(Chapter 5, "Don Giro".) "At first light of the day, Don Girolamo approaches the end of the square, takes a deep breath, lifts his cassock, and pisses, paying careful attention not to hit the curlicues of the railing ... Then he pats his belly a few times and, in an unhurried and sonorous sequence, first burps and then breaks wind. ... Reassured that what he sees of his world this day isn't much different forem the day before, Don Girolamo goes back to his church and tolls the Matins. Summer or winter, rain or shine, Don Girolamo did not miss this ritual once. it was his unabashed way of showing gratitude to his Maker for giving him a functioning, serviceable body. It was like an engineer's checking of the gauges, a check that he repeated, in reverse order, every single night before he turned in. That, more or less, was all the attention he paid to the well being of his body. The rest of his time he dedicated to care of the souls of his flock, a care that he gave in very personal, creative ways. HJe had done this for so long that nobody in frontale could remember a time without Don Girolamo. ... His tall, lean frame was still erect under the weight of his cassock, of his cartridge belt, and of his ancient, ever-present shotgun. His biretta rested, cocked, on an unkempt mane of white haie; his eyes were still dark and piercing, and together with a strong aquiline nose and sucked-in cheeks, gave him an irrefutable air of messianic power. ... My contacts with Don Girolamo began very early in my life and religious career. He baptized me ... [My parents] had chosen for me, because of its aristocratic, romantic lilt ... the name Gianfranco. ... No such name appeared on the long list of Holy Saints. not yet, anyway, and the idea that I could ever become one was obviously precluded. A compromise was reached by splitting the name into its two component saints. This double name was joined by hyphenation with Saverio. Don Girolamo's anti-Fascism was expressed by his admiration for Francesco Saverio Nitti, the last Italian liberal premier before Mussolini. ...
>From then on, even if our paths met every year for only a few short, summer weeks ... Don Girolamo had a great influence on my way of looking at life, and not necessarily from a religious point of view. I always tried to emulate his directness of thought and speech, so devoid of hypocrisy ... and his behavior, so totally ungoverned by the judgement of others ... he embodied the saying ... "to call bread, bread; and wine, wine." For the latter he had a particular predeliction, which he shared with his old friend, my noono Nicola. The church of San Paolo e Maria came with a little orchard and a small vineyard ... the little vineyard produced two first-quality wines in quantity disproportionate to its size. ... The white was crisp and clear, a golden-green Verdicchio; and the red the robust, round and nutritious Rosso Piceno. ... Even in their advanced years, Don Giro and my grandfather Niccola had long and frequent wine strategy sessions before, during and after harvest. ... The sessions were held at Nonno's place at Le Madonnine, in the kitchen just above the cellar with its six huge casks. After Vespers, Don Grio would trek down the five kilometers from Frontale, coming by the open fields, hoping to encounter some game to shoot at. ... The strategy sessions consisted of tasting a glass of the old wine, commparing it with a glass of the new, rechecking with another to determine if the aging was proceeding as desired, and then again with a glass for judging the color by the light of the candle, and yet another glass to bounce its taste against the bikes of Domenico's fresh-baked bread and Nonno's salami and Don Giro's cheese ... It was the tradition that, upon taking leave of Don Giro, Nonno would ask him to bless us kids. He always complied by waving an approximate cross gesture in front of our faces ... and then by giving each of us, with a touch of Latin rumbling deep in his throat, a gentle tap on the head, a fatherly, loving tap. A blessing. On the night of the water test [the children tested the priest's greasy cassock for waterproofness by pouring a canteen of water into a pocket], the benediction from those long, hard, bony fingers hurt like hell. and the next day was Confession. -- Patrick Moore Albuquerque, NM For professional resumes, contact Patrick Moore, ACRW at resumespecialt...@gmail.com (505) 227-0523 -- You received this message because you are subscribed to the Google Groups "RBW Owners Bunch" group. To post to this group, send email to rbw-owners-bu...@googlegroups.com. To unsubscribe from this group, send email to rbw-owners-bunch+unsubscr...@googlegroups.com. For more options, visit this group at http://groups.google.com/group/rbw-owners-bunch?hl=en.
