from Sandy Needham

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Laurene Dispatch

My mother, Laurene McCracken Needham, died on November 14th. She was just two weeks shy of 96 years old, and 2-1/2 months beyond the point at which she was still sharp and ready to pass on.

LNeedham0001

Mother was born in 1914 along with her twin brother, Lawrence, in Choctaw, Oklahoma. Their mother, Dolly Brown McCracken, died in childbirth, and the twins were raised for two years by several of their father’s eight sisters. My grandfather then married Maude Hill, whom I would know as my grandmother. Granddaddy McCracken was an ‘89’er pioneer (a young child in the 1889 land rush) and rode in the annual parade in his surrey with fringe on top – something that made a huge impression on me in my youth! He was the principal of a cluster of schools and later operated the Sunny Lane Cemetery in Oklahoma City – property of his wealthy brother-in-law – along with my grandmother, who ran the office for decades. She had been Mother’s and Lawrence’s school teacher before that in a two-room school. The twins grew up on a small farm with their older brother and sister and their half-brother, my Uncle Donald, right next door to the cemetery. Mother always spoke of the ‘play house’ Granddaddy made for her and Lawrence by planting a rectangle of tall sunflowers.

Here they are at their 8th grade graduation: Mother, the valedictorian in a dress borrowed from her cousin; Lawrence lacking no bravura!

Twins

They attended Capitol Hill High School and then graduated from Oklahoma A & M, which is now Oklahoma State University, in 1937. Mother got her degree in math and English and returned to her high school to teach. Also in 1937, Mother married my father, Herbert Needham, who had courted her during college. He went to work for the telephone company. After Janet and Dorothy were born, Daddy took the family by train to Boston for Naval Officer’s Training at Wellesley College. He kidded his whole life about ‘graduating from Wellesley,’ still a women’s college. He made it home from the Pacific theater of the war and returned to the phone company. Donna and I were born in the subsequent years. I guess we considered ourselves the typical ‘50’s middle class white family, though we all now know how extraordinary both our parents were in terms of honesty, intelligence, faith (never blind), open-mindedness, unconditional love, and fun. They were free of greed, neuroses and hostility. My parents talked out their problems and had a rule never to go to bed angry with each other. Mother no longer worked, but volunteered with the Girl Scouts, the Camp Fire Girls, the PTA, World Neighbors organization - along with Daddy and Lawrence, and all sorts of Methodist church activities. She still worked at the polls every election day until not so long ago. She and Daddy were both expert Bridge players. In her youth, cards were forbidden as a game of ‘chance,’ and only the card game ‘Rook’ could be played in her very Methodist home. Once her grandparents passed on, her parents became big Bridge players, setting the tone for Mother’s life as a card shark. Here she is playing cards with her great-grandson Derek last August:

Derek & Grandma

In the meantime, Mother was a great combination of fun-loving, fearless farm girl and serious contributor to the welfare of the world. Even though she was considered one of the sweetest, most positive and compassionate human beings around, she never hesitated to knock my croquet ball far into the neighbors’ yards upon capture; she could beat most everyone at ping-pong (later winning an Oklahoma Senior Olympics gold medal in this sport), and was at home on carnival rides that left me retching. I remember her visiting me at Northwestern U. in Chicago when the dorm curfew was 2:00 am. We rode the elevated train home from the Chicago ‘loop’ just in time, and Mother did what she always did: smiled at all the derelicts on the train. She did not have many inner fears and demons to project on others, so everyone was OK as far as she was concerned!

Alaska - 600 DPI 001Mother and Daddy loved to travel. They drove all over the USA & Europe, though they had trouble getting out of Rome with all the roads leading back to it. One would drive for an hour, then they would pull over and walk around the car to stretch their legs and switch drivers. They were always equals. Mother wrote wonderful travelogues, particularly about the back road routes they liked to take in the US. Their last hurrah before Daddy died in 1990 was an 8-week drive to Alaska from Oklahoma. One can see on a globe that this distance is about a quarter of the longitude of the world, and it was covered at 52mph, when “the car handled best.”

 

Mother had a habit of instigating an endless variety of friendships. Once the daughters grew up and moved away, Mother was the designated grandmother for all the neighborhood families. I always thought this was ideal, as her openness and endless repertoire of games simply could not be squandered! The children would ring the bell for card games and the adults would come for counsel and comfort. She met a young German man who swam with her at the “Y” and introduced him to the Austrian divorcee across the street (they are now married); she visited the daughter of other neighbors, a professor of French film at the University of Hawaii, and kayaked in the ocean with her. She became friends with the Kuwaiti cook who brought his mother, one of several wives of his father, to meet her. She ended up knowing the entire family of her banker friend from Shanghai after they came to Tulsa to visit. She attended the weddings of her surrogate grandchildren all over the country. Once Mother had sold our family home and moved into the Methodist Manor retirement community in 2000, she met a young Russian pianist on an airplane who was coming to visit his brother in Tulsa. He ended up using the Manor piano to practice, working in plenty of card games with Mother, then played a concert for the residents. After his brother no longer lived in Tulsa, he actually returned to visit Mother, play more cards and performed another concert at the Manor. Another time she was on a plane reading Thich Nhat Hanh when she struck up a conversation with a Princeton philosophy professor sitting next to her. Of course, he lived near my sister Donna in New Jersey, so Mother called him on subsequent trips. Mother also had a regular Bridge game with my sister’s mother-in-law and two married gay guys. I took her to a concert of the local gay men’s chorus once when I was visiting, and she knew three men performing and the only other females in the audience – a lesbian couple she had met at some other event. She was friends with all of the staff at the Methodist Manor – nurses, aides, dietary, maintenance, administration, and, of course, her fellow-residents.

Mother was known at World Neighbors organization as the ‘most frequent’ contributor; this designation was honored with the World Neighbors Village Award. She was so dedicated to this self-help model of international outreach that she donated to them in honor of friends’ and relatives’ birthdays. Christmas presents were donations to the Child Fund International. She and Daddy also selected other charities as they traveled, such as for runaway teenagers, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NY City, and Oklahoma Native Americans. They always gave 10% of their income away, in the old Methodist tradition.

Another element of Mother’s reputation was her joke-telling. She knew, it seemed, 100 jokes at any given moment, while I could remember ONE, and that for a limited time. She established herself as the stand-up comedienne at the Methodist Manor’s annual talent show for nine years, and enjoyed the notoriety as the funny lady there. After a couple of racy preacher jokes, the Manor monitored her subsequent routines! She was also famous for practical jokes, particularly with the grandkids. I believe the family favorite is when she greeted her grandsons Brad and Todd in Durango, CO with a pillow stuffed under her shirt to make her look pregnant.

My niece Amanda works for Southwest Airlines in Phoenix. When word went out that Mother was failing rapidly on her last evening, Amanda was able to immediately fly to Tulsa and sit by Mother the whole night until she died near dawn.

Newton and I got the news of Mother’s death in Natal at 10:00am on that Sunday morning. Miraculously, we were on a flight to São Paulo>Dallas>Tulsa by 2:30pm and arrived in Tulsa at 9:00am Monday, ahead of all stateside relatives. Our friends Rossana and Cassio and their 10-year-old, Olivia, had spent the night with us before their move to Rio de Janeiro that day. Our caretaker was visiting his mother in the interior. Like a bad television script with too many unlikely things happening at once, our friends sent us off and agreed to close the house and set the alarm before catching their life-altering flight.

Once my three sisters, Janet, Dorothy and Donna arrived at the Tulsa hotel, our work was cut out for us. Even though we followed Mother’s wishes that she expressed about her funeral last May, we had plans and calls and all sorts of arrangements to make. Our four heroic husbands – Rex, Bill, Larry and Newton - were content to stand by and do absolutely whatever was needed, while being generally ignored by us.

We met with the funeral director and found out that Sunny Lane Cemetery was now a highly impersonal corporate entity in the ‘Dignity’ cemetery chain. Even though we had a document with the exact plot number, and Mother’s name was already engraved on the gravestone, they were insisting that someone come ahead of time to Oklahoma City to verify the plot location because they had been sued for a burial in the wrong spot. Can you imagine their foisting their incompetence on grieving, extremely occupied families! Luckily, the head man responded in our favor after we threw around the family name.

There would be no casket at the Tulsa service, which took place at the Methodist Manor. There would be visitation for a couple of days at the funeral home, so they asked the daughters if we wished to pay for a hairdresser to fix Mother’s hair. To my astonishment - being a person who could not look at my father after he died in 1990 - Janet and Dorothy decided that they would fix Mother’s hair and make-up so she would look like herself as much as possible. I was so impressed with their courage that I did look at Mother. They did a beautiful job, but, alas, that body was no longer our mother.

The four daughters planned the celebration honoring Mother’s life with the Manor chaplain, a friend of Mother’s and an extremely calm and sensitive man who required nothing for the service, beyond our wishes. We cleared out Mother’s room at the Manor in two days (with husbands’ help), saving cherished items to pass along to relatives and friends. We wrote the obituary; called Mother’s list of friends; designed the program for the Tulsa service; bought flowers; planned the brief Oklahoma City graveside service, which we were to officiate; handled Mother’s business affairs; greeted friends, our children and grandchildren as they arrived during the week; and took care of details too numerous to recall. This we did in a harmonious collaboration, easily agreeing on most everything! Despite the emotion of the circumstances, we four daughters savored our busy days together.

My best friend, Lenna, arrived from Boulder, Colorado, to share in the family gathering as the member that she is. All the family and several close friends gathered on Thursday night before the Friday funeral to tell stories, to select keepsakes – particularly ceramic chickens from Mother’s famous collection and the costume jewelry she loved to wear - and to enjoy the rare phenomenon of all being in one room! We are a far-flung group.

The services went beautifully, so there was a sense of contentment among us afterwards. In Tulsa, the congregation sang a couple of Mother’s favorite old hymns, “In the Garden” and “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” portraitDorothy and Donna did a reading in unison of Corinthians, Chapter 13.

donna & Dorothy

We had one member of each of the daughters’ families present a remembrance: grandson Randy spoke about Mother’s inspiring character; grandson Brad spoke about what a humorous character Mother was; granddaughter Sara spoke about how positive Mother always was, even wishing in the face of pain to remain positive – and about how frank and modern Mother was when Sara interviewed her for a project on marriage in 2000. Despite the traditional nature of the funeral plans Mother had chosen - much like the life-long church services she attended - it occurred to me that Mother just did life so well…so I represented my family by leading a rousing round of applause for her!

My friend from junior high school, Susie Monger Daugherty, lent her formidable voice to our father’s favorite hymn, “Above the Hills.” This is to the melody of “Londonderry Air” (“Danny Boy”) and was removed from the Methodist hymnal some years ago for being a secular tune. Daddy always felt that the melody itself was something sublime and evocative.

A family friend volunteered to provide food for a reception after the service. My sisters and I appreciated seeing friends from school and from our old neighborhood and cousins from both sides of the family, among many Manor residents and old friends of Mother’s.

We all drove the two hours to Oklahoma City for the Sunny Lane Cemetery burial. We spotted the graves of many relatives – Mother’s parents and siblings and our cousin who drowned as a young man, and, of course, Daddy’s plot, soon-to-be-shared. All ten grandchildren served as pall bearers.

pall bearers

Pictured here l to r: Brad (partially hidden), Jake, Todd (completely hidden), April, Elise, Randy, Sara, Mark, Amy and Amanda. (The man in front, on staff).

Great-grandson David sang an original song, “When I Leave,” to acoustic guitar. The previous director of World Neighbors, a dear friend of Mother’s, made some charming remarks, then Dorothy read several short ‘poems’ that Daddy had written:

THANK YOU
Thank you God
For all the
Blessings of Life:
The ones we recognize
And
The ones in Disguise.

MY WIFE
Laurene deals
in compassion
on wheels.

YES
Love is -
Being gentle and
Understanding at the                               janet
Right time.

LAURENE
Everyone is unique,
But you are uniquer.

EPITAPH - LAURENE
Yesterday She served
The World.
Today She serves
The Universe.

 

 

 

Janet read a benediction and Donna and I attempted a harmony of the Beatles’:

“And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.”

We were not entirely successful. The line does express perfectly the vast amount of love Mother carried to her grave, inspired by the affection and devotion she offered so generously.

Uncle Donald’s daughters provided the lovely reception at the cemetery, which we could never have done without them. We waited awhile to return to the gravesite until the casket had been lowered and covered. This allowed space for us to take a photo of the gravestone, on which are engraved lines from another poem Daddy wrote to Mother:

gravestone

My nephew Todd from New York City has arrived for years at Thanksgiving at Donna’s in New Jersey with an original script for the funny annual family video. He has a blog on which he posted this tribute to Mother, including some fun video excerpts:

My Grandmother Needham passed away last night. She was almost 96 years old, and I think she'd be the first to tell you that the key to happiness is to not live past 93.

I was blessed to have her for so long, and I'm grateful that Samuel and Ethan and Jennifer got to have her for so long as well. She was a grandmother to be shared.

Some things I've learned from her:

1. Smile.

2. Forgive.

3. Try not to giggle when you're bluffing in poker.

4. Make the world a better place because you were here.

I'll do my best to pass it on.

Todd’s montage of Mother

Mark & JennyI will end with a tribute to my nephew Mark, who moved his family some years ago from Colorado to Tulsa. He became Mother’s self-appointed caretaker for years after Mother stopped driving, taking her to doctor’s appointments, sitting in on exams to get all the information straight, buying supplies, helping her to dress. He did all of this with a most willing heart and sweet disposition, and was assisted in much of this demand by his beautiful, generous wife, Jenny. My favorite quote of all came from Mark right at the end of the cemetery reception. I asked him, while introducing him to a second cousin from California, how long he had taken care of Mother. He replied:

“I think she took care of me until a couple of months ago.”

Love,

Sandy

Monday, November 8, 2010

From the Tip Of the Boot Dispatch

The ferry carrying us and our car arrived in Villa San Giovanni from Sicily at 8:30 pm. We plugged a Tropea address, a coastal town to the north, into the GPS and we followed Martha’s confident instructions…away from the sea. Besides the sinking feeling that we were, once again, heading higher and higher into interior dark mountains, we had no map of the mainland – a map of Sicily only having come with the rental car. We did not plan ahead with a mainland map to “confirm” the GPS instructions. There were two highway exits Martha seemed to like that seemed promising for heading to the shore in the vicinity of Tropea, though Martha just insisted that we make U-turns each time we exited (four times in all at the two exits), and the roads seemed to lead nowhere. Dark altitude surrounded us and the time kept getting later with each revisited exit. We finally decided that the next big town along the highway, Cosenza, would be a better place to spend the night at this point. After an excellent highway rest stop dinner (only in Italy – sautéed asparagus, spinach, and exotic mushrooms!), we arrived in Cosenza just at midnight and drove around following signs for hotels, praying that someone would still be at the front desks. The first one we tried was way too expensive, the second one affordable…and for good reason. In Italy for the Gourmet Traveler Fred Plotkin describes Cosenza as a town that was frozen in time: the old center has the same look as 1914 -1940; the newer city still looks like early ‘60’s. Our hotel room definitely looked like early ‘60’s, so I rather enjoyed this fact while Newton, unamused, fell out immediately from exhaustion. The perfect ending to this leg of the trip occurred the next morning at 7:30 when the early sounds of construction were, in this case, sounds of destruction – alarmingly near. Once we got up and opened the curtains during a lull in the pounding and shaking, sure enough – there was scaffolding outside our third floor window and the men soon returned to continue hammering away at our wall. The hotel breakfast was bad, but we followed Fred’s recommendation in the old center to a 200-year-old café for a charming and delicious breakfast from 1940.Cosenza

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lunch was deliciousness in Salerno, with quite a crazy waiter who served extra dishes to people and made up his own prices afterwards. We’re accustomed to the non-linear in Brazil, but it was funny to see the reaction of an innocent American couple when their bill was almost double what they expected! Fred had already described the sleepiness of Calabria and the craziness of Campania, so we were ready. Our destination was the Amalfi Coast, to the west. amalfi coastLet the beauty begin! It is possible to forgive the tourist flavor, once again, when one is driving in such a thrilling setting: the Mediterranean glistening below, the road winding above along the cliffs, the green hills and towns rising up. It is an exaggeration of Cinque Terre to the north; bigger, higher, more chic, more dramatic. These photos do it little justice, especially being hazy…better to go there!

 

 

 

Newton was expert at driving on the curves, unfazed by oncoming tourist busses because Brazilians, like Italians, see “plenty of room” where this American does not!

amalfi drive

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

amalfi cliffs

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is a terraced vineyard along the Coast:

amalfi grapes

We had great luck finding a hotel in Amalfi on the i-phone – our favorite hotel of all. amalfi 1Fred’s dinner recommendation led us along the labyrinthine enclosed ‘streets’ above the town’s main street. Alas, his recommended restaurant had a new name and few diners, so we opted for a crowded trattoria where I actually had my favorite meal of the trip: mozzarella baked in fresh lemon leaves and sautéed endive, accompanied by Fred’s favorite white wine of the region, Fiano di Avellino. This was followed by limoncello liqueur at a bar, since flavorful Amalfi lemons from the rich volcanic soil are the official source for Italy’s limoncello.

 

 

 

Morning in Amalfi

We decided to stay in Amalfi two nights and commute to Pompeii.

Pompeii is an amazing excavation because it is an entire city that was well-preserved under the ash and rock of Mount Vesuvius’ 79 A.D. eruption. Only two-thirds of the city has been unearthed. We decided on a guided tour in English (heavily-accented English) and appreciated hearing the details of this amazing record of Roman life. An earthquake had occurred there seventeen years prior to the volcano’s eruption, so some structures were still in mid-repair when buried. I visited Pompeii when I was 17, but did not remember much beyond driving up to the volcano, the well-preserved frescoes in a house, and the men being led to view pornographic paintings which were off-limits to us delicate females.  This time the guide reliably pointed out the bas relief penises pointing the way to the brothel district, then led all of us through a brothel with its stone beds and descriptive frescoes which enabled men arriving from all over the Mediterranean to simply point to their preferences. Part of the excavation work at the site has involved pouring liquid plaster into the pumice soil and rock and later removing the hardened shapes left behind in vacuums of disintegrated utensils, urns, and human or animal remains:

pompei boy

pompei drinking fountain

 

         There are lead pipes along the streets for running water to the public drinking fountains and baths:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are stepping stones for crossing the streets:pompei street

There are many shops, like this ‘fast food’ shop:

pompei fast food

                                      There are small homes and elegant mansions, such as this one:pompei mansion

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Also, temples and government buildings: Pompei 1

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Frescoes are especially well-preserved because of the method of painting on still-wet plaster. These are inside a home:pompei frescos

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vesuvius looms compellingly in the background.

Extend the sloping lines upward on the two sides to imagine how it looked in 79 A.D.:vesuvius

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

When we returned to Amalfi for the evening, we were too tired to drive one town over to Ravello to have dinner at Fred’s favorite place in the region. Our rather touristy dinner in Amalfi was nevertheless good, and conversation with an interesting couple from Toronto – he, a film producer and she, a newspaper editor – added a welcome dimension. My ears still get prickly when I hear American (or Canadian) accents, having run into so few Americans in Natal. Americans were pretty scarce in Sicily, as well, so my antenna was way up to overhear them in this region.

The route over the mountains was by choice the next napoli galleriamorning on our way to Naples, the birthplace of pizza, for a pizza lunch. We found Fred’s recommended fresh mozzarella, basil, and fresh tomato sauce pizza after an hour of Martha’s unsuccessful maneuvering among non-traffic streets, one-way streets and dead-end streets. Luckily, a helpful woman noticed we were stuck in a place with no escape and instructed us to enter a “do not enter” street and make our way to parking possibilities. Newton could always understand everyone’s Italian! Fred describes Napoli as a place of excitement and perpetual motion. He says that – as the Romans are sensual – the Neapolitans are excited, living under the threat of hovering Vesuvius. We walked the busy streets of the center and confirmed the blur of motion, the animated citizens touching each other, arguing over the best fresh lemonade, playing great street jazz, hurrying. Here is the beautiful galleria:

 

It was now time for poor preparations to catch up with us again. We had meant to reserve a hotel in Rome for the last night, but had never done it. We sat in our parked car in Naples checking for internet hotel listings on the laptop…until the battery ran out. While this left the hotel question unsolved, it made the rental car return schedule in Rome very tight. Martha headed us to Rome and to the agency address. We called to check about closing time once we were in Rome and had just about the right amount of leeway when we miss-counted the exits in a crowded roundabout. Martha likes to just say “Enter the roundabout and take the third exit,” for example. In this case, she said the fourth but we took the third. By the time Martha corrected this mistake in traffico Romano, the rental agency was no longer answering the phone. We pulled over and started looking for hotel possibilities on the extremely slow i-phone. While we deliberated choosing a hotel near the airport, a parked car pulled out of a free parking spot right beside us. We pulled in and decided to roam the area for a hotel. Newton held his i-phone and we walked to various hotel addresses listed there. The first one sold out one minute before we walked in; the others were non-existent (?). We knew there was a reasonably-priced hotel out near the airport and that we could return the rental car there; it was just tricky now to get an online reservation since the i-phone connection was so slow and the hotel was not answering the phone. While we walked back to a trendy, lively restaurant that had caught our eye, Newton secured our reservation for the night. Our last dinner in Italy was amidst a local crowd in a restaurant with a film theme. There were many photos of the late Massimo Triosi and his actual bicycle from “Il Postino.” It was fun, but Fred would never recommend the food. Once again around midnight, Martha led us to our country hotel in Ostia – an archeological site from the ancient port of Rome. When we awoke the next morning, we were surprised to find a castle fortress right out our window!

Roma Ostia hotel

window

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We passed the ancient ruins en route to the airport. Clearing out the glove compartment before turning in the car, we happened upon a…map of the mainland! Oh well.

“Arrivederci, Italia,” we said as we caught our flight to Athens and our trip metamorphosed into Newton’s business trip.

Love,

Sandy

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Sicily Dispatch

The theme of our Sicilian vacation is “Fred and Martha.” Fred is Fred Plotkin, the author of The Gourmet Traveler’s Guide to Italy. Some friends gave us his book for our 5-week stay in northern Italy in 2004. We just could not face Sicily or the road to Rome from the tip of the boot without Fred’s passion, palette, intimate portraits of each region of Italy and its populace, his descriptions of dishes and agriculture and wines, not to mention his recommendations in each city. There was a 2010 edition from UK Amazon awaiting us at our Palermo hotel. Also awaiting us there was Martha. This is the name we affectionately (at first) attached to the American woman’s voice on our new GPS. They were both our constant companions.

We can fly directly from Natal to Lisbon, so a trip to Europe is a simple thing compared to travel to the US. The incredible food started right away in the Lisbon and Milan airports! I sat people-watching in awe…Europeans seem handsome, healthy, fit and chic. We had a nice room in Palermo with ceilings so high that we could see an entire dome out the tall balcony door. The cappuccino at breakfast came in a cup the size of a soup bowl. Yea. The only problem was the alarming amount of noise in the morning: garbage being dumped – all breaking glass, seemingly amplified voices arguing, a dog chasing a motor cycle; after we laughed about a car alarm being the last missing sound, they began drilling into metal at a nearby construction site! Oddly, these morning car alarms and construction noises persisted in other cities.

Sicily has been invaded and occupied by so many cultures, it is possible to find endless varieties of architecture. Here, the Palermo cathedral combines Arabic, Greek, Romanesque, gothic, and Renaissance influences:

Palermo cathedral

 

cathedral-Palermo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The former nobles of Sicily had so much money that this chapel with priceless Byzantine mosaics (these are not paintings) is part of a family’s palace-fortress:

chapel mosaics Palermo

Besides its beautiful buildings, Palermo still has remains of bombed out properties from World War II:

bombed out-Palermo 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here’s Newton-as-beast-of-burden:Newt shopping Palermo

We picked up our rental car, a Lancia, with stop/start technology that kicks in at every full stop to save gas and reduce pollution. Ah, Europe. Martha led us with her soothing-yet-confident voice to a gorgeous beach just outside Palermo on a lazy October weekday. The temperature was near 80°F:

Palermo beach

My favorite ruin of the whole trip: a well-preserved Doric Greek temple of sandstone, surrounded by green hills in Segesta. As occurs in the Parthenon, these columns and horizontals incorporate a slight curve to fool the eye that they are straight, while managing, unlike mechanically straight construction, to float and express a grace that, when beheld, nearly lifts me off my feet.

Segesta temple temple view segesta

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Trapani, gargoyle masks on a church and a leather goods store :

Trapani gargoyles leather store-Trapani

I am always grateful in foreign lands to have Newton at the wheel, despite my aversion to speed and sudden maneuvers. After learning to drive in Brazil, there is not much that can flummox him. Did I mention that I call him Walter Mitty sometimes when his persona slips into a Formula One driver? The funny thing about driving in Sicily is that the cities forgo traffic signals and stop signs and just use the “nose into oncoming traffic” system. Honking ensues immediately for those who hesitate! The old streets in the city centers can be so narrow that pedestrians must step into doorways to allow room for the cars to pass. Newton was intrepid at one point and, clapping in both rearview mirrors, started through…well, the eye of a needle. Alas, this was too narrow for any skill level and we had to figure out another way.  Martha became a little vague around traffic circles, as we were not absolutely sure how to count the exits; she was fond of recalculating directions in the GPS tradition when instructions and diagrams failed us and demanding U-turns of us, ever more virulently.

Here’s Newton watching the road AND the purple line on the GPS screen map:

Newt and Martha

We happened upon an inviting wine bar in Marsala one evening, beckoned by some intriguing recorded music. Forswearing the sweet dessert wine for which the town is famous, we sampled a sparkling rosé brut and a good red while enjoying the rousing debate over whether Roman men or Sicilian men are more virile. The free hors d’oeuvres, which melted in our mouths, forced us to buy a jar of pistachio pesto spread to bring home. Never have I tasted pistachio all the way up my cheeks! We didn’t realize what early dinner hours they observed around there and arrived at one of “Fred’s destinations” as the kitchen closed. The non-pizza dinner we had at a mobbed night spot was the only bad meal we had in Sicily.

Baroque architecture in Marsala:

Baroque in Marsala

As Fred says, the Sicilian mafia presence is not particularly felt along the coastal areas as it might be further inland, if at all. My first reaction was at a lovely restaurant in Palermo where a small boy, as part of a large family dinner, was running around with a black toy pistol in his hand. My second reaction was later in Siracusa at a nice jazz club when a hulking guy was talking in a Don Corleone voice. It turns out that he was a tourist from Venezuela speaking Spanish; he was drunk and trying to interrupt conversation among Newton, an American young man and me. He then started to insult us. We left quickly as the young man went to inform the manager. A few streets over by foot, we suddenly realized that a car that had to do a turnabout in the tight street was being driven by him. We ducked into a doorway and luckily remained undetected by the drunken goon. That meant that the only mafia connection we encountered was the Palermo Opera House where Sophia Coppola as Michael Corleone’s daughter dies on the steps in “The Godfather III:”

 palermo opera house Opera steps                                                            

Fred explains that Sicily’s cuisine is famous for its flavorful fresh produce (resulting from rich volcanic soil) and fresh sea food, mixed with the spices of North Africa. One of my early favorites was pepper muscles. We loved the arancini – rice balls with meat or cheese; sarde a Beccafico – sardines stuffed with cheese, herbs and raisins; involtini – roll-ups of chicken, veal, etc. with cheese and spices; cuscus; piacentino (sheep’s milk cheese) and majorchino (pecorino cheese) with black peppercorns; calamari, shrimps, octopus, fish, clams, grilled zucchini and eggplant, and the wonderful greens. There used to be a tradition of French chefs and bakers in the households of the nobles, which led to a tradition of nuns leaving the convents and learning how to make French pastries and exquisite sweets. Some convents today thrive by supplying the best marzipan (pictured here) marzipan taorminaand pastries in Sicily. The breakfasts included in most hotels sometimes consisted of vouchers for a bar in the nearby piazza for cappuccino and croissant or brioche - as delicate and flakey as any French counterpart. Also famous in Sicily is the citrus produce, including madarino tangerines, along with several tangerine varieties that come out month-by-month. I tasted both a fresh tangerine and a mandarincino liqueur after dinner... yes, both, all the way up my cheeks! Fred was clear that he had no interest in the tradition of French cuisine in Sicily, apart from the pastries. He loves the fresh bounty from the local small farms, the fresh seafood from the fishermen, and the vino locale from the wineries that have always made up the fare of the traditionally poor populace. Eating in restaurants is a relatively new and casual phenomenon among the people. 

 

 

 

mandarini 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We peered through the gate of this building in a small coastal town and a lovely older man approached, opened the gate for us and explained in perfect English that this was his weekend refuge from Rome. Sweet:

Roman's retreat

We always like to joke with our kids about which funny little car is our actual rental:

rental car perhaps-Noto

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Agrigento there is an entire park of Greek/Roman ruins with the sea in the background. I felt like I was in the middle of an old French painting when I looked at this:

ruins painting-Agrigento painting of ruins

This was the last standing column of the temple of Zeus (later Jove), which tumbled in 1914:

Zeus temple

These human figure columns also supported the weight of the temple:

column figure-agrigento

 

  tree-Agrigento

 

Like many ruins around the Mediterranean, these temples were frequently appropriated by succeeding conquerors – after the Greeks and Romans, the Byzantines, Arabs, Christians…so many have been damaged, adapted, re-adapted, and restored.

Fred is particularly enthusiastic about a man (deceased since publication of the 2010 edition) who made gelato and sorbet in the purest, most traditional way in the city of Noto. He eliminated any gums or fillers and concentrated on egg whites and natural flavors. The establishment, Corrudo Costanzo (#7 Via Salvia Spaventa), named after him and continuing his strict standards by way of his family, still makes the original Arabic sorbets of rose and jasmine, as well as what Fred considers the best taste experience of his career: sorbetto di mandarino. We were on a pilgrimage to taste these and the mulberry, lemon, pistachio, hazelnut and almond gelatos that Fred favored there. As we headed out from Agrigento, having duly entered Constanzo’s address into the GPS, Martha led us on a wild goose chase up and up and up into the mountains above beautiful farm fields separated by low stone walls. It seemed strange, as Noto was near the coast, but we put our madcap faith in the sometime trickster and headed to an autostrata on the other side of these mountains. The scenery was so lovely that I had mixed emotions about the beauty, the receding shore, the blind hairpin curves on a road too narrow for two cars, and the sinking gas gauge. The autostrata did eventually lead us to Noto, and we eventually walked our way to Costanzo’s only to find it closed for renovation. I had hoped to follow my Mother’s annual summer tradition of a meal of all the ice cream we could eat!

Siracusa is a wonderful city. It was a center of great learning in ancient times and produced Archemedes, among other notables. We loved the hipness of the city center – an island called Ortigia - combined with the traditional varieties of architecture, great stores, and another spectacular park of Greek/Roman ruins. Interestingly enough, not only the ruins, but the entire city of Siracusa is on the UNESCO World heritage list! church-siracusa siracusa street

inside -siracusa Gelati

Here are the Roman theater and a video of the Greek amphitheater, interesting to compare (the rectangular indentation in the center here was for stagecraft):

roman theater -siracusa

oh my feet -siracusa

 

While Newton walked around the amphitheater with his camera, I sat on a rock and  contemplated the concentric circles of pain emanating from the two outside toes on each foot. I know, I’m wearing sandals, but they are not my usual flip-flops, so I had blisters on all four toes. Just the beginning, as I would be forced into closed shoes later up north.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is a video of the “Ear of Dionysus,” who it is said could eavesdrop on prisoners held captive in this cave by way of its extraordinary acoustics:

We found a laundry service in Siracusa and washed our clothes. It is run by a friendly American woman who has the most handsome bachelor clients. Decent occupation. We followed Fred’s recommendation for food shopping and found great salami, cheeses, olives, bread, and wine all in one store for our post-ruins picnic. And speaking of tasting flavors entirely up the cheeks, we had unforgettable mojitos with giant fresh mint leaves lining the glass at a cool little music club. Maybe I should tell Fred? It seems odd that Syracuse was not on my radar before. Just a fantastic place.

There are no billboards in the countryside or the old city centers…imagine! The beauty is everywhere, unobstructed. We stopped in Taormina, built on cliffs that rise high above the sea. As Fred confirms, the many tourists do not spoil the gorgeous setting or diminish the charm of this city, even on an overcast day:

drive above taormina 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

taomina

more taormina charm charming taormina

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Martha had quite a bit of trouble getting us to the ferry in Messina that carries cars over to the tip of the mainland’s boot. She kept insisting that we had arrived, but there was no indication of a ferry there. We finally figured something out, though we were entering the port at the exit and had to be directed by helpful personnel to the waiting area. The ferry wasn’t till 8:00 pm, so the darkness continued through our arrival on the mainland a half-hour later. Martha knows when it’s dark and had her tricks ready for us.

Love,

Sandy

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