Festa Della Trebbiatura 2016

This past Sunday, I had a perfect day.  Jack and I went to an event that I not only loved – but drew me back to my childhood.  Growing up in Somerset County, New Jersey when it was still pretty rural agrarian, I experienced lots of farm life.  4-H introduced me to kids who grew or raised just about anything America ate.  Sunday, I thought of my childhood, how much growing up in a farming community shaped me and the work my grandmother did on her subsistence farm.  Festa Della Trebbiatura in the Contrada Montagna in Morcone harkened back to farm days of old and celebrated the contadini – farmers – of the Matese Mountains.  The type of people my ancestors were.

Did I mention mountains?  Those of you that know me, know I clutch the death grip in our Fiat whenever the wicked Jack drives like an Italian around the S curves sans safety rails on mountain roads.  This trip around those curves was worth it.  The views were incredible.

I need to take a moment to praise my Jack a wee bit.  From the town center of Morcone – which is literally clinging to a mountain – we made a left at the Auto School and drove up.  We didn’t know which way to go when the road split.  We opted for the one that looked steeper on the left.  It was really su, su, up, up.  Shit, I screamed as Jack hit the breaks.  The cobblestone street narrow to begin with had cars parked on both sides and didn’t go anywhere.  Jack backed our large car down the hill and didn’t take the mirror off one single parked car. Hugs to him.

Back to the Festa.  We found out about it from Antonella Lombardi, owner of Bar Mix Fantasy, and a member of the Lombardi family that produced the event.  Thank you Antonella for making sure that I knew about what turned out to be a wonderful day.  When we got to the farm and I saw the rows of seats under the trees and the Priest ready to start mass, I smiled and sat down.  Hearing this great speaker do the mass surrounded by mountains, fields of grain, a clear blue sky and floating cotton clouds started the day beautifully.  After mass children went for “hay” rides on the farm wagon festooned with shafts of wheat.  We walked through the exhibition set up by the Museo del Contadino and I kept pointing at stuff that had been in my grandfather’s barn.  Since we sold the family property and all the relics two years ago, it got a little painful to see  the artifacts.

During the day, people could wander through the World Wildlife Federation Preserve in the mountain, watch demonstrations and eat country fare. One of the featured foods was pecora interrata.  Interrata means underground.  Of course that is what I had!  In the evening there was music and dancing.  Since the zanzare, mosquitoes, and I have a love/hate relationship, they love to eat me and I hate them.  We left before it got dark.

The word trebbiatura  means threshing the grain.  There were glorious fields of wheat in this part of the mountain.  We were celebrating the harvest and the people that make sure we have bread and pasta on the table – the farmers.  The first threshing methods involved beating grain by hand with a flail, or trampling it by animal hooves.  The demonstrations included women doing this.  Women were doing lots of the heavy work – this is still not unusual in our little village of subsistence farms.  What was even more fun to watch was the early threshing machine!

(Uggggg – Jack just told me I have a typo in a caption in the video.  Sorry.)

Ci vediamo!

Midge

How I Spent My Summer Vacation by Ragazzi Iacovella

The days are getting shorter, the wind is whistling in the mountains – summer is over.  Annalaura, Gabriele and Alessio Iacovella looked at each other and said – what did we do this summer?

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A Rainy September Day – Let’s Talk About the Summer!

After a warm your chilly bones lunch of tortellini soup, roasted chicken, home made french fries, local mushrooms and more at Carmela’s kitchen, her grandchildren eleven year old Gabriele, 12 year old Annalaura and 8 year old Alessio sat me down and told me their summer story –

During the day we stayed with Nonna Carmela – she is a great cook!  At night we went to Casalduni.  Casalduni has – Parco Giochi.  (Their dad, Pasquale,  is Casalduni’s Sindaco – mayor.  The kids burst with pride about that.)

Casalduni

Parco Giochi has a garden, lake with fish, scivolo – slide,  gonfiabili – inflatable houses to jump in,  and campo per pallavolo – volleyball, bocce, small paddle boats –  we know lots of kids in Casalduni.  We had fun every night.

Allessio – a real charmer chimed in – Mi piace mar in Puglia!  I took a long trip to Puglia with my family. In the car we looked at the paesaggio – panorama –  and we saw the flowers, albero d’olvio – olive trees e gira sole – sun flowers .

Gabriele – I was a little bored in the car – the trip was long.

AnnaLaura – No it was short to Puglia – per andare in Calabria il viaggio è lungo.

GabrielePer me è lungo

Annalaura – We stayed at the Orchidea Blu Hotel. (http://www.orchideavillage.it/ – San Menaio, Vico del Gargano (Foggia) Puglia)

Orchieda Blue Hotel

We went to the pool every afternoon!

It had a pool, un animazione – clown – a person to play with us kids. On a typical day – we went to the beach in the morning and in the afternoon to the pool.  That way my mother didn’t have to worry about us so much.

What did you like the best?

GabrieleDolce- dolce ogni giorno.  We ate in the same restaurant in the hotel every day and I ate tanti dolci.

Besides eating dessert what did you do –

Gabriele – I went to the pool to swim.  With the animazione – played darts, calcio in the streets, pallanuoto – water polo and ping pong.  OK, OK giocare con l’animazione è più divertente di mangiare dolci.

Alessio – Ho giocato con i miei nuovi amici nel mare.

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Those are old people in that picture.  I played with my new friends Samuele, Fabrizio, Giusseppe, Niccolo e Raffele.  We built castles in the sand, swam, giocare a pallone – calcio and ….

Gabriele – Rodi Garganico – one night we went there too.  It was like Pontelandolfo with an ocean.

Rodi - city in Puglio

View from a piazza in Rodi Garganico

AnnalauraTanti negozi e bancharelle – shops and stands.  The ancient buildings – beautiful.  We were sad to leave Puglia.

Alessio – But wait till we tell you about our other trip to Calabria –

It is September – how did you spend your summer vacation?

I hope you got to play calcio too.

Storms Silence This Yapper

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.

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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?
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.

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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.

NO INTERNET

(Read – https://nonnasmulberrytree.com/2013/09/27/internet-cant-…ome-without-it/ ‎)

No internet means NO Magic Jack.

(Read – https://nonnasmulberrytree.com/2013/07/16/land-line-phone-no-voip-yes/)

No internet means NO Facetime or Skype

(Read – https://nonnasmulberrytree.com/2013/06/05/talking-for-fr…ound-the-world/)

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.

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Thanks Apple for Facetime.

 

 

People Vote for People – Politicking Pontelandolfo Style

I can’t really talk about politics without talking about the one guy who understood it best, made sure I understood it and got frustrated as hell when newbies to the process refused to listen.  Good old “Johhny G”, my dad Giovanni Francesco Guerrera, was a politician in the grand style of  former speaker  of the House of Representatives – Tip O’Neill.  “People vote for people.”  “All politics are local!” Those are the clear cut salient facts that my dad foisted upon me at a tender age.  Dad was one of the men who moved Hillsborough Township into the 2oth century.  He was Mayor and on the Township Committee for numerous terms in the 60’s and 70’s.  He was always involved in local, state and national campaigns – sending me to represent him once to a meeting in the Jimmy Carter Whitehouse – but that is another story.  His passion for politics was learned at his daddy’s knee – Pontelandolfo’s Francesco Guerrera.  My nonno, with other Italian immigrants, started Hillsborough’s Democratic Organization!  Whoops – let’s get back to today and personal politics.

Dad's head shot for a State Senate Run.
Dad’s head shot for a State Senate Run.

Yeah, yeah, we all care about issues, platforms, programs etc.  But the reality is, if you are my friend and I ask you to vote for me you will.   Just like we buy candy from our friends kids to support organizations we don’t particularly agree with – for me it is the Boy Scouts.  I hate the politics of the Boy Scouts but love the kids in my extended family who pound on my door in cub scout costumes – I mean uniforms selling candy.  So ethics be damned, I buy the candy.  See – people buy from people.

Daddy always said the way to win an election is like pyramid marketing – you get a core of folks who adore you for whatever reason – and get them to contact and pitch you to the friends who adore them for whatever reason.  People respond to people.

National and domestic issues are important but how does that break down to me, my family and my home town? Now you get it – think local.  Well, politics in Pontelandolfo is about as local centric as you can get.  It is time for me to stop thinking about my larger than life political pappa and tell you about Pontelandolfo.

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X marks the Sindaco circle!

The candidates actually go from house to house and talk to people!  How amazing!  No robo calls here just house calls.  That means you need a strong bladder, because at every house you have a caffè and conversation.  What really amazed me is that people actually told you if they would vote for you or not!  Having lived in Asbury Park, where if everyone who swore they voted for me really had I would have been Queen for a day, I was amazed that folks might actually deign to tell the truth.  “Hey, you’re my pal and I love you but I don’t like the guy at the top of your ticket so – sorry no can do!”  Remember from my earlier post, you vote for the Sindaco (mayor) and then write in one name from his ticket to be your choice for consigliere (council).  Check out the sample ballot – put an X in the circle for the Sindaco and write in one name. ( I did discover later that some folks had indeed told a wee lie to my cousin and really didn’t vote for her – but that was an anomaly.)

Lots of cars in the piazza means lots of folks are gathering in shops and the bars (cafés).
Lots of cars in the piazza means lots of folks are gathering in shops and the bars (cafés).

What people were talking about in the bars and around the piazza were the local problems that the commune has.  Some of these issues are indeed national – like there are no jobs for young people.  Others are very local and personal. This is beautiful village and yet some folks are dumping their garbage and nothing is being done to clean it up.  The elderly often can’t subsist on their incomes and something must be done to provide local support – or to petition the province for help.  The local library was something I witnessed and heard “Rocomincio Da Te” candidates talk about.  It needs books!  It needs to be perked up and better utilized.  Programs for young people are always an issue.  Are sports enough?  Should the commune increase arts based programs?  Each list of candidates distributed their platforms and spoke about issues like these.

Technology is not totally ignored in this very personal approach to campaigning.  Cars are outfitted with speakers and festooned with campaign posters.  A pre-recorded “Vote for XXXXX,” and  “Vote for the (insert name of ticket” could be heard blaring up and down the streets and barely streets of the country side.  At first I was taken aback – whoa is that an obnoxious gelato truck?  Well, there is no obnoxious gelato truck – what a gift that would be – but campaign aides rousing the voters.  The second time I heard it I went out on our balcony to see which ticket it was.  It was the one I was voting for so I waved and cheered.  Does the spirit good to see your team out and about.  Since Pontelandolfo has lots of small family farms and the families really are out working the fields and tending the animals, I could see the benefit of the mobile system.  Where I couldn’t see it was in bigger cities – where the blaring through the busy streets was constant.  If I lived in one I might be forced to wear earplugs or toss pomodori out the window.  Jack and I followed one rolling billboard and blaring sound system for about 20 minutes in a town that shall remain nameless.   Well – here see for yourself.

Pontelandolfo and Calcio – Perfect Together!

I have to admit, sports and I have never been “Purrrrfect Together”.  In high school I went to football games and walked around flirting with boys – oh was there a game on?  First down – hut – uggh.  When I was a young teacher and recruiting boys to be in my musicals, I discovered that the boys who wrestled moved well and could be taught to dance, hence, I attended wrestling matches.  OK – so for two periods of my life I “went to a game, match, meet.”  Beyond that – niente, nada, nothing.  Then I got to Italy and discovered Calcio Mania in Pontelandolfo.

My introduction to calcio was in  2002.  Italia was in the World Cup!  I pretended I knew what that was – had no clue.  Here is what happened.

Part One:

It was a lazy afternoon in Pontelandolfo.  I was sitting at the kitchen table in our apartment reading when suddenly the piazza became a cacophony of sound.  The air was filled with screams, horns blaring, tears and sobs. Had terrorists bombed the Vatican?  Were the beaches at Anzio breached?  No, my husband calmly informed me.   Italia had tied their last world cup game.  That meant they were holding on to second place in their division.  That couldn’t be it – second place couldn’t cause this chaos.  I raced to the terrace to peer at the piazza.

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Brava!

A parade of almost every motorized vehicle in the village had instantaneously formed in the piazza.  Horns of all pitches and rhythmes – the staccatto beep beep beep of the Ford Pronto –  the  tiny motorini bip bip – and the I must really live in Manhatten keep your hand pressed down on your blaring big horn whaaaaaa.  A wee little boy is leaning out of the passenger window clinging to the pole supporting a full Italian flag as his father/brother roars in a circle around the fountain. Italian flags wave from almost every vehicle.  A motorini whizzed by  –  a girl on the back with both arms raised to support the flag.  It followed behind them like a Jersey shore promotional banner tailing a plane.  One car has not one but four full size flags, bigger than the passengers hanging on to them, flying from each window.    The cars continue to circle and circle. shrieks, screams, tears  –  eeks.  What was it like when the allies landed?  I don’t get the sports thing.  Men in tight shorts touch each others butts and the homophobes think its ok.  Adults visiting a foreign country paint themselves in their country’s team colors and raise angry fists in the air.  Behavior considered pagan any other time becomes ritual allowable drama during high sports celebrations.   The wails and beeps have been going on for 15 minutes now.  When do you think they’ll get bored of and start reading a book or having caffe?

Part two:

I entered my cousins house to find 6 pre-teen girls clutching each other as they stared morosely at the television.  The referees are obviously favoring Korea over Italia – home court advantage and all that.  Tears and angry tirades filled the room.  One girl with tears streaming down her face wailed from the depth of her soul.  The chilling sound had to reach around the world to that evil World Cup referee.  The match was still close.

Rain, like the tears of the young fans slowly glides over an empty field.
Rain, like the tears of the young fans slowly glides over an empty field.

These were the emotions needed to move their team on.  Oh, oh – time – they lost.  I moved as far into the corner as I could because I didn’t know what emotions would erupt.  Heart wrenching sobs erupted from another floor in the house and got closer as the resident 5 year old raced to find the comforting lap of his mother.  His father and cousin were close behind.  With anger plastered on their faces they stormed out of the house and headed out to the rural men only bar.  The girls in the living room frozen in place did not speak.  The wimpers and silent tears said everything.

Part Three:

Now that I have been introduced to the calcio world, I went to a local match on the villages’s impeccable playing field.  Pontelandolfo plays in a five on five league, so the field is shorter.  Makes it easier for the fans to surround the field and see every exciting moment.  The enthusiasm is infectious.  As you’ll see from the video, the upper promenade is packed with fans of all ages.  It feels like the entire village has come together on the field of battle to press it’s warriors on.  How could I not be part of that?  How could I not connect with that passion?  Between Nick Losardo and Jack Huber we have visuals of last weeks game.  It ended in a tie!

Brava Real Five Pontelandolfo!    http://www.realfivepontelandolfo.it/

Il Re Ghiotto – Yummy Surprise in Rotondi (AV)

Everyday can be a culinary adventure!  My nephew Nick was flying in to meet the family and see Pontelandlofo for the first time.  Being “Auntie Never Late”, my accommodating spouse and I set off a little after noon for the Naples Airport. The idea was to explore a town or two along the way. Being foodies we started salivating at the signs for fresh buffalo mozzarella and various local trattoria.  What can I say, we slowly drove ignoring the incredible mountain vistas and looking for a place to stop for pranza.  I’d spy something on the left and bellow there!  Jack would swerve and through clenched teeth say look for something on the right.  That was the right advice.

It has a parking lot!!!
It has a parking lot!!!

The next place on the right was “Il Re Ghiotto”.  It looked interesting and – this was incredibly important on a busy narrow street – it had a parking lot.  Inside the tables all had sweet checkered table clothes and linen napkins.  We could see the comfortable layout clearly because there was absolutely no one in the place.  We knew why, but hated to admit it.  We were hungry Americans who stopped for pranza on the early side of appropriateness – 1:00 pm.

Being in mozzarella di bufola country we of course ordered a caprese salad to share, aqua minerale frizzante and vino rosso di tavola.  Within moments toasted quarters of artegean bread appeared topped with diced tomatoes and fresh basil that had been marinating in the regions incredible olive oil.  Yummy.  I wondered if my Italian had been so bad that my “l’insalta caprese” sounded like “bruschetta “.  I shouldn’t have worried, the bruschetta was simply a gift from the kitchen. Like every caprese salad we have had in Italy, the tomatoes tasted like fresh tomatoes not hot house drek and nothing beats really fresh mozzarella .  Since we had about 5 hours before the flight was due and were only an hour from the airport, we ate slowly and savored every bite.

Jack had ordered miniature penne pasta tossed with porcini mushrooms, a few diced tomatoes, loose sausage and of course that amazing olive oil.  He made me taste it and I wanted to grab the plate. But if I did that he’d grab my risotto and I refused to share.  I ordered mystery risotto.  A mystery because the only word I recognized in the description was “risotto”.  It was purple in color, had teeny tiny bits of something meaty in it and was amazing.  Jack took a taste. I took two tastes.  OK – purple- maybe squid with squid ink? But everyone knows the word for squid – calamari.  This word started with A. Of course, I didn’t write it down. Didn’t tell master mind Jack the word.  Hence, I couldn’t look it up. ( I found out later it was made with red wine.)

For contorni we had rucola (arugula) that Jack pointed out must have been picked 5 minutes ago. They were tiny leaves perched in a bowl and served with bottles of olive oil and vinegar.

After our coffees,I asked the owner in what I thought was impeccable Italian for the check. He looked at me and responded in impeccable university grade American Standard English,” are you from New Jersey or Connecticut?”  All those Italian classes and I still can’t pass.  We introduced ourselves to the charming Pasquale and he joined us for tale swapping

Pasquale, the charming host.
Pasquale, the charming host.

He was born in Jersey City and lived there during his adolescent years.  The family has a marble, granite and stone business in Patterson,NJ.  They also own the R\restuarant in Rotondi (AV).  He and his parents fly back and forth often. We promised to come back the next time we made the airport trek and take a picture for this blog of his dad’s circa 1970s Cadillac Coupe De Ville sitting I the garage flaunting its NJ liscence plates.

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Where oh where did those little plates go?

You will notice there are no pictures of food.  Why?  You damn well know why!  It was so good we scoffed it down before I remembered to take a picture.  If you want to see the food visit:

Il Re Ghiotto – Ristorante Pizzeria

S.S. 7 Appia, 62

83017. Rotondi (AV)

Tell Pasquale that the New Jerseyans sent you.

Politics Runs in the Family! Vote!!

Vote for Giusy Mancini!!!
Vote for Giusy Mancini!!!

Carmela generously invited us for pranzo yet again!  We don’t complain she is one of the best cooks I have ever encountered.  We were all eating and laughing – well they were laughing at my Italian – when the door burst open and Carmela’s youngest daughter, Giusy raced in screaming.  She was ranting so rapidly that  I couldn’t figure out if the dog had died, her car was in an accident or – what?  The what was something I never would have imagined.  As a matter of fact, I couldn’t believe it, she is running for “consigliere” which is like being on the city council.  Now in my New Jersey family, politics were a part of life.  My dad started running for office before my sister and I could even run.  We grew up licking stamps, banging on doors, smiling at creepy people and getting out the vote.  I’ve run for and sat on a school board.  Ran and lost a whopper of a city council race in Asbury Park and worked on numerous campaigns over the years.

What a kick in the bloodline connection to hear this beautiful 25 year old woman go on and on about shady campaigning.  It seems that the last mayor (Sindaco) had been re-elected for a second five year term when the council (consiglieri) decided they couldn’t work with him.  So they all up and resigned!  Just like that a change of government!   That meant another election had to be called – an out of cycle election.  Before I go on let me try to explain the basics of the system.  I sat down with Rossella ( our family avvocato) to get a quick lesson.

There are four levels of government – Federal (Governo Stato with two houses – Camera dei Deputati and Senato), Regional (President & Consiglio Regionale), Provincial ( President & Consiglio Provinciale) and local (Communale – Sindaco and  Consiglieri). The number of local council members (Consiglieri) depends on the size of the Comune.  I’m only going to talk about this local election – we have a cousin running and that makes this election important.

Pontelandolfo-Stemma
Village Crest

The Sindaco (mayor) and her/his Six Consiglieri are elected every five years – man does that sound just like my old home town Asbury Park, NJ.  Originally the entire country had the local elections on the same two days (how civilized  – two days – one of which is a Sunday).  But as governments caved in and special elections had to be called the country suddenly found itself with elections happening all the time.  Back to Pontelandolfo –  the last six consiglieri walked and the Ministero dell’ Interno picked the date for the new election.  The village activists only had a scant few weeks to get tickets together.  The ticket formation is key.

The way local elections work in Italian towns is “all or nothing”.  The various political parties ( organizations) put someone up for Sindaco.  On the ballot you must vote for the party of the Sindaco and then write in just one name from the list of names below his/hers.  That list is called “la lista” and the people on the list are the people the newly elected Sindaco will choose from for his consiglieri.  You write the name of the one person you want  to be consigliere after you vote for the party/sindaco.  Who knew that “bullet voting” was a common sport in Italian politics!  If the Sindaco whose list a person is on wins and that person – hopefully my cousin Giusy – was the top vote getter on the list than the Sindaco has to name her a member of the consigliere.  The sindaco gets to pick four from his ticket.   This is the majority (maggiore) and then the Sindaco must pick the Sindaco candidate of top two vote garnering other lists. These two become the  consiglieri di minoranza.   This all means the top vote getters are set for five years – unless the consigliere decide the Sindaco is too stupid to live and they all resign.  Whew – it really is winning party take all.

The dilemma this particular Saturday was a typical scurrilous whisper whisper campaign tactic.  Folks are spreading the rumor that the old ousted mayor  supports the ticket that Giusy is on.  Since he was ousted, that doesn’t bode well for her group.   As Giusy went door to door asking for a vote for her group in general and herself in particular, she discovered this unwanted endorsement – not at one house but at many!

My immediate New Jersey political maven thought was – which one of the other groups started the rumor?  When I ran for city council in Asbury Park this pazzo woman ran around telling people that my sons and I were slum lords in Bradley Beach.  Strange rumor since A – I don’t have any kids and B – I only owned one house ever!  People just like to rattle the gossip chain. The conversation around the table was heated. The advice ranged from “let it go – who will believe him” to “confront him and tell him to stop”.  I was thinking more along the lines of sending out a flier that has the former Sindaco endorsing another group and really confusing everyone.  During the angst, I discovered that Rossella’s husband Pasquale is a consigliere of a neighboring town.  She married into another family with a history of political activity. When I heard that  I stuffed another vote into the ballot box for blood defining who we are.

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This is the Municipal Building.

The first year I had my Italian citizen ship, we happened to be in Pontelandolfo during a municipal election.   I actually gotten a post card alerting me to the election before we left Asbury Park.  When Jack and I visited Carmela and Mario I asked about the upcoming election and if I could vote.  They didn’t think I could but were supporting a “sindaco” – I had no idea what that meant, but of course I would vote for whoever they told me to vote for – I mean I did grow up in a political family and knew the drill.  They made a call and suddenly this man raced in, grabbed me, my Italian passport and dragged me to the municipal building.  I had no idea why.  At that time I spoke barely any Italian and just signed where he pointed.  The next thing I knew I had a document that allowed me to vote in my first Italian election.  The elections are very civilized – they are over two days – one of which is Sunday.  You have no excuse not to get to the polls. Besides with half of the town standing in front of the polling place going to vote is a social event.   I went in to the poll, handed in my certificate and was handed a paper ballot.  Now what?  I couldn’t read a thing, couldn’t ask a question and stood staring at the little cardboard dividers set up on tables.  Luckily, things are pretty relaxed and Annarita not only photographed my first vote but went to my “booth” with me.  All I had to do was put an X in the circle with the sindaco’s name and write my choice for consigliere (I had it written on my palm) on the line below; then fold it and yes – stuff it in the ballot box!  Since then, I have voted in a number of federal elections – absentee of course.

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Tessera Elettorale – Voting Card/Record

This year, knowing that I absolutely had to vote for Giusy, I went to the municipo with Rossella and asked the clerk myself for the necessary document to vote.  The election is May 26 & 27  . Stayed tuned for more election updates as nefarious plots and electioneering continue!