Cimetero

It sometimes is simply too complicated to explain. The ways in which the heart moves.

My friend Pietro told me yesterday that "The Maestro" was going to stop by his shop at 8:45 this morning, to do some business with him.  "The Maestro" being one Francesco Quintaliani. His area of expertise, art. Bright colors and wonderful interpretations of Assisi that I have lusted after for years.  I have a few of his pieces in my house, the largest being one that is framed and hangs above the bed. We have Quintaliani mugs that we use every morning at home and ornaments that come out each Christmas. So, I was up and running at 8:30, on my way to the shop on the Porta Perlichi, ready to meet the artist of my dreams. What I thought was a shortcut, turned out to be a long trip up many, many steps. Along the way, I passed a dead mouse.  I guess he had run out of the steam needed to make it to what becomes the path surrounding the city. Eventually, I made it in time to meet Francesco and to receive yet another of his pieces, this a small, signed one. A gift. Well worth the early day cardio workout.

Joe met me at the weekly street market. A beautiful cappuccino at the Cafe Sensi, and, of course, we walked until lunch time. Thank God, our apartment has an elevator.  Lunches usually consist of leftovers from the evening before. A bit of lunch, a bit of rest and back out into what today was glorious sunshine.

There's a cemetery in town. Only one. A quiet, cedar-tree lined street approaches it. It's flat. At least the deceased in Assisi get to traverse a flat surface on their way to be buried. I always visit this cemetery when I am here. I don't know any of the present occupants but find that cemeteries in general have a lot to say about the culture of the place and this one is no exception. There are mausoleums and simple graves. Most of the gravesites have a photo of the deceased, something I find useful in honoring the person. They become very real to me. 

This trip, we both commented on the increased population, many new wooden crosses marking graves of the most-recently deceased. There's a huge jump in the number of new graves between the years of 2020 and the present. Without a doubt, this is yet another of those reminders of the Pandemic. Rows upon rows. 

We sat for a while in the sunshine. Time to reflect. Isn't that what cemeteries are known for? And, as we did, we talked about our own families. With great joy, I was asked by a cousin of my mother to participate in the building of a family website, one that he, as he approached his ninetieth year, thought as important, considering the depth and breath of the family. Where to start? The memoir of our Uncle Carl. I ordered a copy for my Kindle and re-read it. The new version has photos and, for the first time, I saw my great- grandparents and relatives I have never met. It was a thrill beyond words. From a very,very small town, deep in Southern Italy, a family grew. Most of them immigrated.

Both of our grandfathers came to America as very young men. And so, we sat in the sun at the cemetery, marveling at the courage and strength of those people and from the depth of my heart came that feeling that I get so often, that I am rooted here, that my ancestors would want to know that there's a part of them that still resides on Italian soil.