by Teresa Mastrobuono

My daughter told me I should start a blog, since I've been doing almost daily Facebook posts about my adventures running a guesthouse in Abruzzo, Italy. I never thought to blog about it. Didn't Frances Mayes do that already, although at that time it was called a book? I've never done a blog before, unless that was the name of something in the 60's. Besides, blogging never sounded like something fun to do. It sounds kind of premenstrual. "What are you doing?" "I'm BLAH-GGGING!" "Oh, I'm so sorry." But, anyway, the younger generation rules, so I am following her advice.

My father gave me this house in Italy, although he doesn't know it. He is no longer earth-bound. My dad was a small man with an outrageous personality. He was uncontrollably frank and spontaneous in his verbal and physical expression. Once he lectured above mentioned daughter, very loudly, since he was nearly deaf at the time, and very publicly in a crowded restaurant, about the dangers of hickies. He was unabashed in everything he did. He was whole-heartedly in love with my mother for their entire marriage and displayed it physically until the day she could no longer stand touch because the pain from her combined lung and breast cancer was too great. He was devastated when she died. He could finally stand it no more, and breaking down in sobs, shared with me his decision to move out of the house she had loved and tended so thoroughly for over 40 years. I can't remember how many times he asked "What do you think your mother would say about this?" "Do you think this is the right thing?" It was. He came to live in a retirement community near me and was having a blast. He even asked one of the activities coordinators out on a date! And when I cleaned out his apartment there about a year later, I found a box of condoms hidden in his sock and T-shirt drawer! But his new lease on life was short-lived. 8 months after he moved into the apartment, he was diagnosed with mesothelioma. He'd gotten it working with asbestos as a fork-lift driver in a warehouse. I had no idea what the disease was. Still can't spell it. But I found out that one could sue the makers of asbestos if one had it. I asked if he'd like to do that and he said "Yeah...let's get the bastards!" He'd ask more and more often about details of my trips to Italy.  He even began to think in the native Italian he had spoken with his father and mother as a child.

"Hey," he blurted one day, "Whatever happened to that Drinkwater girl?"

"Who?" I asked.

"You know, you know," he said, as though he was requesting an update about one of my children, "Your friend, the Drinkwater girl." She moved away when you were in high school. Ever hear from her?"

First of all, I was astonished that he'd remembered her. Our friendship occurred about 40 years ago. Second, I realized he was referring to her married name "Bevelaqua" (Drinkwater" in Italian). As he faded from this world, he was going back in time.

He did not live to see the settlement, but during the whole legal process, as he deteriorated from a cane, to a walker, to a wheelchair holding his oxygen tank, he kept saying "After this is over, when I'm better, we'll go to Italy."

I took the settlement money to Italy and bought a house. I want to give as many people as possible the experience of this extraordinary area, Abruzzo, which is so much like the Italy he knew about and from which his father came. The experience he never had. I've named the house for him: Casa da Carmine.