Celebrate the ordinary!

from tree...

to table...(lemons, navels, mandarins and also the "blood" oranges of Sicily)

Zia's coffee!I'm converted

the result...

...of Calogero's wild asparagus find

 

bbq Italian style!

fresh eggs..

my favourite morning place...

I don't recognise these fish!

the view part way up to the Santuario

even the mice are relaxed here! (this little chap was sitting in the middle of the main road during siesta time and was not going anywhere in a hurry in spite of my presence!)

I still haven't seen inside the Santuario yet, in spite of the fact that it is supposed to be open every morning!

remains of the old castle alongside

I can't help it...I love these shots!

young boy helping his dad make ricotta

I am so happy, I have found a stretch of unpolluted beach!

pebble beach is not as good as a WA beach...but so great that it is clean!

last one...I promise!

None of us wants to be thought of as ordinary. I certainly don’t.

In this world “ordinary” = “meaningless or boring”, and we rarely notice, let alone celebrate ordinary.  We usually reward and value “extraordinary” (extraordinary contribution, intelligence, achievement, bravery, talent, vision, beauty, perfection, art, business acumen, generosity etc). So many of us grow up thinking that to be successful we must be extraordinary and if we aren’t then maybe we aren’t good enough and we don’t deserve to be loved and respected and valued.

We are so busy trying to consciously or unconsciously be extraordinary and so worthy of love, appreciation and belonging, that we miss the ordinary, and yet, it is in the “ordinary” that I think we can find the most joy.

I am reminded of a story (there are various versions of this story) about a rich businessman with a luxury boat who ties up alongside a fisherman in a small dinghy. The rich businessman looks over and says to the fisherman. “You know, if you worked hard and sold more fish, you could buy a bigger boat.” And why would I do that? asked the fisherman. “So you could sell more fish and buy an even bigger boat,” the businessman replied.  “Why would I do that” the fisherman asked politely. “So you could eventually retire and be like me” says the businessman “and why would I do that?” asks the fisherman again.  “Well, so you could go fishing all day,” replied the now exasperated businessman. “Thanks, but I’m doing that already,” came the reply.”

When I ask people what they would do if they found out they were going to die, and I ask people who know they are dying what they most appreciate and will miss, it is the simple things, like spending time in the company of people they love, walking along the beach, watching a sunset, enjoying a meal with friends or watching their children grow.

When I think of the people I have met and known who seemed truly happy, they were ordinary human beings, uncomplicated and open, authentic and spontaneous, wise and compassionate and above all happy in themselves, accepting of imperfection in themselves and others, with a child-like curiosity, and an appreciation for the simplest of blessings.

Today was a very simple, ordinary day, some might even say boring, but I enjoyed it immensely.

I got up a little later than usual and went for a long walk along the beach (I was so happy because I found a small unpolluted stretch of pebbled beach) and up to the Santuario. On the way back, I went to the fruit and vegetable store and bought some ginger, fennel and tomatoes, then popped in to the fishmonger to buy some fresh anchovies to prepare for lunch and then stopped to buy some bread from my favourite bakery, with its smells of freshly baked rolls and loaves.  I carried my provisions along Via Piave and was almost home, when I saw Mariella’s aunt (Zia) pop her head out to check if the garbage man had been yet. She saw me and invited me in for a coffee.

Zia lives in her own house, next door to her sister and niece, the sister of one of my hosts. Zia reminds me of my own Aunt Cecilia (Sissy) who lived with us when I was growing up. Both women never married and I think would have experienced prejudice in their lives. Sissy was deaf and Zia had polio as a child and one arm has very limited function. Yet in spite of these difficulties, with both women I experience a child-like affection, innocence, and immediacy that is refreshing and engaging. Each time I see Zia and hug her, I am reminded of my dear Aunt who I miss and whose presence made me smile.

Zia is the undisputed expert coffee maker in the family.  Just the aroma of her coffee brewing makes my mouth water. It is never bitter and not as strong as is usual in the South. It is Zia’s coffee that has slowly converted me from my Latte to the “real” short black coffee which I now have, occasionally even standing up at the “bar” like a regular Italian, diluting the rich taste from my mouth with the free glass of water with which it is often served. It is Zia who is up first in the household, throwing open all the windows to air the house and then going about her usual chores, climbing narrow stairs to a roof top balcony to hang the daily load of washing out in the sun to dry.

I am becoming accustomed to her schedule and know that it is time for her to have a break, so I say yes to the coffee, and wait for her in the sunny garden, where Duchessa the black cat waits nervously for signs of the canary and budgie that are brought out each morning for a sun bath, hoping that this will be the day they are left unattended and she can pounce. I hear a rustle in the foliage and see the resident turtle moving slothfully amongst the greenery. The red cyclamen’s rich colour stands out from all the green.

The coffee is ready and Zia’s sister joins us for a chat. The two women rarely leave the house and usually stick to fairly rigid domestic routines but they welcome me warmly into their home and tell me of their lives and their fears and about aging.  I tell them about recent research on aging and wellbeing, how the brain works and meditation. I even teach them a few Qigong moves and a coffee meditation! We laugh a lot and tease each other and it is good to feel so comfortable and connected, in spite of all our differences.

I return to my “home” and listen to the latest Italian music hits while I clean the anchovies. There is something mildly disturbing about the fact that I am enjoying putting my fingers inside the just killed and decapitated anchovies and cleaning the remnants of intestine and gore before slowly tearing them apart and removing the flesh from its spine. (Apologises to any readers who may be disturbed by this imagery!) I marinate half the anchovies in salt, olive oil, lemon juice, fresh parsley and garlic and put tem in the fridge. I dust the other half lightly with flour and fry them in a hot pan for a few minutes, sprinkle them with salt and squeeze fresh lemon over them and eat them still standing, licking the salt, lemon and taste of the sea from my fingers.

I go for a short drive with Calogero to the ricotta farm and then try the delicious Sicilian sausage they are cooking on their bbq.   

Later I help Calogero to clean the wild asparagus he collected from a secret location, and with which he will later make a frittata (Italian Omelette). This asparagus has a nutty, slightly bitter taste and the “marriage” with the fresh eggs, sweet onion and red hot chilli pepper is a divine visual and gustatory match.

I check my emails, do some travel research and write for a while, then go for a walk. It feels strange to me that a large town can be deserted in the middle of the day. Here like most of Italy (and much of the Mediterranean) it is the custom to have a long break between about 1 and 4pm each day. Shops and businesses close and people sit down to three-course home cooked meals and then have a lie down, before going back to work again until about 7-7.30pm. This explains why most people are not sitting down to their evening meal until quite late.

I do some window shopping on my own, as the rest of Capo sleeps!

Around 4pm I accompany my hosts to visit a well-to-do land owner relative who has an orchard laden with fruit ready for picking. We return home with a crate full of oranges and mandarins, fresh herbs, beans and lettuce, with a belly fruit of just picked fruit and feeling of satisfaction.

I decide at the last minute to go to the local movie theatre, a short 5 minute walk away to see what I think will be a light romantic comedy as I am looking for every opportunity to immerse myself in the language and expand my vocabulary.

The rest of the family decides to join me and it turns out to be a much more serious and thought provoking movie than I thought.

By the time I get to bed it is midnight and I fall asleep still reading my book and hugging my hot water bottle and thinking how much I enjoyed my very “ordinary” day.

A presto

Mon x