When the Forces of Nature Won’t Let You Sleep.

I haven’t written for quite some time, and this is disgraceful. It’s not that I didn’t have time or subjects to write about; in fact, there has been an abundance of both. However, last night gave me a very good reason to write (and to laugh), because a series of crazy things combined together to disrupt my already strange sleeping habits.

As I think I’ve mentioned before, there is a considerable amount of wildlife in my neighborhood. Maybe not; I was going to write an article, but I was distracted from my purpose. Anyway, a few of my non-human neighbors plotted together to see just what they could do to keep me awake; at least their efforts, instead of putting me in a foul mood, cheered me up, mainly because I was able to fall right back to sleep.

I always go to bed late: it doesn’t matter how much I attempt to get to bed no later than midnight—preferably around 11:30—I never make it until about 12:30 – 1:00. Last night I was on top of the sheets (it was a bit too warm for anything more) at about 12:30 and fell straight to sleep. I was roused from my slumbers at 2:45 by the dulcet tones of my Kitty and our newest feral cat neighbor, Raccoon Cat (the name says it all) quarreling. Kitty’s voice is not very loud, but when she uses that tone of voice, smarter cats than Raccoon Cat turn around and run the other way. He didn’t and so, in order to keep them from waking up the entire neighborhood, I got up to see what the problem was. When I opened the door, Raccoon took off, but when I invited Kitty to come in, she ignored me; she had other things on her mind, as I discovered when she started jumping from one side of the cat carrier to the other: she had “cornered” (more like trapped) a mouse behind the carrier and that’s what the two cats had been arguing about.

Five minutes after returning to bed, and as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a loud pounce as she pushed the carrier out of the way and captured her prey. I knew the capture had been made because it was followed by a series of terrified squeaks as the torture began… She’s a very good hunter and an even better torturer. Poor little mouse… Fortunately, I fell asleep again before the real fun and games began. And again, thank goodness the results of her prowess disappeared before I got up.

One would think, after this experience, that the denizens of my forest would let me get my beauty sleep, but alas! this was not to be; a few houses down one of the dogs must have had puppies and they decided to have a rather vociferous free-for-all. I felt like tearing out my hair as I listened to magnified growls, yips, out-and-out barking, and tussles as they fought among themselves. Their mother gave a warning growl and peace and quiet returned to the neighborhood until around five o’clock.

The sun was just beginning to conquer the moon when I was once again awakened by the inhabitants of our “woods”; angry chk,chk, chk, chks came, as it seemed, from under my bed. It wasn’t really, but when I heard another sound that I recognized as Big Bird, our red-tailed hawk, menacing the chker, I decided to get up and check things out. And there, to my sand-filled eyes, appeared a big fat squirrel holding one of my next-door neighbors’ tomatoes and threatening Big Bird with his ear-wrecking chatter. I said, “get out of there you stinky old tree rat” and he took off running, the tomato still hanging from his mouth.

Fortunately, this was the last disturbance or, if there were any others, I was fast asleep for the next few hours.

Have any others of you had close encounters of this sort, or similar, when you would rather have been sleeping?

 

© July 9, 2015 by Mary Purpari. All Rights Reserved. All photos taken by Mary Purpari. 

The Year Santa Claus Came to Town

We didn’t really see him, but he had been there; the note said “Love from Santa Claus”.

December of 1982 had not started off well at all. My husband had had another bout of his disease, and while I was visiting him in the hospital on December 3, thieves had come a-calling, leaving their “calling card” where I could easily find it: they had kicked in the door, leaving it dangling from one hinge, with a big hole where a foot had gone through it. Not finding the light switch, they had lit a candle; I knew this because it had burned a hole in my bedspread when it fell from the candle-holder.

Further inspection revealed that they had stolen such an incredible mixture of goods that it seemed the Grinch had come to Bologna, rather than Whoville, and early to boot: the contents of our refrigerator, a catalytic heater, a roll-away bed, two blankets, my husband’s guns and ammunition (he was a licensed hunter), a box of candles, several pairs of jeans, and two rings. Most of the booty had probably been carried out in the missing suitcase. Other clothing had been strewn all over the house.

While waiting for the Carabineers (Italian Military police) to arrive, I attempted to at least clean off the bed; that was when I discovered the waxy hole left by the burning candle. The whole thing seemed so hopeless, that after the Carabineers had come and gone, I sat and thought. I was alone, the door was broken in half, there was no food left in the house, it was freezing outside and in (about -3°C; 27°F), and the thieves had taken away our heater and blankets.

The next day, the Carabineers called me to let me know they had caught the thieves and had found some of the stuff, so my husband got permission to leave the hospital briefly. We recognized some of the objects presented and the Carabineers informed us that they had caught the thieves the night before; the few items, which included the rifles and ammunition and the suitcase with the missing jeans, were all that had been found.

Christmas 1982

Pickings had been a bit slim during the rest of December, but a friend of ours had invited us over for Christmas “dinner”. Served around 1:30, it was a full five-course meal and took about two hours to consume. After the last bite of fruit, we sat and sang Christmas carols until it was time to go to the cinema by our home with a group of friends.

Of course, half of Bologna’s citizenry had made the decision to see the same movie: Disney’s Cinderella. We arrived halfway through the movie, and there was standing room only. The snow dictated that we go in and stand. I was wearing heels and at some point took them off because of sore feet. How ironic it was when, right after Cinderella lost her shoe, another blonde (me) lost one of her shoes! We found it – two rows of seats ahead of where we were standing – before going to sit and watch the movie from the beginning.

The sidewalks had been swept clear of the snow, so we decided to walk the short distance to our apartment, stopping to admire the beautifully decorated shop windows along the way. Approaching the portone (big outside door) we thought we heard the sound of sleigh bells, but that was silly; Italians didn’t go for sleigh rides in the middle of large cities with two-lane streets. It was unheard of!

As we walked down the corridor toward the apartment, we saw something in front of the apartment door. Hurrying to the door, we found two large boxes wrapped in Christmas paper. Excited and curious, we dragged the boxes through the door and tore off the wrapping paper. We were stunned by what we found: lots of food, a blanket, a new gas burning heater and, at the very bottom of the box, a note that said, “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year”. Yes, that was the year Santa Claus truly came to town.

 

© Mary Purpari December 25, 2014 All Rights Reserved

Christmas Caroling: a Bridge over language Barriers

♪♫♫♪

Singing is in my DNA; my mother said that when I was born I didn’t howl in the traditional, time-honored manner: she insists that my first breath came while singing a Renata Tebaldi-ish high ‘C’. From that moment on, music has always been an important part of my life, but never more so than at Christmas.

Christmas caroling became a family tradition the year I was in the third grade. We started out with my parents, my four siblings and me, each contributing to the best of our ability. The attempt had such a great success that the tradition continued through the years, the choir growing as we added family members and then school friends.

Christmas caroling continued even after I married, both in Bologna and Mistretta. Every year in Bologna, between 1979 and 1983, our group was invited to sing in front of the giant Christmas tree in Piazza Nettuno (Neptune Square), and although caroling is not a common happenstance in Italy, our efforts were enjoyed by our listeners as much as we enjoyed singing. Then, we would go listen to Midnight Mass concerts which included Handel’s Messiah, Gregorian Chants and various others.

However, one of my favorite memories of Italian Christmas caroling took place in Mistretta, a tiny town nestled in the Sicilian Nebrodi mountain chain. One year, shortly after our arrival in the town, the head priest asked our church choir if we wanted to sing during the Midnight Mass that year. After conferring with the other church members we decided to sing a beautiful little song called “Stars Were Gleaming” taken from the children’s hymnal.

Finally, 11:00 pm, December 24^th arrived. The children had napped and, after hours of practice, we were ready to face a public of over 3,000 people. After dressing ourselves in our warmest clothing, we set off toward the church. We had left a little early because it had started to snow earlier and we needed to proceed slowly– everything in Mistretta is downhill, even when it was uphill – in order to avoid a nasty fall on the slippery cobblestone road. We also wanted to get there before the rest of the city showed up: seats were at a premium and we wanted to sit close to the front so we could be ready to sing when called.

At 11:55, we looked around and found ourselves surrounded by a huge crowd. Anticipation was high as the head priest, Padre Michele walked in with another priest we had never seen before, and the excitement was tangible. The little children, dressed in their costumes for the Christmas story, stopped fidgeting and turned their eyes toward Padre Michele as he stepped toward the microphone. The tingling in our fingers was not entirely a product of the freezing cold…

The minutes ticked on as we sat waiting anxiously for our turn to sing. A new priest had just arrived that day; he led the children around the chapel from “inn to inn” and ending at the manger scene at the entrance of the building. Once “Mary and Joseph” were settled in their places in the manger, Padre Michele announced that “our Mormon brothers and sisters will now sing for us”. Our moment had arrived. We stood up, knees shaking, and turned to face the congregation.

Voices quavering (was it the cold?) we began “Stars were gleaming, shepherds dreaming; and the night was dark and chill…” Our voices gained strength as we continued, “Onward going, gleaming, glowing, leading still, our Christmas star!” As we turned back towards our seats, we were surprised to hear another voice singing the same song, in another language; turning back once again, we listened, mesmerized as the new priest sang our carol with gusto.

After the mass, our group went and spoke with the new priest. We learned that he had arrived in Italy only days before from Poland, and that the carol we had sung that night was a Polish carol. He thanked us for singing that particular hymn and making him feel at home in a foreign land. And from that time, thanks to Christmas caroling, Padre Tomasz was our friend.

 

© Mary Purpari December 25, 2014 All Rights reserved