Two accomplishments!

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Y’all, during the past 12-13 months, I have worked inordinately hard on two endeavors that have come—mercifully, thrillingly, finally—to fruition: a needlepoint project that I wrongly assumed would be both simple and quick AND my application for Italian citizenship, a challenge that I knew would take much in the way of effort, time, knowledge, fluency, money, bureaucratic hoops, and paperwork.

Mere minutes ago, I completed this GD doorstop. Truly, if you were to total a price for it based on materials and lady-hours [mine], it would be unaffordable for most mortals. I refused to quit, I enjoyed it most of the time, I cussed a lot, it does not look like the pamphlet, and, regarding that latter point, I do not care. Scottish thistles are marvelous (though murderous) and the brick inside is one I found in West Virginia this past weekend. Layers upon layers of special in this here bar of gold cum doorstop.

I do not think I told y’all that last year at this time, Tom and the kids were granted Italian citizenship via his paternal grandfather. That man’s family hailed from a tiny town in Abruzzo called Fara San Martino which is, incidentally, where De Cecco pasta is headquartered.

I also have Italian blood in my veins: Mom’s father’s parents were Sicilian. However, his father naturalized here which broke the bloodline, and his mother’s birth certificate has been utterly impossible to find, so I was up the creek unless I could pass a language fluency test which would enable me to apply for spousal citizenship. The irony there is that Tom and the kids do not speak a lick of Italian and do not need to, but I would have to pass the terror-inducing CELI exam at the B1 level (it ranges from A1, A2, B1, B2, C) with a certain percentage. Said exam is offered only a few times per year, involves listening, reading, writing, and oral components over ~4 hours, and is then sent to the University of Perugia for final grading. This is not a fast process. You have to know 4+ verb tenses and a gargantuan assortment of random vocabulary like “to strike.” There is always a sciopero about something, and yes, one of the passages on my exam was indeed about a municipal strike. I took the exam in March and found out in May that I passed with a solid B! I was THRILLED.

Then began, with a six-month deadline before shit started expiring, the process of acquiring and having translated and formally apostilled: my birth certificate, marriage certificate from Fara San Martino (no, I was not married there but it had to be translated in Tom’s homeland), and background checks from every state in which I’ve lived (including the six months I was born and then lived in Georgia; who has heard of a felon baby?) plus a federal background check. People, that’s eight background checks. I also had to get a separate one with my married name versus my maiden name because Italians don’t change their names when they get married and I did, so… Then you have to make an account with an Italian website that CLOSES at 4p EST every day and on weekends. Who has ever heard of a website that literally turns off outside certain hours? God love the Italians. Then you have to wait to get an appointment at your Embassy to submit your paperwork which, naturally, they then send to Rome. More mail, many papers. Also, I will never be able to get an Italian passport with my married name on it which means that because all my plane tickets, for example, are issued in my married name, I will have to carry both my Italian and US passports to prove who I am. Priceless.

As determined as I was to finish that infernal doorstop, I was infinitely more determined to get my citizenship. Tom did everything a lawyer for many thousands of dollars does for most people who don’t have a Tom. It was a full time job. And lo, on August 17, three months ago, Tom and I walked into the Italian Embassy in DC and formally applied. The wonderful woman there, after recovering from seeing my ream of background checks, said everything was in order and “I believe you will be granted Italian within one year.”

Viva Italia

For kicks, when it is my time to return to the Embassy for either my passport or my oath, I have to get new background checks run, issued, translated, and apostilled. Mio Dio, madre di Dio, é pazzo ma meraviglioso.

Silly (and extremely excellent) tradition

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I believe it was during camp in the summer of 2024, but it could have been 2023, that Oliver was given a cheap watch from Walmart to do something during the last big event, the 2-day King’s Game, before pickup. This watch made it back home with Ol and has been beeping every hour on the hour ever since. It’s not terribly annoying or aggressive- just one perky beep every hour that sometimes we hear and sometimes we manage to completely block out for days on end.

We have spent more time than you can imagine discussing this watch and its beep. We have great respect for the battery and some degree of confusion as to why we have not figured out how to disable the sound.

Several months ago, Oliver and I began hiding the watch in each other’s rooms and possessions. I once found it hanging from a slat underneath my bed, and most recently was stumped for hours until I found it behind a lucite bookend on a shelf. Oliver was delighted with that hide because as Tom and I looked everywhere, he stood in our doorway at first denying he’d hidden it and then demeaning our finding ability by saying repeatedly, with great pride and laughter, “I can see it right now.”

When he left for a scuba and sailing adventure in July, I had hidden the watch in his sock bag. It gave me GREAT pleasure to think of what he’d do when he found it. Yesterday he left for a cross country camp, and even though we’d discussed a watch truce, I furtively tucked that bad boy into his spikes bag with glee.

This morning, I found this:

It defies my power of description to accurately tell you how successful and chuffed I feel about this recent hide. I know he’s gonna get me back once he returns home, and honestly I cannot wait.

These sorts of traditions are so special because they arise organically, require nothing but thought and good humor, and provide much joy to all involved. At this point I hope the watch never stops beeping.