I'm beginning to see this blog as a wonderfully therapeutic tool to cleanse myself through journalism. I feel ready to delve into my younger days. Maybe I should start with my parents. My Father was born in Rhode Island, but returned to Italy when he was around 2 years old. I don't think his Mother wanted to live here. He grew up in San Giorgio near the Adriatic city of Ancona in the region of Marche (pronounce markay).
They were very poor and it was my father, Rino, his brother, Luigi and two parents. He never told too many stories about growing up in Italy, just always laying into us that they had nothing and that we should realize how lucky we were and how good we have it. What kid ever realizes what they have or how good or bad it is? All kids want more, or I really should say, all kids test to see how far they can go and how much they can get. This is their way of testing their boundaries, which actually makes them feel safe to find reasonable ones in place.
My mother, Leda, was born in Compe di Collito near the city of Lucca in the region of Toscana Italy. My mother told me stories of growing up in Italy all the time and placed in me a yearning to see these places she spoke of. I have been there twice and can honestly say I feel a deep connection to the people and places. I'd be happy to spend my time in her little town and around Lucca and never see any of the "touristy" places. As I told my friends, it doesn't matter if you go to the museums etc... Even the place you have lunch at is filled with art and history.
My mother lived with her Mother, paternal Grandmother, older brother, Vincienzo and younger sister, Anna. Their father left for America when my mother was around 3 years old. From what she has said, it sounds like he was a big drinker and probably wanted to escape his responsibilities. He never came back to visit, although other men who went to America to make their fortunes did return periodically and he never sent money, either.
When she came to America in 1937, because her brother sent them the money for the trip, she was 17. She reunited with her father in Chicago after a 14 year absence. Having last seen him when she was three, she really had no recollection of him and had to get to know him all over again.
My mother had to do the hard work of farming in the foot hills of the Alps by the time she was five years old, climbing the mountain daily for water for their cow, chickens and rabbits that they raised. They sold the calf the cow had every year and sold the milk and eggs from the chickens. They could rarely keep any to consume for themselves. She had one dress to wear everyday and one pair of shoes that she saved to wear to church on Sunday, but took them off for the walk home. Otherwise, she went barefoot every where, even in the winter climbing the mountain.
I loved her stories about her cow the best. She loved her cow, Rosa, and felt a deep connection to her. My mother also instilled in me a love of animals. When we would walk to the store, or anywhere, she would stop to pet every stray cat or every dog behind a fence or being walked past us. There was never any fear of being bitten or scratched and I never remember an animal being mean to her. They came to her like she was made of pure sugar. She found pure joy in stroking their fur and I saw they found pure joy in her too.
I'm sure she still does this today and my children confirm her doing this with them. They are all animal lovers, too. In fact, one of my children became a Veterinarian and I'm sure her Nonna had a big impact on her. She was an impressionable child who observed everything very closely.
My parents met here, and I have never heard the story of how they met or when they decided to marry, so I have none of that. I know they were married a few days before my father would be called in to the service. I mentioned he joined the American Army during WWII. They were married for seven years and in all that time they never could get pregnant.
My mother had very irregular periods, but her doctor was never concerned about that. One doctor visit, her regular doctor was on vacation and he had another doctor filling in for him. She mentioned her problem to this doctor who put her on iodine tablets and within the next month or two my older sister, Dorothy was conceived.
My parents were 31 and 30 when my sister was born early in 1951. Old for that time. My mother had two more pregnancies that ended in miscarriage, the last one was at nearly 6 months. In mid 1957, 6 1/2 years after my sister, I was born to my 37 and 38 year old parents. Ancient for those times, for sure. My sister was celebrated, for proving they could have a child, but I think I was a disappointment at least to my father, because I was their last chance to have a boy, and I wasn't.
So this is some of my parents backgrounds, which definitely feeds into my background. The Male/Female condition is very important in an Italian/American Family. In fact, I would say it is crucial to most European families of that generation. Girls are regarded for keeping house and bearing children, but all the real hope is focused on the boys, who will carry on the family name and in older times would inherit all properties and titles.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
How did I get here? Continued...
So the Piano teacher told my parents I needed a violin teacher and that he had taken me as far as he could. In searching for a new teacher, I'm sure money was a factor, my folks found a little old lady on Montrose Avenue, near California Avenue in Chicago, who taught violin from a little store front. She actually taught, violin, piano, mandolin, guitar and accordion! She lived in a small apartment in the back of the store front.
Her name was Columbia Havens, which now looking back on it sounds like a made up name. She grew up in Kansas and would tell me stories of steam engine trains and riding horses. I loved her like a grandmother and she seemed to be fond of me too. I learned a lot from her and I'm sure she helped instill in me the idea that I could make a living someday, if I wanted to, with my violin. She took me through most of my High School years. Unfortuantely, one night there was a fire in her apartment, probably from an electric heater she used and Columbia suffered smoke inhalation. She lingered in Swedish Covenant Hospital for almost a month before she died. It was very devastating for me to lose her.
During my sophomore year of High School I joined a Folk Group that was starting at my church. I had been singing in the High School Chorus and this seemed like a good opportunity. I was able to use my violin at church too. We sang together for many years, through my High School and College years and for many years after I was married and raising children. We would bring our kids with us to rehearsals and such. I'm sure this also had a good impact on my kids, many of whom have made music a part of their lives too.
Through the Folk Group, I began performing with one of the members at the local Ground Round restaurants. We performed together through my College years and then again when we were both married we formed a group with two other people, a Son and Mother, in fact, and performed at a local Catholic High School at one of their fundraisers.
When we moved out of Chicago to Libertyville, I joined a community chorus out in Lake Zurich. I sang with that group for 13 years. It was directed by a woman who taught music at the school I was working at and I sang with her and a few other members of the chorus in a women's trio and a mixed jazz group. These were some of the best years and experiences of my musical life. Between the Folk Group and this Community Chorus, I was shaped into the singer I am today.
This is the basic story of who I am as a musician and some of what my family life was like growing up, but like anything else this is only one aspect.
Her name was Columbia Havens, which now looking back on it sounds like a made up name. She grew up in Kansas and would tell me stories of steam engine trains and riding horses. I loved her like a grandmother and she seemed to be fond of me too. I learned a lot from her and I'm sure she helped instill in me the idea that I could make a living someday, if I wanted to, with my violin. She took me through most of my High School years. Unfortuantely, one night there was a fire in her apartment, probably from an electric heater she used and Columbia suffered smoke inhalation. She lingered in Swedish Covenant Hospital for almost a month before she died. It was very devastating for me to lose her.
During my sophomore year of High School I joined a Folk Group that was starting at my church. I had been singing in the High School Chorus and this seemed like a good opportunity. I was able to use my violin at church too. We sang together for many years, through my High School and College years and for many years after I was married and raising children. We would bring our kids with us to rehearsals and such. I'm sure this also had a good impact on my kids, many of whom have made music a part of their lives too.
Through the Folk Group, I began performing with one of the members at the local Ground Round restaurants. We performed together through my College years and then again when we were both married we formed a group with two other people, a Son and Mother, in fact, and performed at a local Catholic High School at one of their fundraisers.
When we moved out of Chicago to Libertyville, I joined a community chorus out in Lake Zurich. I sang with that group for 13 years. It was directed by a woman who taught music at the school I was working at and I sang with her and a few other members of the chorus in a women's trio and a mixed jazz group. These were some of the best years and experiences of my musical life. Between the Folk Group and this Community Chorus, I was shaped into the singer I am today.
This is the basic story of who I am as a musician and some of what my family life was like growing up, but like anything else this is only one aspect.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
How did I get here?
I am a, soon to be, 54 year old mother of 4 grown children. No, that can't be right, can it? Sigh. It always surprises me when I think in these terms, but that is how I am recognized. I am the lady who volunteers at the local elementary school library, I am Joe, Marilyn, Jackie's, Mike's...Mom. I'm that girl who plays violin. I'm the one who sings in that jazz quartet or community choir. I am Jim's wife.
I am all of these and more. But who do I think I am? Now that's a tough question. My earliest memory of thinking of myself, was as a musician. I always imagined I'd grow up to be a famous singer. I sang along with everything I heard on the radio. I harmonized everything, all the time.
One year my good friends and I attended a day camp at Jefferson Park in Chicago. The counselors there taught us some spirituals with harmonies. My friend, Linda and I wowed the kids on the play ground with our rendition that year at school. They would request us in class all the time, that year. It was probably my first memory of realizing how much I loved performing.
I grew up in a Roman Catholic, Italian American household. Both of my parents grew up in Italy, although my father was born in Rhode Island. He came to America to escape Mussolini's tyranny and joined the American Army. He lied and told them he had worked in a hospital in Italy and served as a medic in a hospital in London during the war.
My mother's father abandoned her family in the Tuscany region of Italy when my mother was about 3 years old. She had an older brother and younger sister. It was up to her, her brother and her mother to run their farm so that they wouldn't starve. Her father rarely sent them money and they worked hard to scratch a living. Her brother took extra jobs to raise enough money to get himself to America and then worked even harder once he got here to send enough money to bring his sisters and his mother here. My mother was 17 when she arrived in New York and hadn't seen her father since she was 3.
I loved listening to my mother's stories of her hard, hard life in Italy, because she always had a way of making it sound like an adventure and she always ended each story with, "but we were happy.". I am sure I will have more blogs about my mother's stories as they are a part of who I am too.
My parents' were pretty old when my sister was born, around 31 and 32, in 1951, but by the time I came on the scene, in 1957, they were nearly ancient, at that time, for having their second child. I remember my father constantly telling me to shut up, in Italian and always asking me to be more like my sister. I think he meant he wanted me to act 6 years older than I was. If you have siblings, I'm sure that you are nothing like any of them and this was certainly true of my sister and me. Since Dorothy was older than me, I idolized her anyway, so it was a double whammy to have my father constantly reminding me that I fell quite short of the mark all the time.
When I was around 9 years old I begged my parents to play an instrument. I wanted to play piano, but my father wouldn't spring for a piano. I was willing to settle for the violin, which my father could rent for me from the music school where I was going to go for lessons. I think I wanted to play an instrument, because the boy next door played the piano and the violin. Yeah, I had a crush on him until high school.
The Berning School of Music was located on the Northeast corner of Milwaukee and Lawrence Avenues on the second floor of the building on that corner. I remember, vividly, walking excitedly with my mother up Lawrence Avenue on the way to my first lesson, where I would receive my rental violin. As we approached and came around the corner up to Milwaukee, it became evident that something terrible had happened. The Berning School of Music had had a fire the night before and my violin was burned in the fire. I would not be getting a violin that day, or a lesson.
To say I was crushed is putting it mildly. I was beside myself with worry that my father would use this as an excuse to nix the whole idea of my playing violin. My father would do anything to save a buck and I'm sure he felt that this would be a huge waste of money and that I would give up the violin not too long after I began. What he didn't know is that I had a burning desire for music. It really is a defining point for me and is part of the essence of who I am.
I fought tooth and nail and I'm sure I was unrelenting. The boy next door took lessons from an old nun at St. Constance, where he went to school. I went to St. Robert Bellarmine school. It was odd that our neighborhood had two Catholic churches. So Sr. Amadea, of St Constance Catholic Elementary School, agreed to take me on for lessons and rent us an instrument. I took lessons from her for about three years and learned a lot from her. She became ill and had to leave the school.
My father, trying to save a dime again, found a piano teacher at a local music school who agreed to give me lessons. I believe I was in my last year of grammar school at that time and took lessons for roughly a year from him. The best thing he taught me was the cycle of fifths, which gives you the basis for key signatures. It was probably the only thing I ever learned from a violin teacher about music theory.
So that is a little of my early history. Ok, maybe it's a lot! Still it answers some of the question of who I am.
I am all of these and more. But who do I think I am? Now that's a tough question. My earliest memory of thinking of myself, was as a musician. I always imagined I'd grow up to be a famous singer. I sang along with everything I heard on the radio. I harmonized everything, all the time.
One year my good friends and I attended a day camp at Jefferson Park in Chicago. The counselors there taught us some spirituals with harmonies. My friend, Linda and I wowed the kids on the play ground with our rendition that year at school. They would request us in class all the time, that year. It was probably my first memory of realizing how much I loved performing.
I grew up in a Roman Catholic, Italian American household. Both of my parents grew up in Italy, although my father was born in Rhode Island. He came to America to escape Mussolini's tyranny and joined the American Army. He lied and told them he had worked in a hospital in Italy and served as a medic in a hospital in London during the war.
My mother's father abandoned her family in the Tuscany region of Italy when my mother was about 3 years old. She had an older brother and younger sister. It was up to her, her brother and her mother to run their farm so that they wouldn't starve. Her father rarely sent them money and they worked hard to scratch a living. Her brother took extra jobs to raise enough money to get himself to America and then worked even harder once he got here to send enough money to bring his sisters and his mother here. My mother was 17 when she arrived in New York and hadn't seen her father since she was 3.
I loved listening to my mother's stories of her hard, hard life in Italy, because she always had a way of making it sound like an adventure and she always ended each story with, "but we were happy.". I am sure I will have more blogs about my mother's stories as they are a part of who I am too.
My parents' were pretty old when my sister was born, around 31 and 32, in 1951, but by the time I came on the scene, in 1957, they were nearly ancient, at that time, for having their second child. I remember my father constantly telling me to shut up, in Italian and always asking me to be more like my sister. I think he meant he wanted me to act 6 years older than I was. If you have siblings, I'm sure that you are nothing like any of them and this was certainly true of my sister and me. Since Dorothy was older than me, I idolized her anyway, so it was a double whammy to have my father constantly reminding me that I fell quite short of the mark all the time.
When I was around 9 years old I begged my parents to play an instrument. I wanted to play piano, but my father wouldn't spring for a piano. I was willing to settle for the violin, which my father could rent for me from the music school where I was going to go for lessons. I think I wanted to play an instrument, because the boy next door played the piano and the violin. Yeah, I had a crush on him until high school.
The Berning School of Music was located on the Northeast corner of Milwaukee and Lawrence Avenues on the second floor of the building on that corner. I remember, vividly, walking excitedly with my mother up Lawrence Avenue on the way to my first lesson, where I would receive my rental violin. As we approached and came around the corner up to Milwaukee, it became evident that something terrible had happened. The Berning School of Music had had a fire the night before and my violin was burned in the fire. I would not be getting a violin that day, or a lesson.
To say I was crushed is putting it mildly. I was beside myself with worry that my father would use this as an excuse to nix the whole idea of my playing violin. My father would do anything to save a buck and I'm sure he felt that this would be a huge waste of money and that I would give up the violin not too long after I began. What he didn't know is that I had a burning desire for music. It really is a defining point for me and is part of the essence of who I am.
I fought tooth and nail and I'm sure I was unrelenting. The boy next door took lessons from an old nun at St. Constance, where he went to school. I went to St. Robert Bellarmine school. It was odd that our neighborhood had two Catholic churches. So Sr. Amadea, of St Constance Catholic Elementary School, agreed to take me on for lessons and rent us an instrument. I took lessons from her for about three years and learned a lot from her. She became ill and had to leave the school.
My father, trying to save a dime again, found a piano teacher at a local music school who agreed to give me lessons. I believe I was in my last year of grammar school at that time and took lessons for roughly a year from him. The best thing he taught me was the cycle of fifths, which gives you the basis for key signatures. It was probably the only thing I ever learned from a violin teacher about music theory.
So that is a little of my early history. Ok, maybe it's a lot! Still it answers some of the question of who I am.
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