I am a morning person, there is no doubt. Last night morning seemed to try to come about three times, thanks in part to a late afternoon cup of Chai tea. I guess I didn't realize just how much caffeine is in tea! Note to self: no tea after 3:00 P.M. But morning for me is my favorite part of the day. I love waking up to decide how to spend my time, in the early morning quiet of our house. Today I woke up at 5:30 and after grabbing a cup of coffee I turned on the telly and surfed for something other than "PAID PROGRAMMING" to occupy my mind. I stumbled on the most delightful surprise on HBOCM (classic movies). It was a 1969 gem called "Bueona Sera, Mrs. Campell", a movie set in Italy starring Gina Lollobrigida and Shelley Winters, and a host of others. It was about a reunion of servicemen returning to northern Italy. Gina Lollobrigida has told her college age daughter for years that her American serviceman father was killed shortly after they were married, however this turns out to be a farce. This movie brought me back to our recent trip to Tuscany and reminded me (again) why I love being Italian. I love the Mediterranean blood that courses through my veins and makes me who I am. My Bolognese mother always taught us to be proud of being Italian and gave us countless reasons why we should be. Those reasons came flooding back to me while watching this gem of a movie. Every time I pick up a paint brush or sit down to write I am reminded of my Italian heritage - my grandfather's artistic abilities and his passion for creating things with wood (he was a carpenter), or my childhood home in which my mom created stencils before they were popular, and sponged the designs on the walls of our living room. I love the outward passion and zest for life that Italians display so easily. I even love the heated arguments they have, arms flailing, voices raised, but also filled with passion. Indulge me this shameless post about being Italian, but the next time you pick up your fork to eat some yummy Italian dish, or shop for some amazing Italian shoes or purses, or admire the works of Michelangelo or Da Vinci, you will have some idea of Italian pride.
I didn't know your grandfather was a carpenter or that your mother was where you inherited your domestic creativity. It's interesting that a non-physical trait like artistic talent is inherited. Or is it a question of nurture versus nature...?
ReplyDeleteMy grandfather was also an artist, and my mother was offered a scholarship to the Art Institute when she was in high school, but my Uncle Guido disallowed it. She went to secretarial school as well. My brother is also very artistic, as was my Uncle Rome. Not sure it was really nurtured. I think it's inherited - it's an artsy fartsy gene. :-) By the way, my grandfather built our house in Chicago. It was modeled after a classic Italian-style house. He also built our summer home in Lake Geneva, complete with knotty pine walls, flagstone fireplace, hardwood floors. It was built the year I was born. Sadly, my parents sold it several years ago due to the upkeep issues.
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