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Mafia

So let's talk about the Mafia!

 

That’s right, people: we are going straight into the good stuff. I am ¾ Sicilian and ¼ Italian, so for all intents and purposes, I just say Italian. This little gem of a story is about my great grandfather’s cousin Salvatore Guiliano.  (And by the way, my great grandfather’s name was also Salvatore Guiliano, of course.) Great cousin Salvatore Guiliano was known as the Modern Day Robin Hood. He was born November 16, 1922 and died July 5, 1950. Don’t let the pen name fool you. While he did steal from the rich give to the poor, he also shot and killed a lot of police officers and bystanders.

 

From what I’ve read, Sal was both charming and theatrical. The most famous of his stunts was the robbery of the Duchess of Pratameno. Unnoticed, he sneaked into her salon, kissed her hand out of respect, demanded all of her jewelry, took her diamond ring off her hand and wore it the rest of his life. He also borrowed a book from her library, though this he returned with a respectful note about a week later.

 

The man sounds hilarious and completely befitting of my family flair. A random thought: my grandfather wore a huge diamond all his life; my brother wears it now. Hmm.    

 

Supposedly Sal was shot and killed, but there are rumors he is hiding. They actually opened his tomb to test the DNA and claimed it was someone else's body. You know I have to dive into this and find out the truth! 

My mother has been traveling with her boyfriend Peter for the past two weeks, and before that she was in Los Angeles visiting my sister. So much has happened while she was gone.  I'm not sure if you’re familiar with how an Italian family works. I talk to my mother every day and talk to my siblings quite often. We would rather hang out together than with friends. We love hard and talk loud. When you visit our home it’s a big deal. We make you feel welcome and always offer you something to eat and drink. ALWAYS! If we come to your house and you don’t offer us at least a drink, we will think you were raised by wolves. So while my mother was jet-setting she decided to tell my brother that she and her boyfriend were moving in together and looking for a winter home in warmer climate. I’m laughing as I type because those words would cause a meltdown in any Italian boy’s world. She had been discussing the moving situation with me for a while, so I wasn’t surprised.  

 

I met my brother for dinner one night and knew I had to get the scoop from him about our mother’s disclosure. She had told me he didn’t take it very well. My mother called him after work one day and randomly told him she was moving to Florida for the winters. Picture this: My 36-year-old brother is driving home after a bad day at work, when his mother calls him on his cell. While she is speaking his car starts to make a weird sound, which he knows is engine trouble, then his Mommy says she’s moving. Freaking classic! I love that story.

 

My mother raised us sacrificing every day to make her kids happy, and now is her time. I support her, understanding she needs to live the rest of her life with adventure. But seriously, Ma, it’s the strangest thing to contemplate not living in the same town with you.  

 

Just yesterday I felt like I was living an Italian cliché. I was at my mom’s house, helping her clean, as she is having surgery this week. While we cleaned I was offered popcorn. When we finished she asked me if I was hungry for lunch. I was and hadn't had anything to eat since I got up early to teach yoga. We ate sandwiches and fruit. Afterward I sat on the counter catching up while she made cookies. Not going to lie—I had some cookie dough. I was trying to make a four o'clock yoga class and needed time to take my dog home. Ma was also making chicken noodle soup and offered for me to take some home for dinner. I said no thank you because I really needed to get going, so she asked me if I wanted a chocolate Italian cookie from the freezer. These are my favorite, thus I wasn’t going to say no. Literally, my mother is walking me out when the buzzer goes off for the cookies in the oven. She gets excited and asks if I want to take some cookies home. I'm like, "Ma, I have a cookie in my hand!" That’s my mother. And that’s me.  

 

Craig left for a week-long yoga training in the mountains of New York, which means bad service and no communication. He had been preparing me just in case we couldn’t talk. I hated the thought of it and not just because of how I’d miss him.  

 

When I was with my ex, he used to go out of town a lot in the beginning. He would go to Miami for "work." It always brought anxiety to me because while he was in Miami, his cell never had good service, and communication was always strained. The ex was very charming and convinced me several times not to break up with him—so charming that he nearly convinced me to move away from my beloved Highlands. Dodged a bullet there, pun intended.  I knew he was doing something fishy down there. I mean it's in my blood—my people created the Mob. My great grandfather's cousin was one of the first, to be exact.  

 

So I experienced a lot of emotion around Craig leaving for his training. The week prior he was in town for the 4th of July. We had a very frank conversation about our future. We both live in different cities, and I can see myself starting a life with him. He wants to stay in DC, and I want to stay here.  I swore after my last relationship that the man of my dreams would do what I wanted to do. The conversation ended with me thinking how the hell is this going to work? I did a lot of thinking and realized that we can't make a decision that way. We have to sit down as a couple and see what is best for both of us. I felt like a real grown up with that conclusion.  (Then maybe he will see that he could be perfectly happy in Louisville.) Nonetheless that conversation put some strain on our relationship, and then he left for his trip. I felt awful that we weren't in our normal totally in-love state.

 

Sometimes I feel like Craig can read my mind. So before he left I told him to pick a symbol to send to me telepathically (don’t laugh) and that I would also pick one. That way when we see it we know that the other is thinking of us and sending love. He chose a palm tree, and I choose a ladybug. While I was dusting my mother’s bedroom yesterday she showed me a souvenir she got while on her trip. It was a new silver charm for her charm bracelet. And I bet I don’t have to spell out that it was a palm tree.

 

That night as I was watching “Orange is the New Black” [ladybug alert!] the phone rang from an unknown New York number. When I answered it, all my worries subsided. His voice had never sounded so sweet. It had been only a little more than 24 hours. Yep, know, I got it bad. 

 

Palm trees and ladybugs aside, I am going to Lilydale, the largest clairvoyant community in America, to train with my Medium, John White. He is globally famous, rarely teaches workshops in the States, and is the one who told me that I am a medium. I'm attending all five courses he is offering, one of which is Remote Viewing. That means I will be trained to find missing children or adults. So look out, Salvatore Guiliano. Come September, I’m tapping in. 

 


 

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