Two Worlds

If only the real Italy could be in Florida like the fake one in Epcot! Then, long-distance love wouldn't be so bad. © Photo courtesy of Di Costanzo and Gerenini

Get the truth about one of Italy’s most popular islands – and its people – by reading my new weekly blog installments (every Monday right here on this site)

Chapter Twenty-Two – Crazy in Amore?

Maybe dating a native Italian who still lived in Italy was a big mistake. But it was already too late. I was falling in love with Tony. I was certain of this in Florida, where Tony, a known commitmentphobe, brought up the idea of having me visit him in Italy sometime in the spring. I told him I would try, but it would all depend on how things went with the physical therapy for my knee. Although I was walking and getting around, I still had a pronounced limp and lacked thigh muscle. I was going to physical therapy three days per week. It was grueling. I was proud I had made it through the Disney parks so successfully, but a trip to Italy would be difficult. Besides the travel, there was still the chance I would need more surgery to replace the cartilage that I lost. There was fear my (ACL) ligament was also loose.

Still, Tony made me promise I’d visit because he saw a future for us and didn’t want me to think this was just “un’ avventura piccola solo per vacanza” (“a little adventure only for vacation.”) He could see us together for the long haul. Roberto started to see it, too. In between flirting with other women and hanging out with my brother, Roberto asked me what I thought about Tony and what was going on between us. I was honest and said that I was enjoying my time with him and that I had reservations about the distance between us but I was already falling in love. He admitted that he saw in the way Tony and I looked at each other that a love story was beginning to blossom.

Although my heart was happy to finally have found love, and I was having the time of my life with Tony, especially in Florida, where the sun was shining and Mickey Mouse was distracting us from concerns, such as how we’d manage such a long-distance relationship, a part of me felt impractical for allowing myself to feel this way about someone who lived in an entirely different continent. Italy was so beautiful, I thought. Maybe I wouldn’t mind spending so much time there. Wouldn’t love be enough to get us through any obstacle? Was there even reason to be practical about this matter of the heart?

Some names and identifying characteristics of the real people involved have been changed.

Tune into this Web site, Two Worlds, every Monday for the latest installment in my blog about my experiences in Ischia, and every other Monday to ItaliansRus.com for the latest Our Paesani column about all things Italian. Di Meglio is also the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.

Maria getting ready for her baptism. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

Amanda (r.) shows off her bouquet and cousin Nina (l.) at her Confirmation dinner. © Photo by Francesca Di Meglio

From the begging of this summer, my family has been celebrating milestones with its young people. Two of the biggest events we recognized were my niece Maria’s baptism (for photos, visit the “Maria’s Baptism” photo album) in May and my cousin Amanda’s confirmation in June (for photos, visit the “Amanda’s Confirmation” photo album). Both Maria and Amanda made us proud as they conducted themselves beautifully during these important religious moments in their lives.

I guess family has been on my mind because lots of my stories have focused on relatives, too. For the Our Paesani column that I write for ItaliansRus.com and Las Vegas’ La Voce newspaper, I covered “20 Signs Your Italian Man is a Mamma’s Boy,” “Stuff Our Italian Fathers Say,” and “Italian Family Feuds.” Obviously, those of you who know me can be certain that I drew on my own personal experiences – and family – to write these stories. And I even make a funny in the first two. I guess I’m not as serious as you thought!

Roberto flirted with just about everyone in Florida. Even Minnie wasn't immune. © Photo courtesy of Di Costanzo and Gerenini

Get the truth about one of Italy’s most popular islands – and its people – by reading my new weekly blog installments (every Monday right here on this site)

Chapter Twenty-One – Harmless Flirting?

Roberto enjoyed living the life of a bachelor while on vacation in the United States, probably never more so than in the week we spent in Orlando, Fla. with my brother and his friends. The only problem was that Roberto had a girlfriend back in Italy. “I’m-a, how you say, flirting,” he would tell me. “No problem.” Still, he was leaving out the stories of flirting when he would finally get on the phone with his girlfriend Lisa.

By day, we would sleep in before heading to the Disney theme parks with either my brother or one of his friends. By night, we would either go out to dinner or eat at my brother’s house with his single buddies. One evening, we all headed to a bar. Tony and I went home early with one of my brother’s roommates. The three of us were all older than the others and had long outgrown the bar scene. Tony, who works as a bartender in Ischia, hardly wants to hang out at a bar or nightclub when he’s on vacation. But Roberto never left. My brother had his new girlfriend by his side, so he left Roberto unattended most of the time.

You’d think that would be okay, given he was 22 at the time and supposedly in a committed relationship. Another night, my brother had the boys bring the drinking to the house instead of going out to a bar. People were coming in and out. But I stayed locked in the guest room with a good book. Tony would come in and out of the room until about 10 p.m., when I drifted off to sleep. The next morning, I would discover that I missed all the fun.

Tony described a buzzed Roberto zooming around the house and talking to everyone in English. He zeroed in on one girl, who actually had a boyfriend who was at the house. And he walked over to her and said, “I like your big-a bobs!” Not boobs. He said, “Bobs.”

“Fantastic,” I said to Tony. “What do you think Lisa would say about this?”

“Non sarebbe contenta,” he responded. “She wouldn’t be pleased.”

Later on in the evening, Roberto had another encounter with her. She had just chugged a beer from a can, which women in Italy don’t do. And this all-American burped like she was a bull frog croaking in front of everyone in the room. “Now-a, that’s-a real woman,” Roberto said. “Real woman-a.” Moments later, she left with her boyfriend. Nothing more happened between Roberto and her, but his “flirting” made for cute anecdotes later.

Although Roberto was looking and not touching – barring his attempted kiss with Addy, which she thwarted – and his flirting appeared harmless on the surface, I kept thinking that if I were Lisa, I’d be bothered by this behavior. Who wants to hear that their boyfriend complimented another woman’s breasts? Or was scoping out the singles scene abroad? Then, I quickly realized I could be Lisa. I wondered how Tony would act when he returns to Ischia, which was only a couple of weeks away. Would he be “how you say flirting,” too? Should I be worried? Do all Italian men cheat? Was I ruining my life by getting involved with a real Italian?

Some names and identifying characteristics of the real people involved have been changed.

Tune into this Web site, Two Worlds, every Monday for the latest installment in my blog about my experiences in Ischia, and every other Monday to ItaliansRus.com for the latest Our Paesani column about all things Italian. Di Meglio is also the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.

The boys were like wild birds in Florida. © Photo courtesy of Di Costanzo and Gerenini

Get the truth about one of Italy’s most popular islands – and its people – by reading my new weekly blog installments (every Monday right here on this site)

Chapter Twenty – Wild Birds in the Sunshine State

Still reeling from the loss of dear Alessio, we arrived in Orlando, Fla., where my brother picked us up at the airport. With Addy back at her university, Roberto had no one with whom he could flirt. And he started calling Lisa back in Ischia more often to check in and see how she was doing. Being a lady, Addy never allowed anything to happen between Roberto and her. Although I was still disappointed in him for having tried to kiss Addy while his girlfriend was back home waiting for him, I was hoping that he learned his lesson and was ready to be as committed as everyone thought he was.

When we stepped into my brother’s car, we quickly learned that he had a girlfriend, too, now. And we would meet her during our stay. Wow, my brother sounded serious. This was a first for the Casanova of New Jersey. Roberto spoke of his girlfriend, and Tony admitted that he was pursuing a relationship with me. I blushed a bit because I had never really had a boyfriend, and I think my brother was a little shocked, even though my parents had warned him that there was something more between Tony and me.

At my brother’s house, which he had recently bought and I had never seen, we sat down to dinner with Big Antonio, one of his roommates. A character in the true sense of the word, Big Antonio is a portly guy, who is in love with food and drink. Indeed, the love affair makes it difficult for anyone to break bread with him; you’ll always become second to the savoring of his meal. A vagabond, who never stays settled in one place for more than a few years, he is constantly on the go. And even though you can never believe a word he says – he makes up stories to entertain, which makes it hard to separate fact from fiction – he will always have you peeing your pants with laughter, so you can never be mad at him for his exaggerations.

Of course, Tony and Roberto knew none of this, so they were taken aback at first, and they were buying into every word to come out of his mouth. Between Roberto’s broken English and Big Antonio’s broken Italian, the three were able to communicate. After quickly devouring my meal – grilled pork chops and salad – I turned to my trusty computer; I had a lot of work to do to make up for the time I lost will saying good-bye to Alessio. Once it was done, my vacation could officially begin.

While I was typing away, Big Antonio had a little fun with his Italian visitors. I could hear all the rumblings from inside the other room. He told them that they had to make room for some more food because he prepared a special pasta dish just for them. “Pasta Siciliana is delicious and among the best pasta dishes you’ll ever eat,” he said. “Deliziosa!” Roberto was the first to admit that he was full from my brother’s feast but that he could never turn down pasta, especially from a new friend, who wanted to honor him on his first U.S. visit. Tony agreed.

Big Antonio, now wearing a fluffy, white chef’s hat, held a plate of spaghetti and tiny meatballs in one hand and a white dish towel hung over the other. Roberto and Tony, Italian lovers of pasta, had their tongues wagging like dogs over a plate of bacon-smothered steak. To look at it, the pasta seemed all right, perhaps even “delizioso” as Big Antonio described. But when Roberto and Tony put the noodles in their mouths, they both turned a pale shade of green and noticeably forced their jaw to keep chewing slowly so as not to vomit right in front of Big Antonio. Who would want to hurt the feelings of this big teddy bear? After the pair managed to swallow that first bite, my brother and Big Antonio began roaring with laughter.

Finally, they turned to Roberto and Tony and pulled out cans of Chef Boyardee. It was a ruse. This was no “Pasta Siciliano.” This is what people in the middle of the country considered to be Italian food, and neither my brother, nor Big Antonio ever indulged in this garbage. But Boyardee, they got a good laugh out of making the real Italians eat it! Roberto and Tony, confused at first, were good sports about the whole thing. It took them a few minutes to realize it was a joke and there was no special pasta dish for them. They spent much of the rest of the trip asking Big Antonio for that special “Pasta Siciliana.”

Moments later, I finished up my work, took my shower, and headed to dream land, and so did Tony. More friends started to come into my brother’s bachelor pad. Roberto wasn’t going to miss the chance to meet the Floridian ladies. This was a different breed than Addy and anyone he had met in New York, so far. That next phone call to Lisa would just have to wait until tomorrow.

Some names and identifying characteristics of the real people involved have been changed.

Tune into this Web site, Two Worlds, every Monday for the latest installment in my blog about my experiences in Ischia, and every other Monday to ItaliansRus.com for the latest Our Paesani column about all things Italian. Di Meglio is also the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.

Alessio made quite the impression with Tony and Roberto, and left paw prints on all our hearts. © Photo by Francesca Di Megli0

Get the truth about one of Italy’s most popular islands – and its people – by reading my new weekly blog installments (every Monday right here on this site)

Chapter Nineteen – Alessio, Our Best Friend

The next week my mom took Tony and Roberto shopping at the outlets, a favorite Italian pastime. They insisted on trying on every Ralph Lauren Polo shirt they could get their hands on. With the U.S. dollar in the dumps compared to their euro, they were bent on buying a whole new wardrobe before heading back to Ischia, where all anyone can purchase are designer duds. Needless to say, there are no outlets on Ischia and certainly not the monster ones of New Jersey and New York.

While the boys were off making my mother crazy, I was home working with Alessio, our nine-year-old beagle as my only company. The night before he had wowed the family by stealing an entire Cornish hen off my mother’s plate. This is a dog that once ate 9 pounds of raw sausage and stole an entire roast beef from under the nose of my Zio Luigi.

But his acrobatics for the Cornish hen were particularly noteworthy. He had been wheezing and coughing ever since Tony and Roberto arrived. The vet thought he might have puppy pneumonia. None of the medication was clearing up his troubles. And he was having a hard time getting up and down stairs, which used to be a strength of his. Granted, the dog started to look like the rest of my family, including my father, with skinny little legs and a bowl-full-of-jelly belly. My cousins had taken to calling him “Salsicce,” which means “sausage” in Italian.

Graceful as a prima ballerina, Alessio hoisted his front paws onto the bench under my mother’s plate, lifted and turned his head quickly and cunningly, and snatched that Cornish hen with his teeth in 30 seconds flat. In another 30 seconds, he had inhaled the whole thing. There was not even a single bone left. We feared for him, but he waddled over to the couch, managed to get himself on top of one of the pillows, and drifted off to dream land, clearly proud of his accomplishment. “If only we had the video camera rolling,” Tony shouted.

The next morning, while I worked, I noticed a difference in Alessio. He was simply not himself. Barely able to move, he did not want me to leave him alone. He whimpered and forced himself up the stairs to my office, a room he rarely entered. I helped him back down, and worked in the kitchen. He never left my side, and he could not breathe. The dog who ate everything would eat and drink nothing.

When my father returned from work, Tony, Roberto, and my mom were still in outlet heaven (or hell, depending on whether you spoke to Tony and Roberto or my mom). Papa’ and I decided to call the vet, who suggested we take Alessio to the Animal Hospital. Obviously, this was something more than a bad cold or pneumonia. We carried Salsicce into my father’s landscaping truck. He sat on my lap all the way. At the hospital, they told us we’d have to leave him overnight for observation.

My father and I both had tears in our eyes as they wrapped Alessio in a blanket and he cried. We turned away as the doctor and an assistant walked him into a doggie hospital room. By the next morning, we got word from the doctor that it was a miracle Alessio had made it through the night. He was full of cancer and on the verge of dying. The doctor believed he was waiting to say good-bye to us. We all rushed to the hospital to say one last ciao to our Salsicce. My parents and I couldn’t stop crying. And Tony insisted on coming with us for moral support even though he had only known Alessio for a little more than a week.

At the hospital, the doctors put us in a room and brought Alessio, who had been given medication, to us. For a moment, he looked like his old self. He walked in a circle and sat a moment with each one of us. He rubbed his head against my hand and licked my arm one last time. When the doctor called to him and said, “Alessio, it’s time to go,” he turned toward my father – his best pal, the one who fed him and the one he began to look like – one more time as if he knew this was the last time he’d be seeing us.

My parents picked up KFC for lunch because no one felt much like cooking; while Tony and I sat in the car, I could not contain my weeping. He just embraced me and we said nothing. That night, we were heading to Florida for our long awaited week at Disney World with my brother, who lived in Kissimmee, Fla. I sat between Roberto and Tony, who consoled me as the tears kept flowing. Yet, I had to pull myself together for we were heading to the happiest place on Earth…

Some names and identifying characteristics of the real people involved have been changed.

Tune into this Web site, Two Worlds, every Monday for the latest installment in my blog about my experiences in Ischia, and every other Monday to ItaliansRus.com for the latest Our Paesani column about all things Italian. Di Meglio is also the Guide to Newlyweds for About.com.