The distance

It has been some time since my last blog entry. I guess "being too busy" seems a good enough excuse even though that is exactly what it is.. an excuse. I had lunch with a very dear and long time friend the other day and as he politely listened to my Cole's notes version of what had been happening in my life, he asked me."have you ever thought of writing a memoir"? I haven't stopped thinking about it since.
So as my thoughts drifted from excited to are you crazy.. who would want to read your memoir? I realized that my life is not really all that fascinating to me, nor is my history really.. but to my kids, I think it might be. Just as I was intrigued when my mother and father would tell us stories of their past, glued to every word... so might my children be,and one day, maybe my grandchildren as well. For whatever reason, the notion of writing a memoir feels good. It feels right. So.. here goes nothing.. or perhaps something really amazing.

The distance

The distance between Italy and Canada is approximately 6800 kilometers by air, bearing Southeast. The distance between loved ones.. infinitely greater. My father left Italy in May of 1963. My mother followed almost two years later. But before them, my maternal great grandfather Gaetano Russo traveled to New York some time at the turn of the century or early 1900's. He would eventually settle in Rochester, NY with his wife Gaetana, one of his two daughters,Dora and son in law Giuseppe Berardi. The daughter that stayed back in Italy was my grandmother, Evelina. This was the first of many separations that would occur over the next two generations,
Immigration was going to affect my life long before I was ever even a thought.

I don't know exactly why my parents chose Canada. Perhaps in some way, Canada chose them. There were many that went to the USA, Australia, Venezuela but my family would begin most of their adult lives, here in Toronto, Canada and I am happy, most of the time anyway, that they did. Countless times I have thought or tried to imagine what my life would look like had they not come here. Many scenarios have played out in my imagination. But then I realize that it really doesn't matter. Spending time on what could have been and what is, is futile. The important thing I believe is to remember. Remembering where we came from, so we have an idea who we are, that's the important thing. Passing that information on to our children is even more important. Not knowing your history, is like being an oyster with no pearl inside..just an empty shell.

My parents, Eligio Paris and Antonia (Tonina)  DiTommaso, unlike many other couples that were married back then, were in love. This may seem a simplistic statement but I know that the fact that they were actually in love and wanted to be married played a huge role in the formative years of life as immigrants. And consequentially, the affect this love would have on their children was exemplary. Building, working, carving a life out in a foreign land was hard. It was hard. And I am so certain that the "being in love" part, was the one thing that kept them sane, kept  them focused, kept them from giving up, packing it in and going home. They had each other, they loved each other and they were not going to fail. And they didn't.
My parents' story is typical. They got married, rented an apartment, had their first child.. and worked. Family gatherings on the weekends were sacred. Staying connected with others from back home was like having essential oxygen to survive. Their children would benefit immensely from this need, because the bonds that were formed between cousins was unparalleled to any other bond imaginable. Siblings and cousins were your first best friends. And to this day, the closeness and affection between us runs deep, thanks to those weekends off.

Thanks to our parents, we wanted for nothing. We never felt the pain of hunger, cold, never felt threatened or alone.
But what I do remember feeling is their sadness from the distance of home. The distance was torture. A pain that would never go away. It was there, all the time. And the worse part was when the overwhelming joy of going back to visit, would be squashed and wounds ripped opened again the day they had to say good bye and come back.
The thought of loved ones that were far away, was ever present. Because of this longing, we grew up knowing our family in Italy even without being physically together. They talked about them all the time. Those family members were a part of our lives every day. A connection was nourished from a very young age. Our Italian identity was always a part of our existence. We felt Italian even though we lived 6800 kilometers away. And yet, despite this strong sentiment, we were also instilled with a love for Canada. I do not remember one negative word my parents ever uttered about their decision to be here. Their love for this country was one of commitment and gratitude and we knew it. We always felt it. They made us proud Canadians with a strong Italian heritage.

My sister arrived in Italy today. To visit. To share. To be with loved ones. When I hung up the telephone, after saying a few words to everyone celebrating her arrival in my Zia Linda's joyful home,.. the pain of distance came over me like a raging torrent. From 6800 kilometers away, I cried. Joyful and sad all rolled up into one big overwhelming emotion. Cherishing the time we have with one another is always important. Treasuring and passing on the memories we make from afar, is like discovering that shiny, exqusite, unique pearl in the oyster. Simply amazing.

Caro Direttore....

IL CENTRO GIOVEDÌ 22 NOVEMBRE 2012

Gli emigrati che sognano la casetta e trovano l’Imu

Caro Direttore,

la maggioranza degli emigranti che tornano in Italia a trascorrere le vacanze d'estate o a passare il Natale con i parenti d'inverno sono  quei pochi fortunati ai quali i genitori, per mera riconoscenza, hanno lasciato un buco di casa. Sì, è la casa che ti fa tornare. Sono quelle mura, quelle scale, quegli angoli che ti hanno visto crescere e poi partire che ti fanno tornare.E torni per ritrovarti bambino,per essere sovrastato e soffocato dai ricordi,a volte torni solamente per piangere. Difficilmente torna l'emigrante al quale il vano di casa non gli è stato lasciato, "lui sta bene in America", e non torna per non parlarne, per non rivivere i torti e i dispiaceri subiti che solo il tempo e la lontananza sono riusciti a sopire.

Chi vuole far pagare l'IMU alla casa dell'emigrante, considerate come seconda casa,non e' andato mai a cercare lavoro e fortuna altrove,non ha mai lasciato l'Italia e non sa che la seconda casa e' quella che l'emigrante ha costruito all'estero cosi' come la terra che lo ospita sara' sempre la sua seconda patria.

I sindaci della Valle Peligna, quelli dellaMarsica e tutti i sindaci d'Abruzzo, anziche'  tassare le case degli emigranti dovrebbero pensare invece a trovare incentivi,programme e attivita' varie per incoraggiare gli emigranti a

tornare piu' spesso e piu' a lungo. Mi fermo qui, qualche altra volta ne parleremo piu' a lungo.

Eligio Paris, Toronto

n Questa lettera è arrivata da uno dei tanti abruzzesi emigrati in Canada (anche Sergio Marchionne è tra questi) dopo il bell’articolo pubblicato in prima pagina dal nostro DomenicoRanieri. Il tema è la sorpresa di chi si trova a pagare un’Imu stratosferica sulla vecchia casetta di famiglia , tassata come seconda abitazione (e quindi come bene di lusso) nonostante che quasi sempre si tratti di due stanze in edifici vecchie acciaccati.

C’è una logica in tutto questo? Per chi vive a migliaia di chilometri di distanza, l’unica logica leggibile è quella di unPaese disperato, che cerca di arraffare soldi dove può per evitare di finire nel baratro che ha più volte sfiorato.Ovviamente il risultato di questa

stangata fiscale sarà che molti metteranno in vendita la vecchia casetta abruzzese,recidendo anche gli ultimi legami con una terra che non sempre è stata con loro generosa.

Non so voi, ma io provo un po’ di vergogna nei confronti di questa gente.

La La Land

As time moves forward, whether we like it or not, we are in a continued state of learning. Until our dying day, I believe we "learn" something or realize something that we just didn't know or understand or realize the day before. 

The other night sitting around the table with family and friends, a gender based discussion began to take shape. Someone, irrelevant of who that was, brought up the book "50 Shades of Grey" and the simple mentioning of this book sparked total chaos with the males. What ensued next was what I shall forever take as a huge learning experience for myself and my own personal learning journey.


Let me premise my "light bulb going on" experience by stating that I have not read the book. My enlightening moment really has nothing to do with the context of this infamous book at all. It's what was said that made me realize something I hadn't before.


One of the men firmly and with great conviction said, "You guys (women) live in La La Land..." 


There it was. La La Land. We've heard this term mentioned many times before but that evening it sounded different. This... La La Land. Where is it? Contrary to what was said, I certainly don't live there. But what I realized more importantly is that I want to. YES, I want to live in La La Land and what was even more stunning to me was the question that struck me straight in the forehead .. "Don't we all?"
All that we strive for in our every day existence and all of our every day efforts, are they not all toward the hopes and desires to get to La La Land? 

I want to go there. I want to live there every day. I would love to go there and stay there with my husband and my children mostly, but  also with everyone that I love. 


La La Land is an amazing place. I know because I'm certain I have had glimpses of it over the years. It's where everything and everyone is on the same page; where we are all happy and in synch; where the intimate moments are mind blowing and where food and wine taste succulent; where dancing is euphoric.
It's where laughing hurts your side and cheeks, and it's definitely where we believe in each other, care for each other, compliment one another and look after each other with absolutely no room for Tit for Tat.  


In the movie Jerry Maguire, I think they call it  "The Quan". Yes, that' s it. The Quan or..La La Land.


We all want to live there. Every single one of us. And the most beautiful thing of all is that we can. 
We can get there, we can live there and we can stay there as long as we want. 
Sadly, however, most of us have been made to believe that we don't deserve La La Land. We are not worthy of it's incredible gifts. It's simply ridiculous to try and get there let alone live there. 
Somewhere along our learning journey, we were told or agreed to believe that La La Land is not for us. 
It's for those other people. 


For the record, I do want to live there. And I will try every day of my life to learn more about how to get there and more importantly how to stay there as long as possible.
Yes, I am worth it. We are worth it. I will try to do all that I can to achieve La La Land. 

I hope to see you there.  

Una  Dedica  Speciale

Si dice che quando conosci una persona per la prima volta, ti danno una prima impressione che rimane con te per sempre.

La prima volta che io ho avuto il grande piacere di conoscere le due persone che sarebbero diventati i miei suoceri, l’impressione mia puo essere descritta come un incontro… caloroso, sincero, vero, speciale.

Vittorio e Maria sono proprio cosi’ non solo con me, ma con tutti coloro che hanno il piacere di conoscerli. Sono, infatti, calorosi, sinceri, veri, e speciali ed insieme, queste due persone care, hanno riuscito, nonostante i tanti osstacoli che tutti i matrimoni incontrano , ad essere marito, moglie e genitori esemplari per tutti i loro figli e nipoti.

Sposati  tanti anni insieme, facendo dei sacrifici veri per tirare avanti e crescere  una famiglia in un paese dove la lingua e l’ambiente sono stati molti diversi dalla loro Roccabernarda ,non e’ stato affatto facile … ma Maria e Vittorio, compiuti 50 anni insieme, possono dire con orgoglio, che… c’e l’hanno fatta!

In questo mondo di oggi, la vita puo essere molto complicata; piena di stress e preoccupazioni. Questo e’ la realta’ per tutti noi. Io, insieme a , Gaetano, Maria, Vince, Diana, Vittorio, Josie, Vittorio, Tonina, Pietro, Dominque Rae ed Emma Rose ci uniamo a ringraziare i nostri genitori, Vittorio e Maria, per tutto cio’ che hanno fatto e continuano tutt’ora a fare per rendere la nostra vita, meno complicata, meno stressante, meno preoccupante. 

Grazie per il vostro esempio buono, i vostri consigli saggi ed onesti e piu di tutto, per il vostro amore e affetto sincero e senza condizioni.

Auguri Infiniti e Congratulazioni per il vostro 50esimo anniversario di matrimonio

Vi vogliamo un mondo di bene!

Tutti  i vostri figli e nipoti.

The Christmas Tree

Last night I sat on the couch watching my three kids decorate our Christmas tree. I made a conscience decsision to sit back and let them put the decorations on because I wanted to etch the moment in my memory. And I did. There they were, the three of them, adding one golden ball, or red one, after the other, giggling, strategizing on the best spots. They were happy. I was happy.
Christmas is a special time for so many reasons, but for some, it can be a very difficult time. I felt so privileged to be able to enjoy this precious moment with my family. It was an overwhelming feeling of joy. We hear all these words during this time of year, "joy, comfort, gift giving, spirit, ..." Last night I felt the joy. And it felt good.
The years go by so quickly and before I know it, my kids will be off pursuing their own lives. That reality is so much closer than I want to admit and so, last night was priceless for me, their mother. I truly would not have wanted to be anywhere else on the planet but on that couch watching them, absorbing in my memory the expressions on their faces, their heights, their hands, their voices.

I was there. In the moment. And it was fleeting, yet unforgettable.

I wish all of you memorable moments of joy this Christmas and always.
Merry Christmas

...And she hugged me.

We go through our days in full throttle mode. We may even push that snooze button a few times before making it to our feet. But we do. And for the most part, with all our imperfections, I believe we do it well. The glass balls are tossed up...and here we go; jugglers of the mundane, yet important tasks that so many depend on to be accomplished.

And just like that.. words are uttered, hands are stretched out, hugs are shared, a smile exchanged and they send you into a place where it all makes sense.

As a teenager in high school, I was constantly rushing.. to my locker, to practice, to my friend's place, to a movie..
and sooner or later (usually, later) I would come home. In university I was still rushing.. to class, to work... and I would eventually, come home. And as sure as the the sun rises in the east.. my mother would be there. She would greet me.. with a hug. And just like that.. the day made sense.

It's almost impossible to describe the sensation. It's nothing you can bottle, or wrap, or even fully understand. I just felt it. I felt it through my whole rushed out, fatigued body. And if there is one thing I remember of her, it's that. Her embrace.. her hug, her welcome home. The "all is good, you are safe, you are loved, the hectic day is behind you now, you can rest" feeling washed over me like a warm blanket on a stormy winter night.

It is also,  the one thing I miss the most.

Tonight, I gave my daughter a good night hug as I usually do. She softly says, as she's nestled in my embrace, "There's nothing like your hug, Ma". And just like that..the day made sense to me again. And I realized, I had just passed on the indescribable, the intangible.. the love, the safety, the warm blanket.

I'm here to tell you, when we're gone, our loved ones will remember how we made them feel. Not what we bought them, not even what we said to them. But how we made them feel.

Hug each other. Hugs are good.

Hercules... we got it, thanks anyway ~ A humble dedication to Women.

I feel compelled today, March 8th, International Women's Day to dedicate this entry in my Carpe Diem to women all over the world.
Why dedicate a day to celebrate women? We celebrate many different groups, organizations, movements; but why women? I can go on in detail about the origins of this day, the mimosa flower being the symbol of this day, the extents of its recogntion or lack thereof here in Canada especially, but no. I want to express my feelings for this day and in particular  how it relates to me and my life today.

My feeling of indebtedness to the millions of women that came before me is a force that runs through me every day. The women who suffered physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally are the same ones that persevered with a strength fuelled only by their human spirit. For most there were no trophies, no lotteries, no prize to hold up for a photo opp at the end of the day. There would be no newspaper clipping, no promotion, no new house new car or new wardrobe. The raw courageous drive to wake up and then
get up and make life better for themselves and their loved ones was their gold sticker. That's it. Simple motives yet the most noble of all.

Many times over the course of my life, I have wondered if I was born the wrong gender. The tugs and pulls of everyday existence sometimes requires the stamina of Mercury and the muscle of Hercules; the tasks and duties so daunting that only heroic, masculine strength could possibly get you to the next dawn. And yet, women of all shapes and sizes, cultural backgrounds and religious beliefs move forward. And have been moving forward since their creation; sometimes against all odds.

Men are for me like an oak tree; strong base, a multitude of branches that reach out to offer a secure reliable perch for all those that depend on them. Women are the gardeners of that tree. The ones that will be sure it blossoms every year, the ones that will water it and keep it alive through the storms that threaten its very existence. The tree is planted firmly, and every day, the Gardener will show up and take care of it.

So.. I ask again, why celebrate women? Because it's the right the thing to do. There is no need to justify or to explain it. Women are worthy of celebrating. Period. We don't need a day to "mark" us as special.. but thanks.. we'll take it. You shouldn't have, Society... but we're glad you did.

I want to thank the women that went before me for their "thankless" efforts. They did not and do not go unnoticed.. at least for this woman.