Only in America

Only in America.

I thought this was a Jimmy Durante quote.  Wikipedia does not agree.  Nonetheless, we have a sense that certain things can happen only in America.

We keep returning to Italy, to Umbria, because days like yesterday can happen only in Italy.

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I find myself writing more and more frequently “this cannot truly be expressed in words.”  That is not the most welcome realization of one who writes a blog. It is, however, the unfortunate truth.  And I find it increasingly true that my American upbringing and sensibilities have left me with a vocabulary inadequate to describe the sweep of life here in Italy.  For some time now I come to the conclusion that we Americans lack the training and experience to truly enjoy the simple pleasures of a meal here in Italy.  We simply do not know how to taste, we cannot truly isolate and experience even the simplest flavors and smells and we lack the most basic vocabulary for describing either.  The same is true, unfortunately for us I believe, when it comes to enjoying life.

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Only in Italy.

Only in Italy, and perhaps if only if you were brought up as an Italian can you enjoy and truly understand the simple pleasure of looking at the work of a minor artist in a church in Perugia and see and feel its importance, the sweep of history that connects it from Giotto through Fra Filippo Lippi to Perugino to its own unique place.  Can you walk past the Fontana Maggiore, the immense fountain spilling water from its carved trio of women, the way it has been for nearly 900 years, and feel the same sense of civic pride that your father, your father’s father, and his father and his father’s father, and his father’s father’s father did.  Can you speak with pride of the matriarchal society that your forebears the Etruscans invented and that we are only now coming to replicate.

We Americans can learn about these things.  We can even come to appreciate them.  But they are difficult for us to understand and to feel, to internalize.  And they are difficult to hold on to.

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Only in Italy.

Only in Italy can you truly long for the season when it is possible to sit around the table at lunch and eat little birds.  Whole.  Do you pull off their charred drumsticks and crunch the whole thing, moving on to the wings and breast, leaving no visible wreckage behind, no pile of bones before turning to the prize, the poor unfortunate’s head, savoring each crunchy bite, and discarding only the beak, washing the savory flavor down your throat with a splash of sweet Sagrantino passito.  Knowing that your friend or brother or nephew sitting next to you or around the table is enjoying the exact same experience you are and knowing that this joy can only be experienced today and will not return until next year.

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Only in Italy.

Only in Italy can you sit around the dinner table enjoying the simple pleasure of olio novello in the company of a mix of native Italians and curious, appreciative Americans.  For three hours.  Only in Italy does the woman who fixed your meal bring her harp and play for you or your guest of honor, a distinguished and well known painter bring his accordion and play for you, does his best friend, a heart specialist from Perugia play his guitar for you and honor you by playing and singing your favorite song.

A day like yesterday is simply impossible to put into words.  It must be experienced to be truly understood and appreciated and hopefully the memories of a day like this do not fade too quickly to be enjoyed over and over in the mind and spirit. 

And they can only be truly experienced in Italy.

Ci vediamo!

Bill and Suzy