1. don’t remember yourself.

  2. Vico does. My song for Maria? Music is home.

  3. Calzones and pizzas… i’ll take it from there. But not remembering myself, or that feels right as a first step even for the journey I’m on. The story I come through the door with. I’ll start with the scene where the information about my parents comes out. It doesn’t land for anybody. Doubt, doubt.

    ___I’m going to put a line here. Do I just cut after the feast because right now I’m going to gambling for children and the questions. Are we off? Familial concern the next day? Only because that feast (for me) I think is quite a blowout. Yes, it’s entertaining…I want to say “you’re going to be like, what? Why is she doing this to herself?” It might not be that. It was a raucous good time. Pay attention. It’s part of the problem—I guess.

  4. I was reconnecting with so much more than them? Does that go there? For the cry to the Madonna. The Eve of immaculate conception with the band—WHAT? Tradition is really about belonging, that’s the whole point. Trumpets. Just the joy, that’s really what I just wanted to be, joyous, happy, I didn’t want to come from this story. It made me “a little special, sort of,” or touching…which yes, I suppose it was a choice.

  5. Then the Feast of the Immaculate Conception through the fireworks in the streets at like 8 AM, Carmine and I—since he’s my right-hand cousin—make a run for it to get to Angela’s after all night? It’s also what I do by myself, technically, so that could be me from another point in time, even, or reflecting on it, depending. Maybe they can sing “My Way” there? Feast.

  6. Sorrento that night, Rosa files her nails. The band through the streets…the marathon track. It’s the music too. Drinks, snacks. Yes, prosciutto place. I’m looking around like—it’s a sport. The fact that I don’t sing anymore, Franco Franzese didn’t let up. Just like, who the hell are you? Also, I’m doing a song and dance, so okay. It was surprising. But then I’m looking at Carmine…….

  7. This is what I mean. I intercept him in Naples?

  8. We have a lunch—you have a band, man. This is my opinion. I’m speaking with deal-making finger the second I arrive.

    It’s finding that, a, b, c. I suppose I don’t have to so strict about it—but the oldest storyteller is strict. (lol). It’s more like, I just have to figure out those steps.

  9. Then probably the “rotten fruit comment” comes out. Another one of these…they look at each other…because I am calling “babies rotten fruit…” or myself…and Franco thinks I’m a comedian. Or, this routine is not…not the right direction. “They don’t understand.” But they don’t. Maybe children gambling here.

  10. And that night, I guess the next family can come in…which is part of the effect of the story in suddenly being in another family…and then it’s the Feast of Santa Lucia—what? SI THE FEAST…what happened to the Brazilians?

  11. The feasts themselves have their own tradition—Christmas in Naples is truly epic, so I feel like I need to integrate that, but it’s a lot of story. It’s mine, though. I wake up in the pitch black on the Feast of Santa Lucia. I was in the dark about my past, my story. That’s more the narrative line. I wasn’t expecting this family concern…but the plates? Of cookies? I was the target. Family wasn’t necessarily safe, next to a Christmas tree. And they are already…affected. The Pope’s fingers. Under the plate. Can’t say anything, who knows? I don’t want it to happen again.

    I might need to follow that flow even if there are gaps. I know that point, so maybe I’ll go there. But…they keep bathing me in music…since the Sorrento crew wash onto Flora’s shores. At this point we’re off on the music end.

    Yes, Ignazo. OH BA MA. “OH BAMA!”