Moving to Italy: New Years, Part 1

The week between Christmas and New Year’s Day was quiet. The children enjoyed their new toys and books and spent some time downstairs with their grandparents. My in-laws had bought Margaret Ann and Matthew tricycles for Christmas, and we opened all our rooms' adjoining doors so they could ride an L-shaped path on the tile floors from the kitchen through the living room, through their bedroom and into ours, then back again--giggling all the way. When we weren't cooking or cleaning, George and I greedily devoured the books that had come for us in the Christmas box from my sister. It felt like a holiday, so we ignored the call of the paint cans lined up in the garage. There would be plenty of time for those in the New Year. On some of the days I organized my photographs, and on some of the evenings we watched the 8-mm cartoons or the California movies. As the fog thickened around us, we nestled into the warm house, venturing out only for an occasional food run down the hill. It was quiet but it was not completely peaceful. During that week, memories of New Years past swirled around us in our house on the hill.

I was fifteen during our year back in England renewing our bond with all things British, and alleviating my mother’s homesickness for her sisters and brothers. That year I went out with Brian Casey for my first New Year’s date.  A former neighbor, he lived across the street from where we were staying and had asked me to go out with him on New Years Eve. Always shy, he had blushed to the roots of his red hair as he asked and I accepted. Growing up, he had been my brothers’ friend, and I was comfortable with him, and more importantly, so was my mother. 
On New Year's Eve Brian and I walked down to Stanmore village to his favorite pub where I drank a sherry, maybe two, and no one questioned my age. I looked older, and I felt much older than a mere fifteen. We listened to others then joined in the singing, with me stumbling over the words. When the pub closed, I looped my arm through his, and we walked back through the village then took a shortcut through the alley and into the familiar council estates where I had lived the first part of my life.

When we arrived at the house where my mother waited (and I was sure my younger sister watched through the window), we stopped and looked at each other. Nervous, I wondered what would happen next, when he said something I’ll never forget: “Give us a kiss, then.” Not exactly a line to sweep me off my feet, but he seemed as uncomfortable as me, so I leaned forward and our lips met. But since I had known him almost my whole life, it felt more like kissing one of my brothers.

Brian Casey and me in Stanmore--at a much earlier time!

When Paul was seven months old, we took him to Disneyland along with my mother, my sister and her boyfriend, and my brother Gordon visiting from Canada. It was a bit chilly, but that had kept the crowds away so the lines were short. Gordon, Margaret, her boyfriend, and George went together on the more exotic "E-ticket" rides, while my mother and I took the baby on the milder "A-ticket" buggy or train rides. But we all rode together on one E-ticket ride: “It’s a Small World.”  It hadn’t been open long, and my mother loved it.  However, she said Disneyland overall didn't feel the same to her. Walt Disney had died not long before our visit. We had seen him introduce a weekly television program so felt we had known him, and we were all saddened by his death. My mother felt his spirit was gone from the place he had envisioned and built. That was my mother's last visit to Disneyland. When she died just four days later, I understood what she had meant when I felt her spirit gone from our lives. Nothing felt quite the same without her.

George in foreground pushing the stroller. (r-l) My mother, my brother, my sister and her boyfriend.

The bar/restaurant in Gaminella at the bottom of the hill was having a New Year’s Eve party, and George and I wanted to go. We never went out in the evenings. There were no nearby movie theatres in Valle Cerrina, and even if there had been, we had no one to watch the children. The only available babysitters at Gabi were my in-laws, who went to bed early, and who rarely volunteered to baby-sit, even during the day. We wanted to kick-start our sagging expectations for a life in Italy, and thought a rousing start to the new year would do just that. My in-laws would be asleep, but George suggested leaving all the doors open between the children’s room upstairs and their room downstairs so they could hear any problems. Since the children were all in good health, and since they rarely awoke once they were asleep, I was comfortable with that idea, and my in-laws agreed. George and I looked forward to our first night out in over a year.