Godfather-in-Law...

...A Love Story, not to mention our second guest post from none other then Sister Vickers, eh Caltigirone. Without further ado:

  Italy is sort-of a ridiculous country.  It’s a great place – don’t get me wrong – but there are so many things about it that feel like a scene from a movie or a cartoon.  People regularly speak with so much passion and animation that even a discussion of the weather appears as a heated argument to an untrained ear.  Women really do lean out of high windows as they clip their laundry to the line and call to their friends in the street below.  Often I see men walking with their arms draped around each other’s shoulders in a display of friendship.  Basically, everything that Hollywood has ever taught you about the country that’s shaped like a boot is absolutely true.  Sometimes it seems that all that’s missing is a soundtrack, but often enough there’s a fellow with an accordion playing it in the street.

  I moved to Italy this past July, but it wasn’t until the end of August that I realized I had moved here.  At first I thought I was just passing through.  My boyfriend and I had been living in Denmark for almost a year at that point, and we decided that we didn’t want to repeat the previous winter (record-low temperatures and difficulty finding work).  Luca, my sweetheart, is Italian, and he suggested we save up some money so we could get out of Scandinavia and head to his homeland in time to join his family on their seaside vacation; then we could just continue traveling south, aiming for warm weather and cheap travel.  It didn’t take much to convince me.  Within a few weeks we had gotten rid of everything except what fit in our backpacks and we pointed our thumbs south.

  What a world of difference from where I had been living before!  Fresh, amazing fruits and veggies; kind, warm people with big laughs; cheek kisses for hellos; warm weather that lasted well into the night; a sea that I could actually swim in.  There were considerably fewer people speaking English in Italy than what I had encountered in northern Europe, so socializing mostly consisted of lots of smiling and saying ‘ciao’ and ‘grazie’ and sometimes drawing things.  Still, the family embraced me, the food enticed me, and the weather enchanted me, and pretty soon Luca and I were talking about setting up camp in Italy for a while so he could finish his university degree.  I was happy with the plan except for one nagging problem: I had already overstayed my European visa so living in Italy meant living as an illegal immigrant in a country where the political climate of the past ten years is particularly unfavorable toward foreigners.  How will I find work?  Our savings won’t last long in a European city.  What will happen if the government notices my presence?

  [Insert Marlin Brando voice here:] “I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse.”  It was apparent that Italy had it in its power to either embrace me as one of “the family” or else make my life very difficult.  I had a choice:

  On the one hand I had the option to live as illegally in Italy.  I could struggle to make money despite my professional degree.  I could live in fear of governmental authorities.  I could have minimal access to medical care despite the program of socialized medicine that the citizens enjoy.  And I could be deported or jailed at any moment for no reason other than the wrong person taking note of my existence.  That’s a lot of inconvenience to deal with just for some fresh fruit and warm weather, but of course there was more than these temptations compelling me to stay in Italy.  There was also love.

  That brings me to the other hand: on the other hand I wore an engagement ring given to me by a sweet, handsome, shy, smart, good-hearted Sicilian boy.  I’d already spent a few weeks with his huge family and they loved me.  I’d already spent a few months with this boy and we loved each other.  So all we had to do was sign some papers and have a big party and all of my troubles would disappear.  I could stay in Italy or any other part of Europe for as long as I desired and I could have Italian citizenship in just a year and a half.  I could work and earn money as a professional which would be a relief from the tight-budgeted lifestyle we’d been leading.  I could have access to healthcare that even my own country didn’t offer me.  And I could have a big party.

  Let’s just say that I didn’t need a horse’s head on my pillow to convince me.

  So I’m now a married woman.  I’m Signora Caltagirone (though I haven’t legally changed my name).  I’m living in Pisa with my husband (ooh, it still feels strange to say that!) where he’s attending the university and I’m circulating my resume among English-language schools and international schools.  I’m planning the menu for my first Thanksgiving as a wife and I’ve accepted that it will probably include some sort of pasta.  There are moments when marriage feels entirely different than the life I led just weeks before, but in other moments it feels very much the same.  Really, very little has changed: I now have a sparkly ring on my finger, a lot of photos from a lovely party, and Italy’s enthusiastic blessing upon my existence.

  I still shake my head when I walk down the street and pass a row of Vespas parked in front of the gelato shop, or when I hear a pizza chef signing as he tosses dough, or when I glance up at the world’s most famous architectural debacle swarming with tourists wanting to be photographed “holding it up”; I still laugh at true-to-life stereotypes of this land but when the laughter finishes a loving smile remains.  There’s a reason Italy shows up in movies and TV shows so often: the daily life of this place is wonderfully entertaining!  And as ridiculous as this country is, it’s the place I’ve chosen to call home.