread! Thank you to Jersey Girl Kathy for daily checking on us too.

For the past ten years I have touted the joys and love we find in our small Southern Italian village. Pontelandolfo may not have Grubhub, Doordash or Uber Eats but damn, it has love. Lots of love. Grazie mille a tutti.

Ci vediamo!

Midge
PS. So excited! I will soon be in NJ and PA doing readings from my book, Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos! Come laugh with me!

Click here to see my November and December Schedule!

Cinghiale, Wild Boar, in my Kitchen.

by midgeguerrera, posted in Food - Eating In and Out!

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!” Or in this case a cinghiale – wild boar – with tusks. With the horse, the proverb meant – don’t start looking at his teeth to see how old it is. With the wild boar – I didn’t give a tinker’s damn how old it was as long as I can cook it. (Notice I slipped in another anachronistic saying. I’m in a literary frame of mind.) Wild boar is one of my favorite carnivoristic treats. (I just made the word up.) What is she rambling on and on about? Anybody heard from Jack? He needs to make her a martini.

I had a great day! A pal who is an ace hunter brought me a precious gift. Il collo parte del corpo del un cinghiale! The huge neck of a wild boar, cut up into precious meaty neck bones. Determined to make a sugo that would make my nonna proud, I went to work. Did I know what I was doing? I didn’t have a clue. When one doesn’t have a clue, it makes sense to ask a professional. Our local butcher, who makes great porta via, take away and cook at home pre-spiced and prepped meats, was just the person to ask. I asked him how to cook this monster neck. He looked at me quizicaly. “Do you really think you will like it?” I know I will like it. Every time I eat cinghiale at someone’s home or in a restaurant, I adore it, love it, want more of it.

Photo by Magda Ehlers on Pexels.com

Cripes, some of you are now sobbing for the poor wild boar whose life ended so abruptly. Here is the reality. Cinghiale are now becoming so prevalent that they are traveling through the streets of Rome waiting to take a bite out of a vegan tourist. The poor member of the pig family are mean buggers and seem to love to chase you off your own property. They no longer have many natural predators – I haven’t a clue why – and are over running Italy. My Texas cousins just told me they have the same problem there! If it were up to me, entrepreneurial young hunters would work out a deal with the country to hunt them, create great sausages, dried meats and meals with them and sell them to folks like me. Or if being benevolent, give the meat to the poor.

OK, we no longer feel badly. This particular cinghiale was observed harassing a family’s dogs, cats and young children. Now his neck is mine to cook. I was told, and being an A type personality, also read at The NY Times Food website, that I must marinate the boar in red wine and mirepoix. (That is a very fancy word that I always forget and ask my chef friend Kathy for. )

I chopped up in my food processor a very large onion, two fat carrots, two stalks of celery and celery greens – mirepoix. Into the largest stainless steel bowl I had that would fit in the now empty refrigerator went two bottles of really cheap local red wine and the mirepoix. (Actually, Annarita and Jack drank some of the wine and said it wasn’t bad. It cost €1, so a buck a bottle and not bad is a good deal. No one told me to fine chop the vegetables but it made sense to me.) I stirred it, added fresh ground salt and pepper to the mix and pored it gently over the cinghiale waiting to bath in another equally large stainless steel bowl. Why did she use a stainless steel bowl, you ask? My grandmother used stainless steel bowls for everything. There must be a reason. If you know, please leave a comment. The very drunk refrigerated boar languished in the marinade for about 14 hours.

The next day, I rough chopped onions and garlic. This was tossed in EVO – local olive oil of course – and sautéed. Wait, I forgot a step. The butcher said brown the bones first in a separate frying pan. Brown them until there was no liquid coming out of them. This really happened. Maybe wild boar drink a lot of water or like sponges soak up the wine. It took a while to brown them and a lot of liquid was released. When it stopped running, I added them to the big sauce pot and sort of browned them again with the onions and garlic.

Looking at all that red wine, rich with blended mirepoix, I had an epiphany – that was quickly collaborated by The NY Times cooking app. I tossed some of the wine blend into the pot and continued to turn the meat filled neck bones until that liquid had dissipated. then I just started making my grandmother’s sauce.

Yes, sauce – rich tomato sauce. In Flagtown, New Jersey it was sugo – sauce. (In case “gravy” insisters look it up on Word Reference, sugo also means gravy made with drippings from meat – NOT SPAGHETTI SAUCE.)

After cutting my hand manually smashing a can of peeled whole tomatoes into a mush, I tossed them in the pot. Not my hands, the squished tomatoes. Don’t worry, I switched hands and bled on the side until the tomatoes were in the pot. I used two giant cans of whole tomatoes, two big bottles of plain tomato sauce, and three normal sized cans of crushed tomatoes. As my grandmother did, I rinsed out each can with about a half of can of water and tossed that water in the pot too. Boing, it hit me – I had been saving the rinds from the great local cheese. Why not throw that in too? So I did. Also floating in the pot was diced basil, oregano, salt, a pinch of hot pepper flakes, and a big handful of fresh parsley. In honor of my Aunt Cat, I didn’t chop it up. She always left it untied and whole.

The enormous pot simmered on the stove for approximately 6 hours. I cooked it until the meat was falling off the bones. The odor wafting through the house made me sing, dance and think about a play based on spaghetti sauce. When I couldn’t stand waiting another nano-second. I turned off the flame and using a spider – not the insect – that basket thing on a long handle – pulled up all the bones. To visually enjoy these delicious morsels, I gently laid the succulent meat encrusted bones on a white platter.

Waited four minutes and then burnt my fingers pulling the meat off the bones. YUMMMMY! The meat now shredded, I set aside to top the pasta.

Time for a reward! The spider crawled back into the sauce pot and retrieved the parsley! Like my Aunt Cat, I ate each green piece reverently and with joy! Parsley’s vitamin K is important because it helps blood to clot so my cut finger would stop dripping and contributes to bone health. Ironic hey? I’ll be eating those boar bones next.

I can honestly say, this was the best sauce that I have ever made. There are no pictures of the tagliatelle pasta doused in sauce and topped with strips of meat. There are definitely no pictures of my guests smiling as they slowly chewed, tasted and sighed. I always remember the picture after we have scoffed down everything on the table. If you can’t get wild boar, think pork neck bones! Enjoy.

Ci vediamo

MIDGE

Give a quick Click and see my Published books! – Grazie
Looking for places to present readings this November!

I Just Gave Birth!

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo
Thanks to my publisher – Read Furiously!

Ten years is a long gestation period. I hate to admit it to you my favorite blog readers, but, some of the stories in my baby I started working on ten years ago. Maybe they weren’t on the page but they were circling my brain. Pinging and panging and causing my fingers to hover over the keyboard and then WHAM start typing. It is because of each of you that this book is now on bookstore shelves. Thank you. Why? Can we be truthful?

Ten years ago, we sold my family’s Flagtown farmette. Got rid of all of our furniture, cars, books, pots and pans. Took a deep breath and came to Pontelandolfo. After one week of La Dolce Vita, I thought I would poke out my eyes and rent my garb. I need to work! Sitting idly, sipping Prosecco and chatting in the piazza is great – for an hour. I need to work! Someone asked if the energizer bunny felt threatened by me. I need to work. But what would I do here in the Sannio Hills? I volunteered in the school, organized arts events but – what was I doing for my creative spirit? That is where you came in. I decided to start a blog that would – a. be sort of a journal for me. b. be a way to promote my new village and c. give me deadlines!

Cars, Castles, Cows and Chaos grew out of Nonna’s Mulberry Tree. Some of you will recognize a few of the tales. They have been expanded and humorized! Your audience for my ramblings made this book possible. From the bottom of my heart I thank you. Read Furiously is a great publisher and I am so thankful that they decided to have me join their library of publications and make even more stories available to you. Grazie mille a tutti!

I saw the finished book for the first time Tuesday. It came to my condo in a plain brown envelope???? Hmm

Those of you who already bought the book – I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER. Those of you who are going to buy it tomorrow – DITTO. Oh, where can you buy it? Wherever books are sold. On line, in person – you may have to order it. Your local bookstore will love you if you go in and buy it there. I will love you if they would like me to do a reading!

Speaking of readings. The world is a small place. Zoom, FaceTime, Facebook Live makes it easy for me to visit your book club, library, store from anywhere in the world. Think about it! Have award winning acting skills and will travel – digitally anywhere.

Enjoy my travel memoir meets tour guide book! Have I told you yet today that I love you? Well, I do. Vi amo!

Ci vediamo,

Midge

Wind Whips the Hills

by midgeguerrera, posted in Any Day in Pontelandolfo

The wind is howling outside the house. It has been battering the windows, the walls and the tiles on the roof since Wednesday night.  Today is Friday.  It seems to be getting stronger and stronger.  Now I understand why giant rocks purposefully sit on so many tile roofs. It is incredible to me that our house doesn’t move.  Not one shimmy, shake or shuffle. The force of this wind feels almost like the hurricanes of New Jersey. There, I would feel our wooden house tremble and I would hear the shutters rattle. Here, I hear nothing but the wind.  It is screeching around us. Leaves, nuts and fruits are flying off the trees.   Hmm, I wonder if the olives and grapes are OK?

I’m not quite sure why I feel compelled to write about the wind. It’s keeping me inside in a way that the snow or the rain never did. But simply walking from our house to the attached house next door was more than my body wanted to handle. It’s interesting how the weather here has an impact on our lives. I guess I could be watching television.  Oh no, the wind is jiggling the antenna on the roof.  I guess I could be on the internet researching where to pitch another play.  Oh no the wind is dancing with the big Internet dish on the balconey.

I keep thinking of the three little pigs and I’m so glad that we lucked into a house made not of brick, but stone.  Not just some pretty decorative stone, giant rocks stacked into two-foot-thick walls.  The rock bones of the house go back generations and have withstood earthquakes.  

Restored Stone Italian Home Isn’t Going Anywhere – Take THAT wind!

Apparently, in the town center the wind wreaked havoc on businesses.  Doors were smacking you as you tried to open them.  Car doors flapped like eagle wings.  Yesterday, we heard that the elementary school kids could barely make it from their parent’s cars into the building. Jack asked did they crawl?  I thought perhaps they tied them together with ropes and dragged them in!   In reality, children clung to parents and like hearty hill people wouldn’t let the wind keep them home.  

Not being a hearty hill person, I chose not to leave the house on Thursday or Friday.  Not to go to the piazza, not to go to the butcher, vegetable store, and not go to visit a soul.  I was waiting for the wind god to get tired of puffing his cheeks out.

Wind Gods can be found in our historic center on walls and above doors. Perhaps they are there to blow the bad people away.

Listening to wind that sounded like huge waves pounding the New Jersey Shore, I shuddered and got comfortable with an Elizabeth George, Detective Linley book.  Just as Linley was finally going to propose to Lady Helen, the unlocked interior connecting door between the houses crashed open. In burst next door neighbor, Zia Vittoria carrying a huge tray. She has a hurricane force personality. During yesterday and today’s windstorm I sat, read a book, and stared out the windows at the dancing trees. During yesterday’s windstorm my neighbor made taralli (round breadsticks.) Then she got bored and made a stuffed bread with broccoli.  The wind was still blowing so she made another sweet bread. She became a whirling kitchen dervish.  Obviously, she couldn’t eat it all so she burst into our half of the building to share the carbs.  I was happy to see her and gave her a hug.  The wind was making her feel a wee bit lonely, she said, and cooking and cleaning kept her sane. 

Why is the wind forcing me to sit in a chair all day? What is it about the sound that makes me want to bury myself in blankets and do nothing? One would think the energy of the wind would pump me up and send to the kitchen or computer or close that needs cleaning. But no. The wind sent me to a book to read and an early drink to drink.

The lights started flickering. The digital clock on the oven when berserk.  Darkness.  Light.  Darkness. Light.  The electricity went in and out until it tired of toying with us and stayed out.  Jack played with the breaker box.  Nada.  I went next door and Zia Vittoria was in darkness too.  Hmm, was it just our house?  What if my iPad runs out of battery – what will I read? Thanks to functioning cellular towers – they must be made of real sturdy mountain material – WhatsApp messages raced from house to house!  No one on my street – which wends it way in a circle though the hillside – had power.  I dashed out a message to pals Mariann and Jeff further up into the hillside.  Nope, senza corrente there too.  Emojis flicked back and forth around the hills even if the lights couldn’t.  The power did return and I decided to be productive.  Hence, today’s little tale.

In honor of my husband’s heritage- An Irish Blessing – May the wind be always at your back, may the sun shine warm upon your face…

Ci Vediamo!

Midge

This is the 20th anniversary of 9/11. Think about sharing a copy of my play, E-Mail: 9/12, published by Next Stage Press with your book club, history teacher pals or friends. CLICK HERE FOR THE LINK.