I am amazed at my encounter with Adelina. A refined Italian lady with a heritage rooted in the family vineyard that sprouted with the planting of shoots from a grandfather vine dating back to the 1800’s. I arrived in Tuscany yesterday, and with my trip to the city from my countryside villa, I felt anticipation for encountering someone who would befriend me. What was a nuisance − the girl and boy selling roses for ten times their value − became by accident my introduction to the rich culture of Italy, it’s wine, olive oil, bread, and succulent meals that last for hours. It’s not about the drinking or eating; it’s about the people that surround you. Extended families often live together, generations of wisdom passed on as conversation ensues. I was about to find what I was searching for when I left Kansas to embark on a quest to the old world − family ties that do not imprison with chains, rather the freedom found, bound in love.
“Yes, please select a wine of your liking, and tell me why you chose it. I want to understand the mysteries of the grape varieties that form their distinctive tastes,” I eagerly acquiesced to Adelina’s desire to share more time with me. “I would like dinner, or I will not find my way home.”
“Sì, troppo vino e non mi ricordo domani. Haha.”
“I love your language and your words. Italian is beautiful to hear. Poetic, and the flow like a caress upon the ear. Please translate. I did pick up a few words words, vino, and domani means tomorrow. More wine with you tomorrow?”
Adelina smiled and giggled.
“Close enough. I said, too much wine and you will not remember me tomorrow.”
Emboldened by her comment, I asked, “Why would you want me to remember you tomorrow? I am just an American visiting, although I am staying for three months. I rented a villa to write a novel that takes place in Tuscany.”
“I heard you tell la ragazza, the girl who sold you the rose, that you write about love. Sono incuriosito…I am intrigued...that you are a writer. Uomini tialiani…Italian men…see only with their eyes. Un uomo di parole vede con il cuore…a man of words sees with his heart.
I was paralyzed by her revelation. I left Kansas because I found little appreciation for my writing, the words from my heart that sang to tell a story. What is the difference in this Italian culture? Horses and cattle, beasts of the earth, if I could not lasso a calf and take it down to brand, I was not a cowboy. Yet, I felt the cowboy in my heart, words written to lasso a lassie. Not macho or grand, yet I write to draw in a heart to mine.
“Please, order dinner for the two of us. I want to know you more, more of your family, the vineyard, and olive grove. I am writing about a girl in search of her father, well she is grown and mature, my age, and she is in search of her father who she has never met. Her name is Christina, and she believes that her father has a vineyard in Italy.”
“Why do you feel that? How do you know?”
The question pierced my heart. I did not know, but I was searching. Discovering the bottle of Santa Cristina at the Old Towne grocery in Kansas…was Adelina my link to finding Christina’s father?
"Jeremiah's Journey - 3: Remember Me Tomorrow"
Copyright © 2016 by Jeff Cambridge
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