There are so many things that are different from living in Chicago. Where to begin?
Things that come to mind are the little things.
You may know that last year we bought a car – a bright teal VW T-Cross. We (well, I) thought it was really cute. The Italians, on the other hand, seem to think that a car should only be white, tan, grey, or black. Occasionally we will see a red car, or a dull green one. But rarely a bright teal one. Often, we get strange looks. Why would anyone buy a car that color?
The other day, while driving, we approached an intersection. We looked left and saw a car just like ours passing in front of us. There were at least five people in it, waving like crazy at us! We of course waved back. How fun to find our car’s twin! Would this have happened in the US?
Back in the States, each year we would get a physical including complete blood work. Mike had his done when we were in Chicago last August, but I opted to wait until we returned home. Another reason to do that is that my family has asked me to get tested for the BRAC2 gene, an indicator of breast cancer. I tried to have the test done while I was in Chicago, but it was going to take months and it was not inexpensive.
So one day we went up to the village to see our local doctor to get a script for blood tests. Our regular doctor wasn’t there, but his substitute was very nice, and Monica, the assistant, was there. She’s great. I explained what I would like to have done (I also had printed it out in Italian), and presto! I had a script for two blood tests. A day or so later, we drove to Gissi, a town 15 minutes from here. The hospital there looks abandoned, but it’s clean and the people are very nice. I presented my scripts to the clerk. He checked something on the computer, and he asked me if I was paying. I said I could pay. Here, if you pay, you get in right away. Otherwise, it’s free, but you must wait for an appointment. We don’t mind paying because the fees are very reasonable. My two tests cost 77 euros. (The doctor’s visit was free.)
We found the office for the blood draw just down the hallway. The nurse was very nice and competent. She already had at least six vials and labels ready for me. One quick stick with the needle, several draws, and I was done. She gave me a receipt and told me the results would be ready for me to pick up next Tuesday, less than a week away.
There is something here that, to us, is absent in the States: A sense of community. Once you move here, you are part of the “family”.
Sadly, recently fellow two expats in our community died. One was the father of our friend Nicky, from the UK. Her father, John, was frail but otherwise pretty sharp. I won’t go into details, but his death was very sad. Mike and I were with her, her aunt Mary, and Maria when the funeral home people came to take away the body. What’s different here is that people just drop by your house to pay their respects and give condolences. Sometimes it’s people you don’t even know well. If you live here, people care about you.
My friend Valerie from my crochet group lost her husband a few weeks ago. Again, it was not expected. It was heartwarming how so many people in our community pulled together to help her. She’s not Catholic, but since everyone else here is, the local priest led a very nice service in the chapel at the cemetery. Quite a few people attended, and Valerie’s two children came (from the UK). It was our first time at the cemetery here in Casalanguida, which is very nice, not your usual gray, solemn place, but very serene, warm, and personal. There are vertical mausoleums, like little buildings, and flowers everywhere. I don’t know how else to describe it.
Last year, I was overwhelmed with green gage plums and taught myself how to make plum jam. This year, our neighbor Cathey had a big supply of apricots, and I made jam from them. Last year, we had very few olives. Also this year, we had a nice harvest in spite of the hot summer. And the olive trees next to our patio were full of them. The tree closest to the patio had black olives while another had green ones. Mike for some reason decided to collect them. Then the next thing I know, Maria and I are sorting through olives, tossing out the bad ones, and filling a bucket with the good ones. Then, what does one do? Maria taught me how to cure them. First, soak them in a solution of caustic soda for 48 hours. Then rinse them and soak in salt water. Change the water every day for at least three days. When they taste good, you can put them in jars or bags. Robert has a vacuum bag sealing tool, so that’s what we’ll do.
While I’m proud of the canning and preserving skills that I’ve learned, I fall short of the skills of most others here. It’s a way of life, to grow your own food, and to make sure there’s enough to make it through the winter. Plus, homemade is always so much better!
It's interesting to drive around our rural area during September and October, as we frequently see the farmers on their tractors hauling their harvest to be processed. All sizes of trucks and trailers with grapes (in September) and olives (in October). The harvests are done mostly by hand, and there are relatively few people working the fields these days. It amazes us how huge fields can go from green to bare. We’ve helped with the olive harvest, just on our property, and it’s hard work! So many grape vines and olive trees everywhere we go in Abruzzo!
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