hunting and gathering

So, this morning I did the usual going out and about with the doggies. Each time we go for a walk we go in a different direction. Well, there are only three choices - up, down, or over. Down takes us down the road which is safe to do only when a) it's not high traffic time in Maberga and b) when I'm feeling up to the physical challenge of coming back UP the road. Over takes us across the road to a large, flat terrace that's good for chasing lemons. Up takes us to our own terraces. We only go up there if I'm feeling ok with the inevitability of the dogs swimming in the pool (aka: our water vasca).

This morning we went up. To get to our terraces you have to cross through some other people's terraces. You know you're at ours when you see the little metal gates at the end of two of the terraces. These gates were put there by our pals (some times I've referred to them lovingly as "the hippies"). They lived in our house for a few months before we moved in. During that time they diligently worked the land, planting insane amounts of veggies. Robert put up the little gates to keep the wild boar from digging up the insane amount of veg from the earth.

When I crossed the neighbors' land this morning, approaching our land I noticed something was amiss. The little gates were gone. Just gone. Just like the opposite of my melanzana...one day no melanzana, next day a melanzana. One day two little gates, next day no gates.

So, this leaves a girl with kind of a bad taste in her mouth. When you're walking down the street and someone snatches your purse, well, that's a bummer for sure. But when that happens, it's not really personal. I mean, that snatcher doesn't know you from Adam, he just wants your purse. When someone takes the time to dismantle your little gates from off your land in Maberga to take them, that person knows you. That person knows those little gates are yours and they took them anyway.

Granted, we don't really need those little gates any more. There are no veggies on our land any more. But that's not really the point, is it? They still belonged to us. I mean, come on. We're not using all our olive trees right now but they still belong to us and are not open for the taking.

The only upside to this episode in Maberga life was that I was having a good time with Das Needle ladies when it must have occurred.

While someone was hunting and gathering from my land, Natalie finished her first pair of socks.



Those are some nice socks!

She also finished this great sweater by sewing on a button that she made herself.



And Mette made a helicopter!



And while someone was hunting and gathering goods from my land, Mette's husband Teddy was doing some hunting and gathering of his own.





I don't know exactly how I'm going to deal with the little gate theft in Maberga. One thing for sure though, whoever took them did so because they needed them for something. Given that they weren't the kind of gates one puts in their home to, say, give privacy to a bathroom or to stop small children from tumbling down stairs, means that they will be used on some one's land.

I'm watching to see if this bold, neighbor, gate-thief has the balls to put up my gates on his land. I'm watching...

Have I already told you guys about the melanzana? Excuse me if I'm repeating myself but I can't remember and I'm too lazy right now to read my old posts.

Anyway, this is a melanzana



Well, that's what's left of my melanzana after my dinner tonight. Yeah, melanzana means eggplant or aubergine, depending on where you're from or if you're trying to be pretentious.

It was one of the days when Augusto was here working that I planted the veggies in my garden. Having seen Augusto's veggie garden, I was smart enough to ask him a little advice before I put the plants in the earth. Having never seen my hands in the dirt, Augusto took a break (and a beer) and watched me plant my tomatoes and peppers, telling me how to do it.

After the zucchini were in he said, "you need a melanzana."

"Aren't they hard to cook?"

"NO! You need a melanzana"

small note here: Augusto would have no idea if melanzane were hard to cook or not. He only sees them in two stages 1. hanging from the plant, 2. on the plate. Everything between those two points of the eggplant's life is quite a mystery to Augusto, I'm sure.

"I'll bring you a melanzana tomorrow."

And he did.



He even put in in the ground for me.

Last week it gave me food. Just like that! One day it was just a plant and the next day there was this big, beautiful, purple, fleshy fruit hanging there. Ok, it wasn't THAT big. And it probably didn't happen over night...I might not have been paying too close of attention.

All the same, I had a melanzana with no clue what to do with it. So I drew a few left handed sketches of it but then figured, well, it has a higher purpose than that. I should probably eat it.

So when I was at the Maberga mass and I saw Augusto's wife, Lina. She knows the melanzana in its phases between plant and plate. So I said, "Lina, I got a melanzana from the plant Augusto planted!! Now what do I do?"

She then launched into a 10 minutes explanation for fried melanzana meatballs that involved meat and eggs and bread and whole bunch of verbs that I had never heard before. She must have seen my eyes glaze over because then she said, "or you could just make a sugo (sauce) with it."

"How do you do that?"

When I said that she gave a sideways glance to her cousin who she had just introduced me to who was visiting from Calabria. Lina's cousin was a little less subtle about my question. She shot her eyes, wide open (her mouth was open too) at Lina with a look that said, "did I just understand this American correctly?! She doesn't know how to make sugo with melanzana?!"

"I'm a bit of a disaster in the kitchen." I explained.

So the very nice cousin, in very slow and explicit Italian described to me how to make the sugo.

I won't embarrass myself further or insult your cooking sensibilities by writing out the insanely simple recipe. Let me just say that, even I couldn't screw this one up. (if there are any of you fellow kitchen disasters out there who would like the recipe, send me an email and I'll write it out for you).

Tonight I made the sugo and it was freakin awesome. Sorry, no photos. While it was delicious to taste, it wasn't so photogenic. Instead of a photo of the food here's a photo of Q being pissed off because I wouldn't share more of my dinner with her.



I probably won't ever impress anyone with my cooking prowess, but I am able to make other stuff. For example, some freakin' awesome leg warmers



(free pattern found here. the yarn in Swish Bulky from KnitPicks - I love this yarn)

I don't know if Lina's cousin from Calabria would be impressed by these but Ruff was.



With the left over leg warmer yarn I made these mitts that are quicker and easier than malanzana sugo.



(pattern from "Weekend Knitting, aka: my favorite knitting book) They are so fast that they can be made while listening to one Timber Rattlers game.

With the studio up and running again, I've been prolifically producing jewelry.



Check my Etsy shop if you're in the market for some Italian bling. I can promise that they are even better than my sugo - much nicer to look at and way easier to put in your ears.

I've also been making tons of these...



Yep, that's a friendship bracelet knotted together from embroidery thread. Yep just like the kind you used to make in the third grade (or high school if you were bored). I can't quite explain where the urge to make these came from. It must be some reflex to hearing the theme song to "Charlie's Angels" and "Thriller" over and over and over again on the radio in the past week. RIP Farrah and Michael.

When David and I were in Assisi on our sabbatical year 10 years ago a couple friends from Denver came to visit. The four of us, along with David's then young children, took a little trip. The six of us in a rather large car drove down to Rome, Naples, then on to the Amalfi Coast. It was a wonderful trip with dear friends and family. On the way back to Assisi we passed through the historical town of Herculaneum.

Herculaneum is the forgotten sibling of Pompeii. Another prosperous Roman city that was destroyed by that little volcano Vesuvius incident in 79ad. Ok, a town is "destroyed" by a wild fire or maybe a tornado. This town, like Pompeii was not destroyed, it was decimated. Killed. Wiped out completely. Vesuvius's molten lava covered it totally.

Unlike Pompeii, Herculaneum was pristinely preserved. Well, as pristine as hot lava can do. At Herculaneum you wander the streets of the now excavated town. You can enter into the houses - houses of the rich with beautiful mosaics still visible and the houses of the poor with the communal food pots still in place.

Our little group of tourists did a guided tour. It was off season so we had our guide to ourselves. It was a gray day with a light rain misting the air and exemplifying our experience.

At one point pal Johnny and I were admiring the main pool of the Roman baths of the city. We were standing next to one another in that wonderful silence that is demanded when viewing and experiencing a historical wonder - contemplating life, lives before you and mortality in general. Johnny turned to me, looked at me for a while and then, in a voice that seemed to cut right through the rain pelting us and was, if I must say, much harsher than the experience and scene called for said, "I can't believe you are traipsing around Europe in your pajamas."

Now let's just stop for a second and view the facts of this situation.

Being as I was on sabbatical and therefore spending carefully doled money on travel, experiences, and, well, food and rent, I had not been investing in the latest Italian fashion. I was, on said day (and if I'm honest, every day of the sabbatical year) donning some clothes that had been purchased for the most part just before leaving the States. The outfit under scrutiny was: an over sized handknit wool sweater, "the boots", a hat purchased for me by my mom on a previous trip to Bellagio (it had rained then, too) and, here we come to the jammies part, a pair of mustard yellow CP Shades wide-legged, elastic waisted pants in a curtain-like floral embroidered fabric that looked a little like, well, pjs.

I've been thinking about Johnny all day as I was "traipsing around Europe" in a friend's discarded bed sheet that I potato printed last night with blue stars and made into a skirt this morning.



I don't know what Johnny would have said but Das Needle ladies had nothing but praise for my ingenuity ... and fabulous fashion sense.

Ok, maybe not, but they were complimentary all the same. They can appreciate the process.

So, sporting, not jammies but a sheet, I spent a lovely day with the girls and our needles.





I would like to thank compatriot, Tom who is visiting Mette and (her husband) Teddy and who was more than kind to take the photos for this post since I forgot my camera.

On a completely unrelated note, I'd like to direct all OliveKnitting readers to Tom's website ... , as well as a YouTube video shared with me by Tom that is a must-see - that is if you are into Japanese pipemakers who play bluegrass.

Life continues to be interesting in Maberga.

Maberga Mass '09

window flowers




Those of you who have been reading here through the years will remember that toward the end of June every summer (almost every summer) all people with a connection to Maberga - young and old, new and native make their way (OUR way) up to the village of Maberga for mass in the church.

The village, once the home to a convent of nuns (about 400 years ago), became the investment property of two brothers called Lanteri(about 200 years ago) who, in turn, spawned a whole group of people called the Maberghini.

real maberghini




The native Maberghini are also all called, since they come directly or indirectly (mostly directly) from the brothers Lanteri, well, Lanteri. Yep, as of about 30 years ago when Maberga was at its thriving best as a village of 11 families - or shall I say 11 households but one family - they all had the same last name.



Of course times change even in Maberga. Like Coloradans, the native Maberghini are now out-numbered by the new comers who want a little piece of the good life.

view from Maberga

In a village that was once all Lanteri, there are now Verti, Januzzi, Lazzi, and, even a couple of Cornwells (I have a sudden and thorough understanding right now as to how ethnic surnames in the US become bastardized through generations by immigrants trying to fit in to an adopted culture as I have a sudden and overwhelming urge to change our name to Cornwelli or maybe Cornwallo, maybe Cornwellini.)

As I was saying, each year all of us come here...

steeple



inside church


where we all say hello to him...

priest



just before he does this...

mass inside church



and we do this...

praying




until we all do this...

wine



food







La Carla with salami



ladies eating




boys talking



Donato



until we say good bye...


shaking priest's hand


until next year.

What a big day today is. In addition to it being father's day (in the States) and Maberga Mass Day (in, well, MABERGA), it's also Sunday. The last one means that the Timber Rattlers are playing at a time when it's reasonable for me to listen and, therefore, posting about the other two will have to wait.

until later...go Rattlers

7:45am, the phone rings

It's David from Siena.


L: Pronto. (as if I don't know who's calling me at quarter to 8 in the morning)

D: Happy anniversary, Honey.

L: Thanks. Happy anniversary to you.

D: Thanks for marrying me.

L: Thank you. Can you believe that that was 14 years ago?

D: I know. Weird.

L: Seems a lot longer.

D: Yeah, it does.

there's been a little accident...

A Michael's delivery truck seems to have collided with a Goodwill delivery truck in the middle of my studio causing a great explosion of their respective cargos. I'm not sure exactly how either of them crossed the Atlatic, made it up my road or onto the second floor of my house but they did, they crashed and boy is there a huge mess of old clothes, yarn and craft supplies everywhere.

Now I'm trying to clean it up, and maybe even make a little order out of the whole thing. There'll be photos...after.