Montagnes e Mare

Originally written October 2015 and recently stumbled upon: 

I am a firm believer that slower is faster, but cannot practice it for the life of me. Three weeks ago I was scurrying around my house getting ready to haul my three kids to the Greenfield village to meet up with our friends.  I bent down to pick up something by the back door while still holding on to the doorknob and when I straightened out I slammed the door right into my right temple! It was a hard hit, things went black, I stumbled and grabbed my head, Ouch. This was bigger than others before ( I am pretty clumsy and have had my fair share of goose eggs and self inflicted injuries) but after sitting down for a few minutes, icing my giant goose egg, I thought, am i OK? can we still go?  I felt well, enough, so I carried on packing lunches, loading bags and kids and a stroller and ended up enjoying a beautiful fall day outside with my kids at the village.  In hindsight I really have no idea how I managed to get through the day because as soon as I got home  the chatter of my family pounded in my head, the lights, the sounds overwhelmed me.  I sought refuge in our office to send a few emails but looking at the computer screen just about exploded my brain (so much pressure), and the intense exhaustion I suddenly felt, the wine I was drinking could not have helped at all.  I barely remember eating dinner, tried watching a movie with my kids, but that was pure over stimulation torture, so clearly against my normally non concussed better judgement, I went to sleep!

I thankfully awoke the next day feeling betterish. I coached my son’s first grade soccer game with no problem but when I stopped being active my head screamed in pain.  It felt like a balloon was expanding in my skull, not to mention my goose egg really hurt, and all the noise was too much for me. Once it finally sunk in that I very likely had a concussion I read online the best thing to do for concussions is to not look at screens (oops) or read but to rest both your body and your mind.  When people get back injuries you always hear them say boy you never realize how much we use our backs, well let me tell you how much you use your brain!

All I wanted to do was lie down in a dark room. Actually all I wanted to do was watch shows like I did when I was sick as a kid, but it physically hurt to do that. I kind of pretended that I was fine but really walking on uneven ground was a challenging task to my otherwise athletic and in shape self and interacting with my kids let alone other humans totally exhausted me. My brain physically hurt to think. I could feel individual neurons working so hard to connect and then when I would overdo it by thinking too much or talking to someone or god forbid texting my head would feel like it had swelled a hundred times bigger and I would have to lie down again. Everyone asked, have you been to the doctor? No, I would say. Why would I pay for them to tell me I have a concussion? but then my neighbor Julie shared a story of a friend who died as a result of a concussion. She was worried about me and also scared the crap out of me with her friend’s story. I mean I have three kids and I realized not going was kind of selfish.  So I went to the doctor who told me that I had a mild concussion and to take it easy. I wish she would have said go on vacation to the mountains.

See I liked to eavesdrop on adult conversations when I was a kid and this detail was not lost on me. My Italian grandfather, Nonno, who immigrated from Italy with his younger brother and sister and parents when he was 18 would weekly call his older sister who still lived in Italy. Often, with exasperation he’d share with my mom that his relatives were just getting back from the Montagnes or the Mare or getting ready to go again.  You see there, when there is an ache or pain or slight sniffle the doctors there say, relax, go to the Montagnes. But now that he lived here, in America, he brushed that off as being a lightweight as not pulling your own weight or contributing.  See my grandfather worked laying  brick until his body became so stiff that he couldn’t bend his fingers or his knees. He was proud of his hard work and his family. As a father he was a provider. As a grandfather he shared with me the sacred act and art of cooking.  He taught me how to make polenta, sitting in his basement we would watch the water come to a boil in his copper pot. Slowly we’d pour in the cornmeal whisking to avoid clumps and then we’d sit and wait until we could hear the whistle of the steam bursting up out of the cornmeal. We’d sit quietly, or sometimes chat. I’d stare at a picture of the Pope and when the timer buzzed we’d pour the cornmeal mush onto his homemade tray. Cooking was his Montagne.

His little sister, my Zia Evelyn, took a different path and became an entrepreneur with her American born husband.  She worked hard as well and reaped the benefits monetarily.  They ran a bowling alley and several other business. When we would go to visit it felt like we were traveling to another world, even though it was just Chicago, it was fancy.  Zia wore furs and silk, lots of jewelry and strong perfume. We felt fancy and important when we visited Zia Velena. The way kids feel when they put on fancy shoes and jewelry, pretending to live in much different ways. My aunt had money to spend and she loved to go to the city to the McCormick place trade shows where she could buy trinkets and other useless but fancy items like the gold plated mini van that drove on our records and played the songs, or the furry ewok like robot butler that whirred and beeped but couldn’t go up or down steps or carpets, or the porcelain faced dolls or furs. We were really lucky when she traveled to Italy and brought us back real Italian horns or a thick gold necklace or real Italian furs..  Her refuge, her montagne was buying and giving gifts.

And then there was my Zia Rosina,  the oldest sibling, who wasn’t able to immigrate because her husband was in the Italian army, who smoked a pack of Marlboros a day,  but went to the ocean and to the mountains for her ailments. She  outlived her 3 younger siblings who moved to the U.S. by years.

She is who I thought of when two weeks after my concussion I traveled up north with my family to our version of the montagnes, up north Michigan! The lake with the loons, the naked trees, the quiet, except for us. My brain finally had what it needed, at least for a few days,  the peace and solitude required to heal properly and my family had a taste of and a reminder of the benefits of a slower pace of life with less hurrying around to get from one activity to another. We gathered gifts of fall,  acorns and leaves and made food all together. We went for night walks with shooting stars and the milky way visible in the deepest darkest night sky. We came back to blazing fires in the wood stove. And felt an intense gratitude for the life we have and gifts that a simpler life could offer.