Wrought iron gates open a world of our past, our future, related in the present
Last year during this month, I revisited Casale, birthplace of so many memories of my mother, her life, her beginnings, her legacy. Reconnecting with a dear cousin who feels more like a sister, I sat at her table surrounded by the Piemonteis dialect I hadn’t heard since childhood and a bounty of garden fruits and vegetables, fresh cheeses, warm bread and of course, hearty wine that would make Zagat take notice. There was something about the place, the time, the revisiting and recapturing that felt so much like being “home”. Yet, here and now at sixty years of age, I have, yes, created a comfortable home for myself, for my daughter. Yet, this place is very different from the home that has gratefully been given through opportunities from Powers beyond me. Sitting at the heavy pine table in Rossanna’s kitchen is where the warmth of a smile, the desire to please, the laughter and deep embraces capture the essence of family seemingly so distant from the treadmill-life in New York. Yet, it is not necessarily about blood relatives. No. Only family connected at the level of the heart and the lightspeed soul-travel of understanding all that has passed in lives separate but connected can capture that essence – a feeling that where you are now is finally “safe”. This is one place that beckons to me, that holds me in an embrace sincere and long, not wanting to let go. This feeling “home” is the warmth of love that I so wish would never leave.