Incontinent on the Continent
Jane Christmas
INCONTINENT ON THE CONTINENT
My Mother, Her Walker, and Our Grand Tour of Italy
Copyright © 2009 by Jane Christmas
09 10 11 12 13 5 4 3 2 1
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Greystone Books
A division of D&M Publishers Inc.
2323 Quebec Street, Suite 201
Vancouver bc Canada V5T 4s7
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Christmas, Jane
Incontinent on the continent : my mother, her walker,
and our grand tour of Italy / Jane Christmas.
ISBN 978-1-55365-400 -1
1. Christmas, Jane—Travel—Italy. 2. Italy—Description and travel.
3. Mothers and daughters. i. Title.
DG430.2.c57 2009 914.504’93 c2009 - 903507-3
Editing by Nancy Flight
Copyediting by Eve Rickert
Cover design by Peter Cocking
Text design by Naomi MacDougall
Cover photograph by R. Ian Lloyd/Masterfile
Map by Stuart Daniel Printed and bound in Canada by Friesens Printed on acid-free paper that is forest friendly (100% post-consumer
recycled paper) and has been processed chlorine free
Distributed in the U.S. by Publishers Group West
We gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the British Columbia Arts Council, the Province of British Columbia through the Book Publishing Tax Credit, and the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (bpidp) for our publishing activities.
For my mother, Valeria, of course
Contents
1 · Extending the Olive Branch
3 · Alberobello, Martina Franca, Locorotondo
5 · San Mango d’Aquino, Reggio di Calabria, Taormina
6 · Sicily: Racalmuto, Agrigento
7 · Messina, Catanzaro Marina
8 · Alberobello, Matera
9 · Castel del Monte, Potenza
10 · Amalfi Coast, Sorrento, Capri
11 · Pompeii, Mount Vesuvius
12 · Viterbo
13 · Foligno, Montefalco, Santa Maria degli Angeli
14 · Civita Castellana, Siena, San Gimignano
15 · Pisa, Florence
16 · Rome
17 · Venice
18 · Making the Effort
Acknowledgments
NOW, WHAT are you going to do about that hair?”
This was my mother’s immediate reaction when I broached the idea of our going to Italy. Just her and me. For six weeks.
“Nothing,” I replied. I picked up a magazine from the coffee table and began to leaf through it, pretending not to be bothered by her comment. “I’m not doing anything about my hair.”
Even with my eyes averted I knew Mom’s jaw was tightening and her head was shaking with disapproval. She is convinced that if she could just fix my hair she could fix my life. As if it were that easy.
Mom is five feet two inches short with a soft, plump body and a round face that exudes a charming, effervescent sweetness. Beneath that sugary exterior, however, is a tough cookie. Imagine, if you will, a cross between Queen Victoria and Hyacinth Bucket (“It’s pronounced ‘bouquet,’ dear,” the fussy, social-climbing character on the Britcom Keeping Up Appearances constantly reminds people).
She has a thoroughly determined personality, my mom. Her opinions and beliefs are so entrenched that a tidal wave of evidence to the contrary cannot dissuade her. Her faith in God is as unwavering as her certainty that she will win the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes. She pooh-poohs the notion that man ever set foot on the moon: according to my mother, the lunar landing was staged in a movie studio.
Mom’s hair is blond—ash blond, according to the product description—and she has maintained the same hairstyle for as long as I can remember: short, frothy, and layered. She likes it shorter at the back of her neck because she complains that that area gets hot. The front is swept off her face to reveal a smooth forehead; the sides are slightly curled.
To my mom, a tidy hairstyle signifies order, control, maturity (the very qualities, coincidentally, she feels I lack), and she trots out her theory like religious dogma at every opportunity.
Whether watching tv, stopped at a traffic light, sitting in a church pew, reading the newspaper, or getting groceries, my mother monitors the world’s hairstyles. No one escapes her appraisal: the Queen (“A bit too severe”), Adolph Hitler (“I hope he shot his barber”), the Woman in the Street (“That style does nothing for her”), Robert Redford (“Perfect”). Wander into my mother’s range of vision and you’ll get an immediate, no-charge assessment.
Men I have dated and introduced to my mother have been accepted or rejected—mostly rejected—on the basis of their hair: “I didn’t know whether to let him in or sweep him off the doorstep. That hair!” Or, “You tell him that he’s not sitting at my