Sicily in Ricotta White

May 1, 2011

Bride and Groom in Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Sicilian in White Glasses, copyright Jann Huizenga

Laundry Hanging in Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

White Truck with White Laundry in Sicily, copyright Jann HuizengaPharmacists in Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

Handmade Sicilian Curtain, copyright Jann Huizenga

 

Sicilian Ricotta Desserts at Il Duomo in Ragusa Ibla, copyright Jann Huizenga

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Sicily: A Scene in Sepia

April 14, 2011

I have a Sicilian friend. Let’s call him “Gianni.”

Gianni is about to open a tourist hotel in my ancient village.

One day Gianni and I were walking down the narrow lane toward his hotel. Sheets were dripping overhead–like in the scene below.

“No good for tourists,” Gianni said scowling and indicating the laundry. “Brutta.” Ugly. Perhaps, he mused, he could get the comune to outlaw laundry in the neighborhood?

Sicily in Sepia, copyright Jann HuizengaI had a fit, of course. “It’s not ugly!!!  It’s bella, bella, bella!”

He gave me that “you’re so weird” look.

Reader, what do you think? Do you think Gianni should try to eradicate hanging laundry in the vicinity of his hotel?

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Congratulations to Liz Silva, who won the book raffle: Sweet Lemons 2: International Writings with a Sicilian Accent. Thanks to all of you who entered, and I’m sorry I can’t give everybody a book. But stay tuned for more book contests.

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Sicily: Living the Examined Life

November 12, 2010

Laundry in Sicily, copyright Jann Huizenga

The bras on the line are symbolic.

Moving to a Sicilian village means exposing yourself to public scrutiny, undies and all. You’re watched, eyeballed.

One morning, a tall villager spots my husband Kim—who has just returned from the US—in the piazza. “So,” he says, winking, “the sheep is back in the pen, is he?”

How did he even know Kim was gone?

For two weeks, I leave the house early, before 7am, to work on a project with a friend. I finally get a day to sleep in, but the buzzer squeals violently, over and over. I throw on a robe and open the door. “Oh, sorry signora,” say my neighbors, “to disturb you so early, but we know you will leave the house soon and we need to talk to you.”

They’ve been tracking my movements?

I smell what neighbors are cooking for lunch. I hear them singing, bickering. Living life here is like reading a tell-all, and being shocked to see you’re one of the characters.

How will I fare, exchanging an anonymous life for an examined one?

Time will tell.

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Hanging Laundry in Sicily, copyright Jann HuizengaClick to comment.

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