Return to Italy (Ritorno al Italia)

and hearts. This acknowledgment has meant more than words can express. I might add that it was my mother Alice’s dream that the families in America and Italy continue to be connected.

The low humming of the aircraft engines outside the passenger airliner ignited the feeling that returning to Italy is finally coming to fruition. My thoughts then drifted to the sense of returning to my family’s place of origin. Emotions were once again rekindled by the expectations of walking in the areas where generations of my ancestors had strolled, along with casting my eyes on many of the landmarks still visible today such as the little church, centuries old, which still stands as a silent sentinel and refuge for all who believe in God. Towering above are the awe-inspiring peaks whose faces change, sometimes from moment to moment. The haunting gray of the rock is slowly being enveloped by a carpet of green in an endless trek.

Complementing this are the small villages nestled throughout the valleys so close together that at times one does not know where one village begins and the next ends. In the villages are the homes filled with families whose lives are surrounded by this beautiful, majestic view. It is with these people (our cousins) that we have shared much together. My Italian family is wonderful because they have accepted us with open arms

This connection at times has proven to be difficult with the biggest hurdle being the language barrier. There have been attempts to breach it through interpreters and also translation through cell phones, where one speaks into it and it will either display the translation in print or by voice.

For myself, there have been times when I know enough of the Italian language to be “dangerous”, for example, when discussing their problems with an increasing number of brown bears in the Alps, I stated that they should shoot the ortos That is when I noticed the strange expressions of wonder and curiosity, sprinkled with slight smiles of amusement. Much to my chagrin, it was explained to me that the Italian word for “bear” is orso, and I said instead “orto”, which means garden. So, what I initially said was “Why don’t you shoot the gardens?” Hmmm.

At other times, when just oral communication proved to be a challenge, my relatives would utilize a translation app on their cell phones to expedite conversations between us. It was at that point that their frustrations with the app became apparent. At the onset, they were very patient, but this proved to be rather short-lived. Numerous unsuccessful

▪ See RETURN TO ITALY on page 33