Ci veremme a luglie

Going back home

On the balcony at home.

My books, notes, and pictures are in boxes as we get ready for a big move back to the family home in Saint-Leonard. Truthfully, I never thought I would do this - the typical Saint-Leo move to the upstairs apartment in your parents’ triplex. There are many reasons why the move makes sense and I’m trying not to feel like I have to justify every aspect of it.

Despite being a late 20th century building, as are most triplexes in the east end, there are three generations-worth of family history in that house. My maternal grand-parents bought it. My mom and uncle grew up there. My parents bought a house down the street (another classic Saint-Leo Italian move) and when my nonno passed away, we all moved back in because my nonna was going “upstairs,” in one of the apartments.

In my nonni’s living room, which is now my mom’s “relax room.”

My sister took my uncle’s old room, I took my mom’s (which, after she had us, was turned into a playroom with beds, toys, and a little television). Walls were painted, things were shuffled around, and all my nonna’s stuff that didn’t fit in her 4 1/2 was stored in the basement and garage.

The absolute chaos of my room when I was around 13 years old. I saw this exact design in a magazine at Home Depot or something and my dad made it a reality.

I spent my whole life in this home. I was born in the other apartment upstairs. The one I’m moving to at the end of this month.

In my first bedroom, which will soon be my office.

I roller skated down the halls, drank from the backyard hose, made sauce and wine in the garage, had sleepovers, hung out with friends, kissed boys, talked on the phone all night, opened the pantry for the millionth time looking for snacks, had birthdays — my first, eighteenth, and even thirtieth — in this home.

Though the move is bittersweet, the thought of being there again makes me happy. Maybe it’s the effect of the last few years. But there’s also something special about an intergenerational home. Though I probably would not have seen it this way in the past, I’m lucky to be going back there. In many ways, imagining this move in my twenties felt regressive. Because, in my mind, if I moved upstairs from my parents, it would have been because I’d failed at building an independent life for myself. One that should not only be outside of that house, but outside of Saint-Leo.

Even though, some days, I do really feel that I am failing “at life” — whatever that means — this move back doesn’t seem so dire to me anymore. Part of it is the realization that independence doesn’t have to mean pulling further away. It’s clear by now that this is not about Molise, as I’ve promised this newsletter would be. But in many ways, learning more about Molise has also drawn me back to Saint-Leo. It’s where the traditions, dialect, and food have always been made concrete for me. It’s where I’ve lived them. And so, in that funny way that migration and memory intersect, there’s a place on my map where the villages in the Apennines and this east end borough come together.

I offer you these little thoughts and old photos, along with the monthly tarot pull, until next month when my life and research come back out of cardboard boxes.

Ci veremme a luglie!¹

Cass

See below for monthly tarot pull.

Monthly Tarot

Each issue will include a tarot pull reflecting on the research and folklore discussed in the newsletter.

Visconti-Sforza deck. Source image left and source image right.

True transformation and possibility come when you stop chasing the idea of independence and embrace your sense of self. Self-respect, self-worth, self-understanding. I try to keep these general, but it’s hard not to take these cards personally after everything I’ve been thinking about lately (see above). Over the last year or so, I’ve also been reflecting a lot on change and the spaces where you are, or are not, invited to do so. In many ways, I sometimes feel like family is a space where we’re (I’m) not allowed to change.² These are the people who have, often, known us the longest and that’s beautiful. But it can also be smothering. Changes — even the smallest ones, like putting cheese on your pasta if you usually don’t — incite comments. Meanwhile you just want to eat your cheesy dish in peace. Changes seem starker, harsher, more sudden and random, because, in this family space, the sustained and sometimes constant contact allow a version of you to form. An idea of a version of you, confirmed by countless actions and reactions over the course of days, months, years. I’ve often just shut down in response to this. Shut down, push away. Over and over again. Okay, the cheese example is silly, but this shutting down is what made me (try to) lock away my vulnerability. In that family space, I’m not the emotional one. I’m the one whose aloof, who “always does her own thing.” So much so, I’ve realized I try to force myself to not be the emotional one. Force myself not to cry, or hide my tears if I do. Slowly, this trickled into the version of me outside of the family space.

I told you it’s hard not to take these cards personally.

Ultimately, the message is clear. And it’s good. Because it’s about change, trasition, towards that vulnerability in being honestly yourself and finding confidence in the multidimensional, complicated, contradictory randomness of your being.

And don’t let others ever dictate anything about the cheese on your pasta.

1. I’ll see you in July!

2. I’m being both very general and very specific to myself here. Though I’ve had many conversations with friends over the past year about this and we’ve all shared similar feelings.

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