Trip of a lifetime: Family reunites in Sicily
Mangia! Mangia!
ANTOINETTE JACKSON

If you saw me driving in my Ford Ranger pickup in the spring of 1995, you probably thought I "lost it" because I was all alone talking to myself.

That assumption was only partially true. I was alone and talking but not to myself.

I was repeating language tapes in preparation for the trip I had been planning all my life: a tour of Italy and of Sicily, where my parents were born.

South of the mainland of, Sicily is the triangle-shaped island that the tip of the boot of Italy appears to be kicking. Over the centuries, Greeks, Romans, Normans, French, and Spanish, have ruled the island, giving Sicily a unique culture and dialect.

During World War II, when Benito Mussolini ruled, he outlawed dialects and forced all to speak the pure Italian.

Since my grandparents and parents had immigrated to America about 1915, they spoke and taught me Sicilian--and I had just six months to lose the dialect.

And lose it I did. After listening to tapes while driving and on weekends, by the time my husband Bob and I met our bus driver in the Rome airport, I could say "Piacere de fare la su conoscenza" (It's a pleasure to meet you) like a native.

During the ride from the airport to our hotel, I felt like I did the first time I went to Disneyland. I was wide-eyed and in awe of my strange, yet somehow familiar surroundings.

In the next several days, places I had heard and read about came to life before my eyes. Seeing the Coliseum, St. Peter's Basilica and Michaelango's Pieta, plus visiting the cities of Firenza, Veniza, Assisi, Sorrento, Napoli and the Isle of Capri bordered on surreal.

My trip to Italy was a dream-come-true that put a big smile on my face which seemed to be there even when I slept.

On day 10 of our vacation my anticipation was mounted as we rode the ferry from Reggio on the mainland to Messina on Sicily.

Our first night's lodging was in the city of Taormina, at the foot of Mt. Etna. My husband put down the suitcases, walked up to the window and opened up the drapery. "Look at this, Ann," he called to me. Before us lay a scene that looked like a Mediterranean with its blue-green water, majestic golden cliffs and brightly colored bougainvillea cascading down the mountainside.

That night after dinner, we sat on the balcony soaking up the scenery and watched a fireworks display over Napoli that rivaled Disneyland's shows.

The next day we opted to skip the tour of the volcano and explored Taormina on our own, discovering why it's known as one of the most beautiful places in the Mediterranean.

We promised ourselves we would go back one day and spend more time there.

Agrigento, where my father was born where he still had siblings, was our next stop. I had written my first cousin Giovanni Chiarenza in hopes he would meet us at our hotel.

As we entered the lobby about five that afternoon, my husband said, "There's your cousin." "That's not him," I said with certainty.

Giovanni, his brother Matteo and their parents lived in Rochester, New York for about ten years and in 1962 visited our family in California.

"Cousin John isn't that old and wouldn't have a gray beard like that man has," I said.

As we moved to the back of the elevator, our tour guide Annick said, "Antoinette, your cousin is in the lobby waiting for you."

Six of us were jammed in an elevator that should only hold four, so Bob and I had to ride up to our floor before I could get off. He volunteered to stay behind and wait for the luggage to be delivered to our room.

In the lobby, the gray-haired, bearded gentleman in the black suit, white shirt and dark tie turned out to be Matteo Petruzzela, a first cousin whom I had never met.

After kisses on both cheeks, and an introduction to his wife Gina, the three of us moved to a table near the bar. Cousin Matteo explained he was the oldest son of Michelina, my father's sister.

As Bob entered the room, I introduced Matteo to my husband, calling him "Roberto". Bob held out his hand. Cousin Matteo pulled him in and kissed him on both cheeks. Not used to this Italian custom, my "American" husband's face turned red.

I turned to see Cousin Giovanni Chiarenza walking toward us.

He was no longer a teenager but a grown man with a family.

We hugged and I introduced him to my husband, "Roberto."

Once again, Bob held out his hand. Giovanni took it, pulled him in and kissed my husband on both cheeks. Once again, Bob turned red.

Giovanni was the only one in that sea of my first cousins who spoke English. He introduced us to his wife Anna Maria, and their two children, Filippo and Rosalinda. Behind them were his sister, also my first cousin, Josepina and her husband, Giosafat and my aunt Tia Rosa.

By the time he finished, my husband was no longer embarrassed being kissed by men on both cheeks.

And, I wished all these people were wearing nametags.

For the next hour we turned the hotel sitting area into a gathering of my father's family all chattering in Sicilian. At one point, I looked over at the bar and saw our bus companions grinning their approval of this family reunion.

I leaned over and said to my husband, "I wish Daddy was alive to enjoy all of this."

After posing for a picture on the front steps of the hotel, we said good-bye to Matteo and Gina who had to leave us.

We all then drove to Cousin Giovanni's home where the evening far exceeded my expectations. More about that in the next time.

Strawberry Ice (Gelato di Fragoli)

Eating a strawberry gelato in the City of Pisa was one of those unforgettable moments. Here is a recipe from an out-ofprint book that has been in my family for years.

Set refrigerator freezer control for the coldest operating temperature.

Wash, hull and force through a food mill or sieve 1 pint of ripe strawberries.

Set strawberries aside.

Heat 1 cup of water to boiling. Remove from heat and add, while stirring until dissolved, 3 / 4 cup sugar. Set aside to cool.

Combine pureed strawberries with cooled sugar syrup and 2 tablespoons lemon juice plus 1 tablespoon orange juice.

If you have an ice cream machine, you can pour the mixture into the bowl and follow the manufacturer's instructions to completion. Otherwise, pour into refrigerator tray and freeze until firm.

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Antoinette Jackson is a Bullard-area resident. You may reach her at Antojxn@aol.com.