The recent mention of "artichokes from Liguria" by Mario Batali sparked my memory to tell this (link) Gran story:
Joe and I spent the better part of 2001 planning a trip to Italy, very carefully studying each region, and finally honing in on Liguria. This small, northwestern region borders France and seemed to possess all of the qualities we desired. Upon making our decision, we immediately booked our Alitalia flight to Milan, rented a gorgeous villa and a little car. Squisito!
We excitedly shared our plans with Mom, who then produced letters and postcards Gran had written to us during her long Italian holiday, circa 1963. They had been tucked away for almost (at that time) forty years.
We read each precious, enthusiastic letter and card in chronological order. Last in the stack was sent from Rapallo in Liguria, just before she was to fly to Paris and then return home. I share part of that missile of love above; please left double-click to enlarge. When we checked our reservations, we found the villa we had booked to be two blocks from Gran's hotel. I love my Gran.
Signs like moments hung suspended
echo just beneath the heart
Speak in voices half remembered
and half forgotten play their part.
Signs that come as we lay sleeping
left behind for our keeping... (ND)
