Indimenticabile

One sees variations of these flyers all over Italy commemorating the passing of a loved one, announcing the memorial mass. This one grabbed me by the heart. It says that the holy mass will be celebrated on February 24 on the occasion of the twenty-seventh anniversary of the departure of the unforgettable  [indimenticabile] Anna Maria Biscarini. I only hope that someone will find me indimenticabile 27 years after I'm gone.

Update:

upon my return to Todi in February 2011, I found  Anna Maria Biscarini ancora indimenticabile (still unforgettable) after twenty-eight years.

Sono confetti? no, sono coriandoli

One would think confetti a perfectly good Italian word. If you know your Latin/English/Italian, it is a perfectly good plural past participle of the same root as confection. And that's a hint to the subject of this post. Confetti = confections, commonly served at weddings, e.g. Jordan Almonds. What you see above is a picture of small shreds of gaily colored paper left on the pavement after the Carnevale celebrations of this past weekend in Todi. In Italian, they are known, not as confetti, but as coriandoli, which is the same word as coriander, or cilantro for those of you of a gastronomic or botanical bent.

La Vita è Bella

It was a surreal experience. Yesterday afternoon I watched Life is Beautiful with Roberto Benigni. In Italian, with Italian subtitles. I had never seen it. Now I have. The only other 2 people in the room were a Japanese girl and my Italian teacher. The only person missing was a nice German. or maybe someone French...

Che cos'è?

I kept wondering what strange (and large!) animal scat kept appearing on the steps outside my apartment. Here is the picture. See if you can guess.

Duh! they're olives! I have an olive grove up the stairs from me. So much sexier than crabapples on the sidewalk.

Perché Italia?

Once again, Professor Obvious, why would anyone love Italy? Well, that's not really the question. Why do I love Italy and the Italian language with a mad passion? I've done my genealogy. I'm as WASP as they come (except the part that's Catholic, and that may be part of the reason).

Could my parents have accidentally switched me with an Italian bambina there on the Piazza San Marco? If you knew my parents, you know what a joke that is. It's a toss-up which one I resemble more. Forget that theory.

If you believe in past lives, maybe... I'm agnostic on the subject, but I don't like that theory either.

Here's my theory: it's not elegant or simple, but it's the best I can do. I have always loved languages. I studied French from 6th grade through high school and into college. I took Latin from 8th through 10th grades. I discovered linguistics my junior year in college, and if I could have changed my mind at that point, I would have majored in linguistics. Italian is the perfect next step for a student of French and Latin. It's extremely regular like Latin, beautiful like French, and the Italians, unlike the French, are very encouraging of any effort to speak their language.

Italy is also a great place to be a vegetarian, which I am. At least central Italy, where I have spent most of my time, is full of fabulous food that doesn't necessarily include meat. I read in La Repubblica on the way over that Italy has more vegetarians per capita than the other EU countries.

Here's the other thing: in addition to the fact that I may or may not have taken my steps on the Piazza San Marco, I spent my entire childhood sleeping in a bed over which hung the above-mentioned Venus on the Half-Shell, a fake Della Robbia wreath,

and another print, which I have just recently realized was that Botticelli Madonna del Libro. My mother was far from religious. I don't think she'd object to my calling her an atheist, but that didn't preclude her loving Italian renaissance art, and exposing her daughter to it. It was just like her to pick the painting where Mary seems to be teaching Jesus to read. Reading could have been said to be my mother's religion.

I know it sounds goofy, but there is some reason beyond Italy's obvious charms that I feel at home when I come here, and this is the best I can do for now.

Michelangelo, schmichelangelo

I love gay men as much as the next girl (a lot), but I think Michelangelo was one of those rare guys who didn't care for females in any form. Have you looked at his women? They all have man hands. Not to mention man chests with boobs pasted on. Here's my guy: Botticelli.

Look at her; look at all the women in Primavera. Look at this Madonna:

Aren't they all perfectly gorgeous? And if you look at them closely, every one of these paintings has little flowers painted on the fabrics. Art.com says this:

Florentine painter Sandro Botticelli (1444 – 1510) is regarded as epitomizing the spirit of the Italian Renaissance. Renowned as one of the greatest colorists in Florence, Botticelli became a favorite member of inner circle of the Medicis. Painting extraordinary wall frescoes in the Sistine Chapel and several monumental mythological allegories often upholding the triumph of love and reason over base instinct. Little known for centuries after his death, his work was rediscovered in the late 19th century by a group of English Pre-Raphaelites.

© Art.com