Buon natale

May these few special days be serene and joyful. 
May we all use them to pause and think.
And may we all find something special under the Christmas tree...


Merry Christmas
Buon natale
Fröhliche Weihnachten

A Christmas wish from Carmine Superiore

Warmer now. Mist and rain. A damp Christmas for Carmine Superiore.

The other day I wrote about the silence that follows the snow in Carmine. A friend stopped me in the street a day or two later and amid elaborate Italian Christmas greetings mentioned that my words had made her laugh, because in Carmine Superiore she imagined it was always silent. We talked a little about that special silence that comes after the snow, and about how Carmine isn't as silent as one might think, what with the wildlife crashing around the woods and all. 

Our conversation made me remember the silence that would come on Christmas morning (with or without snow) when I was a child. No cars. No rushing too and fro. No buses, no bells, no siren for the start of work at the nearby factory that gave our town life. Peace for a day. 

Today I'm wishing all readers a quiet and very happy Christmas, however you have chosen to celebrate it. And if I could give everyone a gift, I would give peace. The kind of peace that is not only silence without, but also silence within. The peace that brings the strength to face every passing day whatever it might bring. Real peace. The peace described so simply in the Gaelic blessing: 

Deep peace of the running wave to you,

Deep peace of the flowing air to you,

Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,

Deep peace of the shining stars to you,

Deep peace of the gentle night to you,

Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.

Happy Christmas all!

Motherhood means ... No. 27

One degree at 8am. After snow overnight, rain all day, with slush ankle-deep going down the hill.

Motherhood means ...

...feeling free to try out some Christmas crafts, knowing that you can blame your disasters (about 99% in my case) on the children.

Our handsome Christmas visitor

"The redbreast sacred to the household gods,
Wisely regardful of the embroiling sky
In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves
His shivering mates, and pays to trusted man
His annual visit. Half afraid, he first
Against the window beats; then brisk alights
On the warm hearth; then, hopping o'er the floor,
Eyes all the smiling family askance,
And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is-
Till, more familiar grown, the table crumbs
Attract his slender feet."

James Thomson (1726-44)

A pleasure to see this bringer of goodwill enjoying the food we leave for him on our windowsills, safely a full storey out of reach of Carmine's cut-throat cats.

An expat's Christmas lament

A fiery sunrise this morning to accompany me, my water-kettle steaming to the snow-bound chicks. Blue skies. Seems warmer.

Christmas is coming (as if you didn't know), and we're awash with candles, cards and Christmas trees. Every expat has to make a decision every year - to spend Christmas in their country of residence, or go 'home'. And having spent more than seven years now as an official, card-carrying resident here in Carmine Superiore, I generally choose to stay put where the chimneys are big enough for Santa, the woods are full of Christmas decorations and I'm among good friends.

At Christmas I, of course, miss my family. But I don't miss the mad cattle-truck crush of the trip home from London. I don't miss the last-minute shopping chaos. I don't miss Christmas tv. I don't miss turkey or Christmas pud or 'all the trimmings'. I don't miss the Queen's Speech and I don't miss the Big Film. 

In fact, apart from my family, there's only one thing I miss about Christmas in the UK. And it's something you really can't find anywhere else in the world. It's the ancient Christmas carols sung by a cathedral choir by candlelight. 

This I miss so badly I get a stone in my chest and tears in my eyes...



What do you miss about Christmas at home?

Good weather for...

Bright sunshine. No wind. 

Weather for raking (yet more) leaves.

Playing in the meadow.

And admiring Carmine's newly-erected 2010 Albero di Natale (thanks to Franco who donated the tree, and to Giuliano and Fausto who helped with the hard work of putting it up and finding the one, single, broken light bulb...)...

Quote of the week No. 33 : paying for it

"Christmas is a time when kids tell Santa what they want and adults pay for it. Deficits are when adults tell the government what they want and their kids pay for it."

Richard Lamm (b. 1935), American politician and accountant.

Best Christmas Wishes

May the spirit of Christmas bring you peace,
The gladness of Christmas give you hope,
The warmth of Christmas grant you love.

Colouring by AJ (aged 5).

Colouring sheet found at http://www.first-school.ws/t/cp_bible/1stxmas_luke2.html.

A laugh at Christmas

Minus four at 8:30am. As I left Santa sitting on his sleigh dispensing gifts to some very tired sprogs at the Traffiume kindergarten Festa di Natale tonight, it was snowing, and mine were the first snowy footprints this winter to lead up to the village on the rock.

I know this may be old hat by now, but I want it where I can get at it quickly every time I need an enormous, fall-off-your-chair laugh. The first time I saw this I laughed so much I cried. A short while later, the children, thinking Mama had finally flipped, were found worriedly dialling Telefono Azzurro, Italy's child helpline...

Who'd be a kindergarten teacher!

Two degrees at 8:30am, the coldest morning of this winter so far. Overcast and threatening some sort of precipitation.

Love children? Try this.

Eighty under-6s, the majority under 4, and some still with dummies and comforters.

Eighty butts on the loo.

Eighty jackets on. Eighty scarfs and hats securely in place.

Eighty hopping, jumping, punching, chattering sprogs in line by twos...

And out the backdoor. Through the garden and into the street.

"Stay close to the wall, Arturo! Maria! Carlotta!"

Down the street past doting grandmothers. Past garden watchdogs. Past roadworks diggers.

"Hurry up, Giuliano! Anna! Marisa!"

Across the car park, down the backstreets.

"Look out! Here comes a car!"

Into the school theatre. Christmas tree, decorations, fake gifts in glittery boxes, magnets for little hands, soon footballs for little feet.

Deep breath.

Eighty jackets off. Scarves, hats ditto. Eighty excited little bodies onstage under the lights. Jumping, hopping, chattering, cuddling, arguing, shoving, tongues out, hair pulled. Two over-excited little bodies crying for Mama. A school for card sharps swaps Gormiti cards behind the flats. The curtains aren't working. The music's too loud. The school caretaker is growling incomprehensible dialect.

"Cantate! Forte! Sing! And sing loud!"

"We can't hear you, and if Babbo Natale can't hear you he won't know where to come..."

"Maestra...I need to go to the loo!" "Me too!" "Me too!"

Turkish toilets. How charming. Any one of these under-6s seen one of these before? Didn't think so...Okay, ragazzi think Brussels boy, ragazze just hover (as my mother used to say)...

"Again from the top, wake up! Wake up!"

Lunchtime. Deep breath.

Eighty under-6s looking for their coats, hats and scarves, only a quarter of which are labelled. Help me, maestra, help me! Help me first, maestra, help me first!" No, no Anna has Carlotta's hat and Arturo has Emilia's cardi. Elisabetta has no coat, and Oswaldo's is on upside down.

Eighty under-6s diverted from their task by theatre-style swing-seats - squeak...bump! squeak...bump! Eighty under-6s finally cajoled into lines and pointed in the direction of the kindergarten and food.

"Andiamo, tutti!"

Through the underground car park eighty under-6 voices take up a special tune:

"We wish you a merry Christmas,
We wish you a merry Christmas,
We wish you a merry Christmas,
And a happy new year..."

And the maestra d'inglese smiles a smile big enough for eighty under-6s. She thinks to herself that even if the English Christmas Song is a disaster at this afternoon's Festa di Natale in front of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, childminders and important school officials, even if she ends up wanting to shrivel up and disappear into a hole in the ground, this moment of 'spontaneous language production' has made it all worthwhile...

Reported conversations No. 17: Learning and life

Cold, grey and rainy.

Yesterday's pre-Christmas headless chicken act included having the children fitted with their post-Christmas ski-lessons kit.

Afterwards, AJ : "The first thing you have to learn about skiing, Mama, is that you have to learn to ski."

As Panda reluctantly chugged off into the curvy darkness of the lake road home, Mama thought to herself, "I guess that goes for a lot of things in life..."

Weather holding.

And so is my sanity in these busiest two weeks of the year.

So far...

Levavi

Raining, cold, and gloomy. But upstairs in the children's bedroom, it's 25°. That's no mean feat from only 6kg of firewood, which was burned 14 hours ago...I love Mathilda-technology!

Today is Levavi, the first Sunday of Advent. It's the first day of the four-week season of 'expectant waiting' before Christmas, when we celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus. Having 'expected' twice, I know what those last four weeks feel like, and the run-up to the modern Christmas celebration, even in Italy, is nothing like it.

Instead of becoming ever slower, ever more intent, ever more attuned to the signs that might presage a joyful arrival, I'm dashed off my feet with unexpected editorial and writing work, preparations for Cannobio's Christmas market next week, and trying to get the little buggers (oops) to sing 'We wish you a merry Christmas' without braining each other with the jingle bells. Oh yes, then there's Christmas shopping on a strict 100€ budget, trying to elicit from M what his 95-year-old grandmother might like and presiding over the childrens' Christmas card-making debacle.

In the middle of everything, last week I had pause for thought - a short moment amid all the non-waiting-like activity. Introducing some Christmas vocabulary to a bunch of 3-6-year-olds, I asked, 'Who/what are we waiting for in the next few weeks?' The immediate reply, which brought sunshine smiles into the classroom, was "Babbo Natale!". Think unison chorus at tops of tiny voices similar to the chorus of kids in Barney. When the excitement provoked by that magical name died down and I was catching a deep breath with which to push on, a little voice piped up. Deborah, aged just 3, with enormous brown eyes and russet cheeks, said, "I'm waiting for Bambino Gésu."

And this is why my children will not be receiving a Ben 10 advent calendar, nor one adorned with the pneumatic teenage breasts and breathtakingly long legs of the Winx, even though they've begged me for weeks now every time they've entered the supermarket and seen them on sale.

Amidst the brouhaha, Mama will be motoring to Ascona, just across the Swiss border in the search for something less Babbo Natale and more Bambino Gèsu.

Thanks to Deborah, aged 3, for the heads up!

La Befana, Epiphany, Twelfth Night

Minus one at 8:30am and snowing beautifully if not all that hard.

Unhappily, this means that this year we will probably not be attending the arrival of La Befana, the Italian witch who puts in an appearance on Epiphany, bringing gifts to the children. In Cannobio, she arrives at the lakeside in a coxless pair from some undefinable point on the lake, rowed by two hunks from the local rowing club, for the delight of a large crowd of expectant children (and their mothers).

The La Befana story, as far as I understand it, is as follows : in Bethlehem lives an old woman, mourning a child who died. When the angels send the shepherds to the stable, they drop in on her and invite her to come with them. In her grief for her own baby she refuses. On the way back to their flocks, the shepherds tell her all about it and she is fired with inspiration. She throws all the toys she has lying around the house into a sack and heads for the stable. Unhappily, she has missed the Holy Family, who are already on their flight to Egypt (if you'll excuse the pun). On her sad journey back home, she distributes the toys to the children she meets.

Here in Carmine it's also Twelfth Night and, as prescribed, we're undressing the Christmas tree and bundling up the cards and giftwrap for next year's craft efforts. As Shakespeare wrote (though not in Twelfth Night), "our revels now are ended" - Christmas is officially over and now it's only a matter of a couple of days before we're back on the slippery slope to kindergarten.

Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008, 2009. All rights reserved. Please ask first.

Motherhood means ... No : 9

Zero at eight. The whole world has turned a steely grey, and it's snowing again.

Motherhood means ... resigning oneself to the fact that after all the stuff that got schlepped up the hill (by Santa and his reindeer, of course), the favourite toy of the Christmas season appears to be composed of one piece of string attached to a champagne cork, pulled behind one running 4-year-old with one manic 5-month-old kitten in hot pursuit.

Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.

Keats country?

Minus four at 8am. Snow still crunchy on the ground and bright sunshine. Ice on the animals' water bowls.



A happy couple of hours were passed in the sunshine of Christmas Eve in the woods between Carmine and Cannero, at the laghetto, attempting (operative word) to sail a boat.

This beautiful and strangely silent place in winter always reminds me of the opening lines of Keats's 'La Belle Dame sans Merci' :

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge is wither'd from the lake,

And no birds sing.

And for my Italian-speaking friends...

Che cosa ti tormenta, armato cavaliere
che indugi solo e pallido?
Di già appassite son le cipree del lago
e non cantan gli uccelli.

Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.

The world turned upside down - Il pranzo di Santo Stefano

Zero degrees at 10:30am (yes, Mama finally got a lie-in today), with snow on the ground and cotton wool hanging over us.

In the days of my youth (ho-hum), at Rugby School Christmas celebrations used to include a Christmas dinner at which the established order was reversed. House staff and pupils were waited on by those who were usually in charge of them : matron, stern house master (in a kilt) and his beautifully bohemian wife, and various other people who normally wielded the rod. I understand this is part of an ancient tradition in which those elevated to the highest positions in society change places with the ordinary people, at least for a brief celebration in the midst of winter darkness.

Yesterday, a similar event took place at Cannobio's scuola media. More than 100 pensioners and people who would normally spend their Christmas alone were invited to the beautifully decorated school dining rooms for a lavish lunch cooked by Chef Gianni Albertella and his team from the Hotel del Lago, Carmine Inferiore (assisted by a motley crew of amateurs in flowery aprons, including yours truly). The meal was served by the willing hands of the Cannobio giunta comunale and members of the Croce Rossa Italiana, with mayor Antonello Viviano and deputy mayor Pier Angelo Ferrari firmly in the vanguard.

I understand this is the fourth such event organised by this administration, and by the looks of those present as they finally supped their caffe', digested their pannetone, and contemplated the tombola prizes, I have no doubt that it was a worthwhile way to spend St Stephen's Day.

PS By 8pm on the 27th, we were looking at minus four outside the bathroom window...

Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.

Quote of the week No. 10 : On Christmas

A perfect Christmas eve morning in Carmine. Dry, sunny, and, in the sun on the churchyard, warm enough to lift the heart. But today it's turned overcast and drizzly. Perhaps we'll have a white Christmas, who knows.

Erma Bombeck wrote :

"There is nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child."

But if you are not a child, there is something you can do - and that is, awake on Christmas morning with children in the house. Their bright eyes and shining cheeks are enough to restore even the most jaded adult's faith in the magical.

Thank God for Christmas. I hope yours is magical too.

Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.

CS Broadcasting Highlights of the Year 2008

Again, bright sunshine, blues skies and a warm wind. The clouds are trailing up the lake instead of down it, moving south-to-north rather than the more usual north-to-south.

Traditionally in the UK at Christmas time, there's plenty of tv-watching going on. The Brits have several excuses for slobbing out in front of the box at what they know should be a supremely social time of year. Perhaps the weather is awful and a walk doesn't seem too inviting. Or maybe you've eaten too much and can't get off the sofa. Or, better still, you want to avoid a deep and meaningless conversation with champion trainspotter Uncle Reg on the one hand and the more-than-slightly-overweight-and-nuts-to-boot Cousin Dottie on the other.

Much of what gets shown on tv at Christmas is either old stuff that everybody seems to like (Only Fools and Horses, James Bond with Sean Connery, or Cartoon Time with Roy Hudd and Emu) or content that's already been shown at least once in the year, repackaged to look like something different. An example of this is the 'Best of...' or 'Worst of...' or, more entertainingly, 'Out-takes from...'. Let's face it, this last option is cheap, and it's already been road-tested so it can't flop.

There's no tv in the House on the Hill, and given that I'm about as busy as the Boys from the Beeb at this time of year, I thought I'd do my own highlights of the year from CSB Carmine Superiore Broadcasting.


The Funniest Post of the Year (in me own 'umble opinion) : Breakfast time in Carmine Superiore is a time of virtuoso versatility amid a whirlwind of frenzied activity. A time during which Mama wears many hats...

The Most Heartfelt Post of the Year : This year, we lost too many friends and loved-ones. Such life-changing moments tend to put all other human preoccupations into perspective, and in the midst of our grief, it was the children who kept us moving in the right direction - always towards the future.

The Most Read Post of the Year : This post, a personal guide to Carmine Superiore and Lago Maggiore, drew more than 300 views and 60 comments.

My Favourite Picture of the Year : I can't decide. First, are the flowers after the rain, and second are the camellias that I caught doing arty-farty things in the fontana one Sunday afternoon. And then there was this image of the strangest mist I've seen in my few years here in Carmine, and one of the prettiest of the frescoes in the church. Click on the image to see larger versions; it's worth it.

Best Book of the Year : Again, I can't make up my mind. I can't decide between The Bad Girl on the one hand and Runemarks on the other. Or perhaps the best was The Enchantress of Florence, or maybe it was Neverwhere. Oh dammit! You choose.

Best Carmine Quote of the Year : This came from my neighbour, KK, who is well-known for his dry, quick and clever one-liners.

This Year's Greatest Personal Achievement : I know thousands of people do it every day but it meant a lot to me...

This Year's Largest House-Renovation Project : It was finished in time for winter...

This Year's Greatest Leap Forward in the Italian Vocab Stakes : Sadly, it was on the subject of allergies...

And finally... The Most Sickeningly Self-Satisfied Post of the Year : It has to be this one!

Happy Reading!

Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.

Winter solstice

Open the front door at 9am, and it's warm. Look out of the kitchen window and the view is a riot of golden sunshine, russet-and-grey trees, orange khakis, startling white snow-caps and a clear, clear Canaletto sky. Indoors, Mathilda is crackling away, the children are slurping happily on their Nesquik and two white-and-tabby cats are surveying the scene.

December 21st. The winter solstice. Ezio says it's the first day of winter, but to my mind it's midwinter, and it's all downhill to spring. Of course, Ezio's right and I'm wrong - there'll be plenty of dark and very cold days in January and February, but up here you just gotta think positive. So tomorrow I'll be thanking whatever gods are listening that the sun will be rising a fraction earlier and setting a fraction later. And if I have time, I'll be weaving a Christmas wreath in recognition of the neverending cycle of the seasons.

Perhaps also the chickens will register those extra moments of light and start laying again. Otherwise I might have to buy a second freezer...

PS Thanks one and all for your company once again for Christmas mass followed by pannetone and mulled wine...and for the beautiful decorations in the church. Fingers crossed that our nativity wins the Cannobio competition for the most beautiful scene. If simplicity is one of the criteria, we're certainly in with a chance.