Showing posts with label superstitions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label superstitions. Show all posts

Friday, January 29

Italian Stories: Groundhog's Day

What does an Italian Groundhog look like?     A blackbird.  


Turns out, while Americans wait and see if a groundhog will see its shadow, the Italians have their own mother nature equivalent: I giorni della merla - The blackbird's days which fall on the last three days of January and indicating the coldest days of winter. And although weathermen report that there are (often) days much more frigid, turns out that in the Old Country, Old Wives' Tales are tough to defeat. We'll just call them, Alternative Facts worthy of their staying power.

But leave it to the Italians and their gift for gab and you'll find that the legend has now morphed into a number of different tales, to be recalled by future generations, depending on your point of view. So, pick your tale:



I. During a very cold winter in Milan's Porta Nuova (I like this, my old stomping grounds)...a family of white birds took refuge in a courtyard of a palazzo.  The father could not find food due to the cover of fallen snow.  It kept right on snowing, so the father bird decided to fly out of the snowstorm looking for food.  Before he left, he settled the mother & three baby birds near a smokestack for warmth.  Able to return only after the storm had passed (3 days), he found his family black with soot.  The sun came out in February, marking the end of winter, but by then even the papa bird had turned black and from then on, blackbirds were born.


II.  ...It was so cold that the family - unable to even flap their wings - perched its nest atop the smokestack.  Finally, after three days they could fly away - but by that time the white birds had turned black, and from that point on, the blackbird came to be.

III.  This version becomes more dark (in tutti sensi):  The papa bird left his family inside the chimney, and went out to search for food.  Upon his return, finding his mate all black, he didn't recognize her and left.  She died of hunger.

IV.  Two young blackbirds return to the hometown of the young female in order to marry, situated beyond the Po River.  Afterwards, once they left for home, back over the river, it got to be too late and too cold.  So they spent two days more nearby with relatives.  On the third day, their next attempt, it was so cold that the male died -- and that's why today you can still hear the lament of the female along the Po river each end of January.

One astute blogger reported the actual temperature indications.  In fact, they found that:  
The average temperature of the three days in question is 3.6 degrees celsius, while the average of all of January is 2.8 degrees.  At nearly 1 degree more, it "proves" that legends and tall tales are just that, indeed.  

Nonetheless, be sure to throw an extra blanket on your bed just to be sure...

Friday, April 1

Nuns on a Bus

Picture from Treggia's Blog
I've said it before, and I'll say it again (and again!), Italians have a lot of superstitions. Some of them are endearing only 'cuz it reminds you of your granma...or nonna...as the case may be. Others, because the Italians - having had to put up with all sorts of indecencies over the centuries, heck, millennia, always seem to find the wherewithal to pull through, perhaps laughing about the matter along the way.
And so you hear that 
if you step in dog poop, it brings good luck.
If your pooped on by a pigeon...it brings good luck.
If it rains on your wedding day...it brings good luck (naturally)...
but I think these are all just to make one feel better about their apparent pitfall.

And so, it came as a surprise when I discovered that it has become somewhat legendary that should a Green Prinz car cross your path, it brings bad luck. That is, if it's full of nuns. These nun buses in fact are legend, long before Nuns on a Bus became something of a Big Deal in American politics and culture. [They even have a twitter account and hashtags, right up there with #PopeonaPlane!]
So, just one more thing to worry about on the roads of Bell' Italia...! Or as the picture I recently posted on my @IrreverentItaly Facebook Page read – ADULTS ON BOARD...We want to live too. 
Buona Fortuna!


Sunday, February 21

One of Life's Great Italian Mysteries....Solved!

Well, this is embarrassing. For 20-odd years I have invented every sort of superstition known to man in my head to explain the odd practice I found in every town from top to toe of the Italian Boot: That is, the placing of plastic water bottles - full of water - in front of one's doorway. Aside from the flag it waves reading "We're not home! Come in and make yourself at home!" I couldn't - for the life of me - figure out what those bottles meant. I asked little old ladies, even my own great-aunt who - religiously placing them out the front door - couldn't tell me why and what for. I was flummoxed, to say the least.
Okay...It's usually just a bottle or two, but these guys must seriously mean business
(photo from Tenace Concetto Blog)
 
And, I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I never actually thought about asking Siri what she thought about it. I mean, really? She can't even pronounce Giuseppe or Stefano properly - what would she know about it? In any case, while running around Deruta (home of gorgeous Umbrian ceramic works), I was gifted with a personal tour of the Antica Fornace Maioliche & Museo of Giovanni Baiano (The Ancient Kiln of Umbrian pottery - and thru the outrageous museum in his store choc-a-bloc filled to the rim with pieces and sketches of the works since man first found fire and then heated it up to a few thousand degrees...)
Leaving the premises, I happened to ask casually, not truly expecting a real answer, what the bottles were doing there on the doorstep. And Giovanni's wife stated, "I know what they're for!!!".  Incredibly, I discovered a superstition that never made its way into my book (look out for a new print run...!)...Drum Roll, please....


Turns out...it's to ward off kitty cats (or their pee, to be more precise).


As an unbridled cynic, of course, I couldn't just let that simple explanation stand for itself. I mean, really. Twenty-plus years, and that's all there is? [Cue Peggy Lee here]. So off to google I went.
 

To lighten my dismay at not googling it in the first place, I was heartened to find that the question is debated as vigorously by Italians as what the best cut from a pig is or whether or not you should add oil to your pasta water (you shouldn't). So, not even Italians knew what was up with the cat bottles. But, you can't blame them. After all, plastic water bottles haven't been around all that long (and they gotta compete with the 10 million- plus other superstitions already on file).

In my search I found that many
vets thought it was a silly waste of time. And...I gotta admit, I'm pretty much on their side. I have had cats my whole life, and I have never seen a cat want to pee on a doorway - like never ever. I mean, how would they cover their tracks? But hey, ask anyone who side-steps a ladder or a black cat...What can a few bottles outside the door hurt? Right?

Wednesday, July 1

Saint Paul, the Shroud of Turin and other Miracles

Over the last year we have been celebrating here in Rome, the Anno Paolino or rather, the Year of Saint Paul of Tarsus. This is to mark the bimillenium (that’s 2000 years to the rest of us) of his birth. And so, all of the churches around most of the Christian world have devoted programs surrounding this great man, his writings and so on.
And so it came as such a befitting ending to this year of celebration that it was announced that it is, in fact, Saint Paul who is buried underneath the altar of Saint Paul Outside the Walls; purportedly, the place where he was lain following his martyrdom by beheading. An altar of sorts had sprung up outside the walls, and the place was heaped in legend. ‘Til one day, they built the magnificent Basilica to St. Paul.
But they never knew for sure if someone was really resting in peace around those parts. So, in what can be nothing short of a miracle, there they were, working away – even on Sunday – having seemingly turned their plowshares into light sabers -- to uncover the truth behind the body at Saint Paul’s. And, lo and behold! Right on schedule (even if calendars may have changed somewhat since his time), there we were, on the Feast Day of Saint Paul and the last day in the Anno Paolino, we got the word straight from the Pope's mouth about this magnificent discovery. Doesn’t get much more apropos than that.
Although one could comment, in the marketing-challenged world that is Italy, it might have made a bit more sense to dish the dirt (figuratively) at the start of the Pauline year, and not the end...may have gone a long way to bringing in more hordes of pilgrims.
But, funny thing about those lasers and carbon dating equipment, though. They can’t quite peg the Shroud of Turin to be the Medieval rag that it is ("results inconclusive"), nor can they quite figure out if the tears of blood cried by the statue of the Madonna each year in Naples is really kool-aid, but, as for Saint Paul, it's pretty definitive—even though the body was not exhumed for the purpose.
The Lord does, indeed, work in mysterious ways.

Wednesday, April 15

Knocking on Wood


Now, who’d ever want to do something so outrageous as that?
Lately, I’ve been feeling a bit morbid, I suppose, because everywhere I look, I seem to spot danger – So today, I was talking with my tire guy who brings me my daily paper about the health risks of where he works. On a street so clogged with rush hour traffic, (and where I begrudgingly had chosen to walk my dog), I imagined (out loud) that the exhaust fumes would have to affect his lungs in the long term. After all, I could barely breathe by the time I got to his doorway.
So, during the course of our conversation, he immediately had the second best response he could summon -- he reached over to touch the metal jack that lifts up the cars. Only because he’s an amazingly polite and humble guy who happened to be in mixed company; or else, he would have gone for his first response: touching his balls.
Now, I don’t know where any of this comes from: knocking on wood, iron, or your balls (if you should be so endowed), but, I suppose in a later entry, I can look it up. I imagine it might come from Major League Baseball...perhaps the team with the..errr... lighter touch, so to speak, loses?
But, what I’d truly like to know is…has it ever worked? Is there some documentation that, after touching iron in your car, your auto didn’t swerve back onto the road and not tumble off a bridge? In a country choc-a-bloc with saints and miracles, are there testimonials stored in the Vatican's secret archives that show how many 'miracolati' there are from Iron - Wood and Palle? Or, perhaps Italy's Centro Nazionale della Ricerca conducted a study and found that all groin graters never ever got heart attacks?
Nonetheless, it’s one of those curious cultural caricatures which comes up now and again in conversation (polite or not so polite, take your pick), which always leaves you wondering.

Tuesday, February 17

Superstitious or Super stitches?


I’ve always claimed that ‘You know you’ve been in Italy far too long when you have no qualms about going to the dentist.’ Now, I’ve had foot operations and root canals and am none worse for the wear. In fact, I think many many physicians are quite excellent and many many are just as deficient no matter where you are -- even if my favorite program uncovers yet another pseudo dentist practicing each week.
Last week, a friend’s daughter was given a cast on her foot without having taken an x-ray. Another was told she could leave the premises after a motorino accident; she would have, if she could have walked. In both instances, both ended up flying back to the U.S. for emergency operations.
But, what I love are some of the remedies for various ailments which I have whole-heartedly accepted. Not one for popping pills, I’m always up for trying a homeopathic cure, usually brought in from a distant memory of a long lost Sicilian grandmother.
Right now, I am boiling Roman lettuce (verva) to use as a compact for an infected tooth. Another friend puts hers in the microwave (well, she is American). She was told no, that’s not right, you’re supposed to iron it. What I can’t figure out is, if boiling takes away the nutrients, how can it serve any medicinal purposes whatsoever?
Twice this week I was told about how drops of oil totally dissipated in a bowl of water filled by those cursed with the mal’occhio. And a friend was given a red diary with a red pen this week – not for Valentines Day – but to ward off evil mal’occhio spirits.
I don’t know about you, but, I’ll take all the help I can get. So just to cover my bases, I’m thinking of tossing red food coloring into the Roman lettuce pot…