Family Ties and Old Friends



If you've ever watched the show Who Do You Think You Are? (returning to NBC on Friday, Feb 4 - yes, a shameless plug for my network), then perhaps you've been inspired to think about the history of your family. Long before the show premiered last season, I was always fascinated about knowing more about my ancestors, and when I first went to Italy in 1999, I made an unsuccessful attempt to contact my papa's family. I wrote to an address found on an old letter that my godmother had provided, but whatever the reason - too much time past, an undeliverable letter, or perhaps resentment for the brother who left the family to come to Amercia -  I never heard back. My grandfather arrived through Ellis Island with his own father and all I knew of the family left behind was a brother named Rocco who, I think had a daughter who taught English.

My mother's ancestry lies in Sicily and Lithuania and her father was a mystery to me, making quick and fleeting appearances throughout my young life. What I remember most is his great mane of hair and his German Shepard, Snoopy always at his feet at the kitchen table. To this day, I cannot recall one conversation between the two of us. Although we won't have time to visit the city where my grandpa Angelo Buccafusca's family is from, Rosemarie and I will be able to meet a dear friend of mine from high school who does live there.



One of the few pictures of me (right) with my grandpa.


It was 1981, Cinzia and I met through one of my best friends and we both held a common disdain for our English teacher. I asked her to the junior prom, but she wasn't able to go - and to this day, I'm certain it was not because of the way I looked back then. Pictures will not be posted. When Cinzia relocated back to Sicily before graduation, we kept in touch for a while but as is common, we lost contact. But this is a new day and age - where old friends are easily found through Facebook and we've since reconnected. This summer, she's going to meet both of us in Rome and spend the day with my mom and me. The capital city is a two hour Eurostar trip from Florence, and I couldn't be more excited. Although it's been over 25 years since we've seen each other, I have no doubt that the two of us will fall back into place as if no time has passed.

It would be wonderful to find some of the Tella's from Ortona - do I resemble any of them? Are we alike in ways that are obvious? Do they look like my papa? Does Rosemarie look like her father's Sicilian relatives? We probably will never know, but showing Italy to Rosemarie is a way for us both to connect with parts of our family that we remember with great memories. And with an old friend as our guide, it'll be even more special, not to mention, we won't get lost or have to rely on what passes for me speaking Italian.

What's This New Payment Technology All About?

The rain began before Christmas in Los Angeles and it seemed as if it would never end. On the east coast, my mother has had to deal with snow and freezing temperatures. It's a tale of two coasts and one that brings back many memories for me with her. There was a time when I enjoyed snow - during the Blizzard of '78, our street was impossible to navigate. We spent hours, or was it days, digging out a path to get to the grocery store. Our crazy dog loved it, disappearing in a snowbank and then reappearing seconds later to only do it again. Once the path was clear, she and I walked to the grocery store, my hand gripped firmly in hers, her head ensconced by one of her many kerchiefs and me bundled in my snow attire and walking like the Michelin tire man. As we walked around the streets of Paris last year, I thought how nice it was to still be able to walk with your mom's arm in yours, only better attired. Once at that blizzard ravaged Foodmaster, the pickings were few - not even a loaf of Wonder Bread on the shelves. There was no mail delivery for days. I never did get my last issue of Marvel Comics' Tarzan.

But today, though the cold remains, the sky in California has, at least temporarily, stopped spitting while the storms in Boston, however, seem never ending. And, today, a bright reminder of summer - I got charged the deposit for our Florence B&B. Rosemarie and I have started a travel fund so I called her this afternoon to let her know I would need to access some of it to pay my credit card. She was going to write a check, but I dismissed that right away. Snow or no snow, there was no need for the postal service now.

"We'll just pay it online," I announced having her give me her banking information. "The money will come out of the account next week."

"What do I with this check, then?" she asked.

"You can write one to anyone you like, the money will come out automatically now. Don't you pay your bills online?"

"No, no, I write them all checks. I can still use this one?" she asked, looking at her checkbook as I knew she was doing.

"Of course, I didn't use that check number, silly, just the banking information." There was a silence as she processed this new fangled payment technology. "But if you feel the need to still write a check, then any amount to me will do."

Making Memories

It's an usually cold day in Los Angeles and back in Boston, the weather has been just as horrendous - and it's only December. There are so many more months left to winter that thoughts of summer seem very far away, and our trip to Italy is like a beacon through these shortened days of the season. This month, the memories of my Italian grandparents is always so vivid. As a young boy, I loved Christmas and it was one of the rare times my dad's mother and father came upstairs. I was always in their first floor flat, trying to catch them speaking Italian, but it never failed that English was always the language spoken when I was in their midst. The winding staircase leading up to our living room was a bit treacherous if you weren't holding tight to the railing (just ask my mom about her broken wrist for proof), and my grandmother would move slowly up the stairs calling out both my brother and my names. She'd usually go through the entire list of grandchildren, but since my cousins lived across the street, she knew that we were the only ones in the house on Christmas Day. Those memories of the two of them sitting on the couch and watching us open presents are some of the best moments of my childhood.

I didn't know then how precious memories would become to me or how little time I had left with my grandmother. If I did, I would have made more special times for the two of us. I'm extremely blessed that my mom is healthy, active and willing to travel the world. I doubt she'd want to go on a safari, so the European capitals can remain on our list of places to visit. What matters most to me is making those special times that will live forever. This year-2010- has been one full of wonderful moments and at times, one of loss and heartbreak, but in both cases, what matters most are the memories. At times of loss, they've pulled me through and just sitting back and remembering has made me smile. This holiday season as the cold weather assaults the east coast and what I now consider cold makes me flee to the desert - it's the anticipation of what's to come that gets me through it all. Seven months from now, I'm going to have more memories with my mother that will get me through many days of dark and wet winter months to come. And all because I'm not content to wait for good things to happen - I'm going to make them.

The Birds

The winter may be creeping up on my mom in Boston, but for me, I have escaped to my oasis from Los Angeles: Palm Springs. Today is an official work holiday and I'm so grateful for those since I'll be using my two weeks vacation in July when we go to Italy. Driving the two hours to get here is second nature to me now and I'm always hungry when I get here, so I stopped at one of my favorite restaurants. Hamburger Marys is half outdoor seating and half in and it was quite crowded today, so I opted to sit near the bar. Halfway through my meal, in it flew. The little sparrow, alas, not related to Edith Piaf and memories of Paris. Immediately, the memory of my grandmother came back  as vividly as if it were yesterday. Birds indoors were bad omens, they belonged outside, not under the cover of one's roof. I can still hear her yelling for my grandfather, or maybe it was my dad since they share the same name.

"Alfred, the bird," she cried at the top of her lungs. "The bird. Get the bird out of the porch!"

Our covered front porch was a haven for the nasty flying rodents. I'm not sure how long that particular bird managed to hold onto its perch, but I will never forget the superstitions that came along with it as it flapped its wings in the house. So you can imagine how much fun it was to go to Venice all those years later and see how pigeons ruled St. Mark's Square. I don't know how my mom will react to so many winged creatures - after all, she used to take my brother and me into Boston and somehow foolishly, we fed the dirty pigeons as they crawled all over us seeking nourishment.

Today, however, the sparrow did not stay long and I got to enjoy my meal. Now there are quite some months to go before I have to face the swarm of birds that overtake the Venice square, but one thing for sure, I won't allow Rosemarie to let me feed the birds.

Top Models in Italy

One of both my mom's and my favorite guilty pleasures is watching America's Next Top Model. Crazy screaming girls on even more bizarre photo shoots is always good for a laugh. This cycle -Tyra doesn't call it a season-the "models" in the home stretch are in Italy, all vying for the grand prize of a contract and the cover of Italian Vogue. Beauty shots of the canals, Piazza San Marco and the winding small streets of the city fill the hour. I could comment on the photo shoot of the girls trying to seduce Casanova in groups of three, but I won't go there.

Watching these "beauties" eat, drink and wander around brought me right back to when I walked aimlessly through the streets of Venice, getting lost in its winding paths and bridges over gorgeous canals.

"Oh, I don't want to get lost," my mom said. "Maybe we shouldn't go there!"

So it begins - and it's only November.

Ticket Purchase

Although the clocks are turning back this week and the days have gotten shorter, our thoughts are firmly ticking towards summer as we've bought our tickets to Florence today. I've been checking different airlines, but in the end, came back to United, where we both have Mileage Plus accounts. Though Star Alliance partner Swiss Air would have been a tad cheaper, going through United.com, I've booked us on Lufthansa, an airline that I've always enjoyed flying in the past. We connect via Frankfurt, an airport I remember well when I was sent to Europe on business back in 1995. It was a cold and snowy winter's day and despite the efforts of a handsome and friendly flight attendant who called ahead on my behalf,  I missed my connection to Heathrow. Eventually getting to London, I had to settle for the middle seat in the middle row on a 747 - and my luggage remained somewhere in Germany for a few days before finding its way to my door in San Francisco. I must admit, despite being tired and cramped from my seat location, going through customs without any luggage does make it easier.

My mom, as always, hates the idea of flying but with the two major bookings for our second European tour completed, she can get through the frigid Boston winter knowing that summer brings another slice of the world that much closer.

The First Trip to Florence

I first went to Italy in 1999 during my tenure at the software company, Informix - the firm that first sent me to Europe on business also gave four week sabbaticals after five years of employment. It didn't take me long to decide where to go - and I took off for three weeks in Italy plus a week in Belgium to visit my friend Serge. Back then, there were no laptop computers (yes, I am showing my age), and I took a small notebook with me and wrote about my travels. Today, it's hard to decipher my penmanship. Anyone who knows me well knows that my handwriting is atrocious so I opt for type written words. Maybe it's because my thoughts work faster than my fingers can write.

Today, I was reading parts of what I wrote and what I thought in June of 1999 still holds true today - "I am in love with Florence. It's gorgeous and I want to come back already." Back then, a dear old friend of mine joined me on my days in the city of the Duomo. He was someone I had met nine years earlier at a country and western bar. "If you had told me that the someone I admired nine years go would be with  me in Italy," I wrote, "I wouldn't have believed you. In nine years time where will I be next and who will be with me?" Well, I'll be about three years off that number next year when my mom and I visit. I love planning and looking forward to events. Thinking about all that's ahead will get me through the winter. Half the fun of any trip is the planning, the anticipation and the talking about what you'll do. For me, that's a huge chunk of the vacation. And it's an upcoming vacation like this - one where I can show my mom another city that holds a special place in my heart - that makes working and living so worth it.