Sunday Snoozeday

I love how in most countries Sunday is the day for ultimate relaxation. Sundays always have a quietness about them, the timid day of the week. And in Italy, a quiet Sunday after a late night Saturday was well received.

Few people who travel get to actually experience it like the locales. Travel guides will always tell you to check out the local spots and visit local places, but that is not the same as returning to a home filled with family. Oftentimes, we romanticized the places we dream about going to. We imagine them as fairytales and as we wander through the storybook streets we miss out on our individual experience.

This trip, thus far, has given me a great insight to the lives my family here live. It’s not always that romanticized version, it’s similar to my life at home, the house chores and errands. And that’s what mostly this Sunday was about.

I woke up late again since my cousin, his friends and I had a late night. We went bowling, which is something a tourist (especially from America) would never do in Italy. As explained to me, Italians do like to bowl, especially in the winter when there’s little else to do. I’ve noticed my family spends a lot of time outdoors, which makes perfect sense since it is ridiculously beautiful. The wonderful (meraviglioso) thing about going bowling is that there is no explanation needed and the universal enjoyment precedes the language barrier. After a game, we went upstairs to the arcade. I played foosball which is something I’ve maybe played twice in my life. My skills were pretty bad but I started to get a better grasp at the end of the second match. We moved on to air hockey and to be honest I am quite dope at it. I can handle an air hockey table like no one’s business.

My cousin and his friends played a few other arcade games, from a sorry attempt of a DDR-like game and also a shooting game. I noticed all the arcade games were in English. Take note Italian companies, create Italian-language arcade games could be an untapped market!!

We left the arcade/bowling alley and headed back to Sora which has quite an abundant nightlife for young people. We grabbed a table in a piazza, ordered beers, and people-watched. There was a lot of people-watching to do because there were, of course, a lot of people. If there’s any generalization I can make accurately about Italians it is that they are born with two things: natural impeccable fashion sense and a built-in GPS for traversing the multitude of narrow windy roads.

Our drive last night was lovely. It was a bit foggy (nebbioso) and the clouds masked the mountains, but you could still see the little villages (borghi) lights. They looked as if they were floating in the night sky. A little piece of heaven.

We got back to the house just after 2 in the morning and even though I tried to wake up early, I couldn’t.

Sunday was spent meandering around the house, helping with laundry and other small chores, and plenty of time playing with the kittens. I also Skyped with my dad to wish him a happy birthday. My aunt and uncle took me to visit some other family, their house was even higher on the mountain. I regret not taking a picture but I’ll probably be back there in the next few weeks anyways.

Two things about this Sunday: No church and we had 3 meals. Now, personally I’m not very religious and consider myself more spiritual, but I know religion is big in the family so I was surprised when we didn’t put on our Sunday best and be on our merry way. And also, I ate 3 meals today, which every Sunday of my life I’ve had 2 because “that’s what we Italians do.” Well, perhaps no. I had breakfast; cereal, yogurt, and of course an espresso. Lunch was fettucini with mushrooms (i fungi) and meat, and for dinner we ordered pizza.

I want to wrap this post up because it’s getting too long, but I did want to make a quick mention of a conversation I had at lunch. Now, at every meal it is insisted that I just keep piling food on my plate, so today when I tried and failed to communicate that I was full and I didn’t want to gain weight, my aunt told me not to worry. She told me no one is going to judge you if you gain weight. That was nice. Hand me over those seconds (and thirds!).

 

Italians have welcomed the sport with open arms. My cousins tell me they bowl often in the winter when it's cold and there's nothing else to do, sounds familiar.
Italians have welcomed the sport with open arms. My cousins tell me they bowl often in the winter when it’s cold and there’s nothing else to do, sounds familiar.
Woo second place!
Woo second place! And clearly the girls got this down.

Wrote this last semester

I had to write a tragedy article for a class last semester, so I chose my dad.   Obviously I can’t publish it but I thought it would be nice to share.

Enjoy!

________

by Laura Cerrone

Angelo Cerrone does not like to remember his near-death experience 35 years ago. So much so, his wife barely knew it even happened.

In 1976, Cerrone was 22 years old, working for the aviation service company Allied at John F. Kennedy International Airport in Jamaica, Queens. He was assigned to troubleshoot a company bus that would not turn on. Cerrone recalls the only other person was the bus driver, one with no knowledge on fixing a vehicle.

“I troubleshooted the vehicle and it still wouldn’t start, the battery was okay, so I knew the problem was elsewhere.” said Cerrone.

He proceeded to inspect the undercarriage of the vehicle. He had instructed the driver to stay in the driver’s seat with the bus in park and his foot on the brake. Cerrone remembers the moment the bus turned on – and suddenly it began to move, dragging him underneath as the driver pulled away.

“It was a burning pain. It was like a hot rash. Like I was set on fire.”

Cerrone gripped onto the bus’ chassis. “If I were to let go I would’ve been run over.”

He was dragged almost 20 feet before his screams were heard by the driver. In a matter of minutes an ambulance arrived and took the young man to Peninsula General Hospital.

For Cerrone this could have been the end to his life, or the end to his dreams working in the airline industry. As a young boy, Cerrone grew up in post-World War II rural Italy. He lived on a farm where he shared a room with four other siblings, and used an outhouse. When his father brought him home a broken bike, Cerrone fixed it. When he moved to the United States at 13, he saw opportunity all around him, the biggest of all was working for the airline industry, because to him there was nothing more powerful and magnificent than an airplane.

Cerrone had sustained lacerations running up and down his back, internally he was miraculously unscathed.

While physically he healed with a few days in the hospital and several weeks off work, he wasn’t emotionally ready to take on his job again.

Cerrone turned to a friend of his mothers named Marisa Schiavello, Schiavello specializes in spiritual prayer healing. While Cerrone attended his regular doctor check-ups to check for possible infection he also sought sessions with Schiavello. Schiavello and Cerrone’s mother would swaddle him in bandages and then pray to God for him to heal.

“Emotionally it helped, made me feel that God was on my side because I wasn’t killed.”

Cerrone now lives in a house he worked years to build with a wife and three kids, a cat, and two bunnies. He still works for the airline industry at American Airlines where he gets to watch airplanes take off and land, still fascinating his inner-childlike awe.

Cerrone reflects on everything he has now and imagines it could of all been very different.

“The scariest thing about this ordeal is that I thought it was the end of my life.”