Italy
The flight to Milan was not as bad as expected. I thought I would be crying the whole way or whining that I didn’t want to be going to Italy. Jane was good at keeping me distracted and made sure I did everything I was supposed to do to ensure a good flight. I had only flown a few times and wasn’t a fan. Getting through the airport was a team effort, I read the Italian then Jane directed us. Renting a car in a foreign country was easier than I expected. Jane was elected to do all the driving by default. Being an inexperience driver had its advantages.
The scenery kept changing and I took picture after picture through the bug splattered windshield. Seeing the difference in homes, manufacturing complexes and even the trees changed. We saw some of the most beautiful cars I have ever seen. I wanted to know why we didn’t rent one of them. Jane laughed at me saying if we could afford to rent them would we be able to pay for the tickets for speeding we would get? I was happy just taking a picture of them. The excitement built as we traveled further south.
When the Adriatic came into view it was hard not to tell Jane to pull off the road so I could take a picture. Jane offered several times to pull off so I could take a nice picture. I declined the offer though secretly I wished she would stop every ten minutes. The colors of the sea against the sky made it challenging to see where the water ended and the sky began with all the different colors of blue melding together. The view was intoxicating. We decided that tomorrow we were definitely going to get our feet wet in the sea. We talked nonstop for the five and half hours of driving.
We stopped once at an Autogrill for lunch and some coffee. The variety of items we could buy made it hard to say no to anything. The look we got from the cashier was very telling. We should have stopped when our arms were full. We kept dropping off items at the checkout stand and telling the clerk that we were not ready yet. We bought so much I didn’t know when we would eat or drink it all.
Both of us were excited when we started climbing up the large hill where Macerata sat. That was our destination. Neither of us had ever been to Italy. What made it more intriguing was that we were staying in a medieval walled city. It was a little more exciting than I thought it would be. You could see the well-crafted walls and the city that had sprawled out from them. We were zig zagging our way up the hill and when my ears popped, I decided to tell my parents that I was living on a mountain. I could see real mountains that were alluring, large and looming in the distance. We decided that we would have to drive up those mountains another day.
I started thinking that everything we said we would leave for another day was piling up. So many walled cities, castles, churches, we even saw we could easily go to another country on the way to Macerata. Now we added mountains. How were we going to get all these places visited before we leave in two weeks?

Macerata day one
I couldn’t keep my mouth closed anymore. “Okay, we have driven around the outside of the walls three times. This is the only entrance that we have seen someone go into the town. I say take it.” I had sat quietly as Jane drove up the little mountain to the beautiful town of Macerata and while she traversed the town. The walls that surround the historic center of town were stunning and it looked like it was new construction though it was built in the fifteenth and sixteenth century. Jane was great at research and told me so many things that I didn’t absorb. My excuse was, well, because I didn’t want to. My mind was elsewhere and I knew she was trying to distract me. The tidbit of information that stuck was about the walls. It was impressive that the town’s people kept maintaining the walls and finally settled on a permanent location for an opera house.
“Let me go around one more time. This angle and the hill make me a little nervous. Even the hills where you are from don’t have turns like this.”
“You fly fighter planes and this makes you nervous?” She was right about where I was from though a little farther south, the mountains did get a little higher. There they had a few of these kinds of hairpin turns.
“I don’t see you driving.” I instantly backed off. She was getting testy.
“Sorry. Maybe we can find someone willing to drive us into the town.” I really didn’t think it would be a big deal driving in a foreign country. I was so wrong when it came to hill towns. I felt a little relieved that we weren’t driving in the United Kingdom where they drive on the other side of the road. I was glad I had the excuse that I don’t drive a manual.
“No, I am going to figure this out.” Jane was leaning forward with her facial features all pinched. Jane was gorgeous though at that moment I thought I might be the prettier one.
Again, we came to one of three openings, Jane turned and drove up the hill without stalling.
I clapped, “Yea! You did it.”
“Now I have to find the apartment. The GPS seems happier that we took that turn.” I was a little tired of the woman saying, recalculating.
Jane was not pleased with me when I said wee as we went down the hill, she back slapped my arm. Dean and I didn’t grow up shoving, back slapping or fighting. We never felt the need to do that. I have learned that was not normal brother sister behavior. Dean is my best friend. I texted him almost daily and we talked if we had more than a one- or two-line text. Jane, Adam, Pete and Bruce fought, wrestled and teased each other. That said they were all the best of friends and very protective of each other.
I saw a faint number, “Oh, I think that was it. Can you back up?” The numbers were sparse on this road and that didn’t help matters when you were trying to find a place.
“NO!” We definitely needed some wine when we parked this car. “There is a car behind us. I will just turn around.”
It was my turn to yell, “Where?”
“I am sure there will be a place.”
I felt like the walls were closing in on us. Both of us were leaning into the middle of the car thinking that would help like when you go around sharp corners. Jane stopped the car, “Pull in the side mirrors.” Man can she bark orders. There was a reason why she was a Major in the Army.
Well, there was no place for Jane to turn around and we were pushed out of the walls. Another turn around the outside of the walls. “Oh, I missed this road.” Jane back smacked me again. “Hey, I did. There is space here to drive. I am glad you are driving because otherwise we would have been playing bumper cars with the walls if I drove.” Well, that got a chuckle out of Jane.
The second time she drove up the hill like a champ. I reached out both of my hands and gripped her arms. I laid my head on her shoulder. “Dart, get off, I need to shift.”
“But you are my hero.”
“Stop it. I don’t know why Adam.” She stopped abruptly. She promised me she would not bring up Adam until we were drinking a glass of wine in our apartment. We were really fools thinking I and probably Jane hadn’t been thinking of anything else but him since we got on the plane to come to Italy. “Sorry.” Well at least she said it nicely.
“That’s okay. Oh, look, that must be the landlady. She opened the garage for you. Can you pull the car in?”
Jane gave me a dirty look, “Please.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop saying sorry so much.”
I looked at her. What is wrong with saying sorry? I was sorry. It must be a military thing. “Okay.”
I couldn’t believe that we were staying inside the walls of the town. More importantly, I couldn’t believe the ease that Jane drove through those narrow streets. She looked calm until I said something. She easily maneuvered the car into the garage of the apartment. She took a deep breath and said, “I can’t believe I just did that.” She turned to me, “Did you see how narrow those streets were? The angle of which I had to turn to get into the garage? This car is staying here for a few days until I recover from the drive.” Again, I thought about her being in the military. You always put on a brave face and act like your job was easy.
Our landlady was standing outside of the garage as we got out. She started rattling off information about the apartment and the garage. I tried to answer her when she was asking questions. I wasn’t sure she even heard me. I was glad I could understand most of her dialect. Then I translated to Jane “Yes, we were in the right place though parking will be an extra cost. If we want to park in the city garage it would cost a little less.”
Jane’s quick response was, “I will pay the extra!”
Our apartment was on the top floor, which was the third floor or what the Italians call the second floor. It was small, but I thought it was perfect for two. In some respects, it was bigger than our place in New York. It had two bedrooms which surprised us both. We had already said that we would share a bed while Jane was here. I couldn’t believe Adam had rented this place for a month. I walked around touching everything as the landlady told us about the air-conditioner, washer, internet and cable. The maid will come in once a week to do the laundry, floors and dust. Wow, I couldn’t believe we have a maid. I probably could clean the whole place in no time. Jane reminded me that Adam didn’t want me to have to work so that was why the extra attention.
After Jane and I unpacked, we met in the kitchen to go through the welcome basket the landlady left for us. We had a local bottle of wine, some pasta and a jar of sauce, biscotti and crackers and a box of chocolates from a local candy store. There were a couple liters of water and a wedge of cheese in the little refrigerator. We had coffee, tea and local honey in the cabinet next to the stove. I was happy we had an espresso machine that we could make a cappuccino if we wanted.
The kitchen was well stocked with everything we needed to cook and more. I didn’t know what a couple of gadgets were, of course, Jane knew what each item's purpose was. She would be considered a gourmet cook compared to me. I cooked very simple, though Jane could take the simplest of ingredients and make them taste like a seasoned chef spent all day on the dish. When she would visit, Adam and I would stock the house with all kinds of stuff and she would go nuts planning meals out of everything we purchased. We loved her visits. I was pretty good at picking out the wine for the meal she had planned but that was because I had a very good wine shop around the corner with a guy who knew what he was selling and what wine pairs well with the food his clients were having. I was planning on doing the same here. I knew there had to be someone here to help us with local wines.
Our living room had a couch that was okay. A little too firm for my taste. I wanted a couch that I could sink into and relax. The one chair was a little better than okay though still not soft enough for me. We had a tv that probably wouldn’t be turned on and a dining table with six chairs. I thought the two of us would fit just fine in the kitchen with the table for two.
The bedrooms were sufficient for our needs. We each had a full bed, a cabinet for clothes and a night stand. We each had a bathroom that was small but mine had a washer in it so instead of a bathtub shower combo I just had a shower. I did have a little balcony off of my room. It was big enough to have a chair and that was it. The bigger balcony off of the living room was enough for a little table and two chairs. I was pretty sure that we would be sitting out there all the time when we were here. The view from the large balcony was of the mountains while my bedroom view, I could see the Adriatic Sea between a couple other buildings. Jane said we were about seventeen miles from the sea. I have no idea how to convert kilometers so I trusted her figures.
We had a couple of weeks before Jane had to report to her base so we were going to make the best of the time we had together. We decided that most of the time we would talk about Adam and our lives growing up while Jane was still in Macerata. We needed to heal together. I thought I needed to learn as much as I could about Adam. I had no idea if it was healthy or not. I just needed to know more. I craved more. I thought if I knew everything about Adam I wouldn’t hurt so much. That might have been a silly thing but that was what I thought.
So far, I knew we had such different experiences growing up. They moved often and I never left my small community. I had friends from when I was little and she didn’t remember having a good friend ever. Her brother, Adam, was her best friend growing up. They just had this tremendous bond like my brother Dean and me. Their family could not have been closer. That was one of the things that Adam and I had in common…a close-knit family.
“First things first. I need to stretch my legs.” Jane said as she locked arms with me and we headed out the door. “Let’s start by walking through town to see what is what.”
The narrow roads, more like paths, that people shared with the cars took some time getting used to. The first time a car drove by I threw myself up against the wall. Jane laughed so hard she was crying. I thought she was going to pee in her pants. She imitated me by jumping and pressing herself against the wall of a garage several times until I started laughing too. Seriously, some of the cars drove so fast it scared me. Jane kept reminding me that they are only going about twenty miles an hour, but still. I thought when people were walking on the road, cars should drive at a snail’s pace.
Once I almost started to cry then Jane realized that some of my shakiness came from the memory of how Adam...  She came over and put her arm around me.
“Dart, just because Adam was killed by a car doesn’t make all drivers crazy. These people have been driving through these streets for many years and they have great spatial reasoning. The only way they will hit you is if you jump in front of them. We have to pay attention but not freak out every time a car passes us.” She looked me in the eyes, “Okay?”
“Okay” I said, shakier than I wanted. I didn’t want to be scared, nevertheless when I heard a car coming it reminded me of Adam and how he died.
I got better at not reacting to cars passing me the farther we walked. Jane would say, car coming, and step to the side. Once we got to the big piazza, I was calmer. I didn't care, I still needed a drink even if it was only lunch time. Jane suggested that we have a sit-down lunch at the outdoor café and people watch. When I gave her a look she added, “and have a glass of wine.” Lunch was wonderful and the waitress practiced her English on us and I practiced my Italian. She knew I wasn’t from Le Marche and wanted to know what city I was from. She guessed I had to be from Tuscany. She was impressed with my language skills. I was honored. Jane was annoyed. She wished she could speak Italian. She had only understood a couple of words the waitress and I spoke. I would have to remember to translate the conversations better from here on out.
Claudia, our waitress, pointed the way to a little grocery store where we could find the supplies we needed plus a few more treats. She also had given us directions to the local cheese shop, telling us this was the only place to buy cheese unless we found a local farmer to buy it from directly. The cheese shop would have some local sausages and salami that we should try. Claudia especially wanted us to try the Ciauscolo, it was a Macerata special salume that was spreadable like pate. It sounded interesting so I put it in my phone so I could remember the name.
More maze-like roads to walk on our way to the grocery store. We saw a sign in a passageway directing us to the grocery store. Once our eyes got adjusted to the darkness, we saw another sign that directed us down the stairs to the grocery store. We were surprised when we walked down the stairs to the store, there we could see the street that we had driven on a couple of hours before. It was like a two-story house built on the side of a hill. We walked in the top floor and out the bottom level.
It was fun at the grocery store looking at all the things we could buy. Jane said she would cook as we walked around the store. I could tell she was excited and obviously remembered the last time I cooked for her when I burnt the whole meal. In recent years we took her out to dinner more often. She loved to be out with us and have someone recognize me or Adam. She loved the celebrity part of our careers. I really loved performing but was always surprised that someone wanted my autograph. I was flattered that someone recognized me and wanted my picture taken with them. I was not happy when a fan would catch me with no makeup on and wasn’t dressed the best. I learned quickly when I was becoming a celebrity that I had to go out with a base of makeup on and clean clothes. No more wearing stained clothes to go to the grocery store or running into the drug store.
Dinner was simple and delicious. Jane made a marinara and pasta with baked chicken. She taught me a new way of cutting a chicken and cooking it. I didn’t think I would forget her cutting off the head and the feet. I probably would forget the word spatchcock. It was cool how she cut it and put another cast iron skillet over it to flatten it. It made it cook faster, she said.
She put me in charge of making a salad of lettuce, peppers, tomatoes, olives. I made a light vinaigrette dressing. This dressing has been handed down in my dad’s family for ages. It was Jane’s favorite and I was sure it would be handed down in her family from now on. For dessert we picked up a crostata filled with an apricot filling. It’s like a flat pie filled with jam. What’s not to like? We drank the local wine which I loved. I would have to look to see if we can find a Verdicchio wine from Matelica when I get home. I have had it from Jesi but it was a whole different level of white wine that I would like to explore.
Jane looked around the kitchen and seemed satisfied that everything was cleaned and put back in its right place. “Okay dinner is over, let's finish the wine on our balcony. We can watch the sunset over the mountains.”
“Good idea, Jane. We make a good team. Adam and I took turns making dinner and doing dishes. I like how we did it together. You are so fast and efficient I wanted to work just as fast. I couldn’t let you beat me by putting everything away while I did the few dishes.”
“Ha, that was how our dad taught us. He would stand there and watch us do the dishes while someone was putting the food away and cleaning the counters and table. He would say “Pete is winning, Bruce is catching up.” It was a play by play of us cleaning up the kitchen. It was one of my early memories of him trying to get us to move fast at picking up toys to climbing walls at the gym.”
“My first memory was just flashes of me under tables in a dark room. I remember looking at my bare feet and wiggling my toes. When I got older, I asked my mom, “Do you remember any reason why and what I was doing? My dad overheard and busted out laughing, he said ‘you my dear were an escape artist in your earlier life.’” Jane laughed at that.
I ignored her and continued. I wanted and needed to tell her my memory because she hadn’t heard how I got my name. “My mom interrupted his laughter and gave more of an explanation, she said, yes, because your dad and I were on stage and your babysitters were all the people behind the scenes. We had taken off your shoes because we never thought about how loud they would sound while we were singing or dancing…she said it was their bad. My mom was upset that they hadn’t thought about the hard soles before buying my shoes. When they heard my shoes making such a clatter backstage, it would distract them because they knew someone was chasing me.”
“My dad intervened; little did they think that taking off my new shoes would make it harder for people to keep track of me. I was so little and quick that I would dart off faster than they could say do-re-me. My dad sang it as if he were about to start a song. He will never stop singing until he dies, he says. That was when I got my nickname Dart.”
Jane made a snorting sound and about choked on her wine. “You know that really fits you. I remember walking with you in New York and asking you where the fire was. You had no idea what I was talking about. I never met anyone who could walk so fast and change direction in a flash.”
I sat there sipping my wine thinking of the day when they told me that story. Every time since when they would tell other people or more likely my dad would tell my story, I always knew what was coming next. I would never know if it was because he was proud of me or if it amused him. He said, “You would dart all over the grounds. We would hear stories of you showing up at a demonstration and you would dart in and around people to get the best view. Mind you no one ever minded a sweet little girl with curly black hair and sparkly blue eyes maneuvering around them to get a better look. It was the person who was in charge of watching you that people would get annoyed at.” He would always shake his finger at me when he told me this story. “Finally, the demonstrator and the babysitter would give signals that they had eyes on you.” When he told that story when I was young, he would tap me on the nose. As I got older, he would reframe because he knew I thought I was too old for that kind of attention. One of the stage hands wanted to name me Eel because I was as slippery as an eel. I was so glad that nickname didn’t stick.
I realized I hadn’t finished my story, “Other people had other nicknames for me but I kind have gotten so used to Dart I don’t mind it. It’s better than my real name…Dorothy.”
“You are a star. You can change it.”
“I am not a star.”
“I beg to differ. I have been with you when people come up and ask for your autograph. In my book that is a star.”
“I am just an actress. I think a star is reserved for the movies.”
We sat and drank our wine. Finally, I said, “My mom named me after Dorothy of the “Wizard of Oz.” The first time she saw the movie she knew that was what she wanted to do.”
“Find the Wizard?”
I gave her a dirty look even though she couldn’t see me. The sun rays behind the mountains had gone away. “I am not answering that question. When my mom made it to New York she thought it was her lucky movie that got her there. She vowed if she ever had a little girl, she was going to name her Dorothy.”
“How did Dean get his name?”
“My dad’s favorite singer, Dean Martin.”
“Your parents are old.”
“Hey, not that old, it's just that my grandpa Moretti was a huge fan and they listened to Dean Martin all the time. That was when my dad started his singing career trying to imitate Dean Martin. You should hear my dad’s impression of him. He is dead on. Do you guys have stories on how you got your names?”
“Not as good as yours. I am named after my mom’s best friend. Pete is named after our grandfather. Bruce and Adam don’t have stories that my parents talk about. I think they were named after some characters in a book. My mom is always reading. I know your family has so many stories but we don’t. More likely we don’t have a storyteller like your dad. When one of us tells a story of what happened when we were kids we get into a big argument. No one remembers them the same way. Every family should have a storyteller so we can remember the truth of what happened.”
“Oh, my dad can get carried away telling what happened so don’t take what my dad says as the truth until my mom agrees. Anyway, I don’t know about your family not having a storyteller, Adam told me stories about the musicals that he choreographed in your living room.”
“Oh, those were fun nights. You know, even my dad, who is this big military man who knew the ins and outs of a Bradley, loved musicals. That was the only night we ate dinner in front of the tv. We would watch a musical and afterwards Dean would perform part of it. Sometimes the rest of us kids would do it with him. I guess he was our storyteller.” She paused for a moment, “Do you think drinking soda through red licorice is as good as you remember it?”
I could tell Jane had gone mournful thinking that Adam was their family’s storyteller and he was gone. I was feeling emotionally strong enough to try to help her feel better. The only thing I thought about was her last statement. “Yick, I never tried it. Soda is not good for singers. Besides, I never got used to the bubbles. I do remember someone giving a bloody nose to a fourth grader.”
“Hey, nobody makes fun of my brother and gets away with it. My dad made sure that we were all combat ready at an early age. We might fight with each other but we were to protect our siblings. When you move as much as we did you learn very fast who your friends are…they are your siblings. I was a girl in a house filled with boys and I never got to use the girl excuse.”
“What are you talking about, girl excuse?”
“You don’t know what it means? It’s, ‘I can’t do that because I am a girl.’” She said it in a very flamboyant voice. “I changed tires, mowed lawns and anything that a boy scout could do, I could do. We moved to a place that didn’t have girl scouts and my dad went to the boy scout meeting with all of us. They happened to be in a gym. My dad had me climb the rope, do pushups and pull ups then dared them to do the same. They accepted me into the group though I quit when I got my period. That was my mom’s rule. She knew that I could handle myself around a bunch of boys though when you have your period you get emotional and she knew I wouldn’t want to cry in front of anyone.” Jane leaned back in her chair. “I had great parents.”
“I did too.” 

​

George and Brenda Moretti’s Story
I went to bed thinking about my parents’ stories. My father was the best story teller I knew and growing up where I did, we had a lot of storytellers. He always had Dean and me mesmerized when he told our family stories. He would tell us it was hard for him to pick his favorite story to tell. He rather we pick our favorite story. The truth be told we knew his favorite one to tell was their story, my mom and dad’s story. He always got this look in his eyes like he was seeing it for the first time. The time he first saw my mom he knew he was going to marry her. When he told us their story, he would call out to my mom, “when did you know you loved me, Brenda?” She always replied, “the second after you did, George.”
We didn’t seem to be the normal family, my parents had Dean and me late in their lives. Having parents that were in their forties made for Dean and me to have to say over and over, no, they are not my grandparents. When I went to kindergarten my mom was almost forty-seven and my dad was fifty-one. I didn’t know I had older parents. They were more active than most parents. They were still singing and dancing in shows at the park every day. They played games on the floor with Dean and me while not complaining about any aches or pains. I didn’t care about their ages because we were all so happy.
I knew my parents' love story backwards and forwards from all the times we asked my father to tell us their story. My mom grew up in a small town in Kansas. She couldn’t wait until she could get out of her dinky town as she called it. My dad would make a face when he talked about the town she grew up in. She had started college hoping that would get her on her way out of town. One day she went to a musical that was traveling through the university system. She went backstage after it was over and asked how she could get a part in the show. The director laughed at her. My mother was not happy with the guy and told the director she could sing better than anyone in the show. The director stepped back and folded his arms and said alright, prove it. My dad always told this part with so much pride. He said my mother looked around and straightened her blazer then started to belt out this song that was so exquisite everyone stopped what they were doing and came to watch her. When my mother was finished, she turned around and started to walk off. The director said hey, aren’t you curious about what I think? My mother said no, I know I sang it perfectly and continued to walk. The director started after her, trying to get her to stop. He yelled after her I will hire you. My mother said I am not interested in working for you because you laughed at me. Dad would again puff out his chest at that point. He would say the director sent me after her to try to get her to come back and the rest was history. My dad has so much charm my mom said he could wrap anyone around his little finger.
They eventually got jobs in New York City off Broadway. It took them a little longer to get there and longer to get bit parts in shows on Broadway. That was when my mom felt her dreams of being the next Judy Garland might come true. Her mother always thought that was her destiny. Grandma Berg always had my mom in dance and singing classes since she was very little. Grandma knew that her little girl had lots of talent when she would play her records. My mom could sing along and sound just as good as the record. Grandma Berg wished her little girl would not get stuck in a small town like she did. My mom invariably laughed at that part; she would say look at where we ended up.
After they had been in New York for a while and the parts that mom and dad were getting weren’t the headliners they were just the second lead a couple of times. My mom was getting frustrated to the point of wanting something different. One day mom told dad that they should look for a place where they could still sing and start having a family. Dad said they were moving to Branson, Missouri faster than she could blink. For a while, he wanted a family and had been looking for a place for them to live where they could make a living and have a family. My dad’s favorite line was “the rest is history.”
My father loved telling our stories. He would ask us if we were tired of hearing them but to Dean and me, they never got old. My father was such a great storyteller he could have made a living at it if he weren’t such a wonderful singer. I knew I was biased but he always had people asking him to tell a story when we had parties at the park.
Sometimes if my father got carried away and was telling more lives than truths my mother would interrupt him and tell him “Hey, Pinocchio you are stretching the truth a little too much there aren’t you.” My dad would cough and he would adjust the story or say my mother didn’t know what she was talking about. Whoever was listening would just laugh at the two of them.
They say you marry your father and I kind of did. My father's story was that he grew up everywhere. He was a military brat just like Adam. His father had a successful career in the Army too. I never met my grandpa and grandma Moretti; they died soon after I was born. Dad was one of three sons and he was the baby. He said he was an accident because his brothers were all so much older than him. Uncle Douglas married Aunt Martha and they have four daughters. Dad said the girls were payback because Uncle Douglas always wished that Uncle Theodore and dad were girls so he wouldn’t have to share his bedroom with them. They all live in Washington D.C.. Uncle Douglas took after my grandpa Moretti. He graduated from West Point and has a long career in the military. Uncle Theodore married Aunt Kay and they have one child Teddy. We saw them once when they traveled across the country to move from New York to L.A.. Teddy was adopted and was the biggest brat as far as I remember. He was a few years older than Dean and it seemed to us that he loved to torment us. Uncle Theodore and Aunt Kay seemed so much older than mom and dad but I think it was because they were tired of having to deal with Teddy. 
I didn’t feel like I was missing out on not having my aunts and uncles around because I had so many people who cared about me in the park. I was watched and cared for by so many of them that it felt like I lived in a place that was a commune of my extended family. We lived more in the park than at our own home. 
Our home was very small but my parents made it feel like we had the best home. We had one room for our living room and kitchen. The kitchen was set up in one corner and in the other corner was a table we used for everything from eating our meals, to doing homework, writing music, or cutting out patterns of our costumes. Our small living room housed the sewing machine, a ratty couch, two overstuffed arm chairs that had seen better days. Where most people had a television set, we had a piano. On the walls were a couple guitars and a banjo. In its case was my mother’s violin which rested on the piano. If someone played the piano it was gingerly placed on the table along with the bow case.
My dad played them all except my mother’s violin. Oh, he could play it but my mom wouldn’t let him. She didn’t know that when she wasn’t around Dean and I would beg him to play one of our favorite songs. He played it with so much vim and vigor it even made Dean dance with me. Dean didn’t sing though he was a pretty good dancer. He was pretty good on his feet. My mom played the violin while she sang for her talent in a beauty contest that grandma entered her in. She would sing the most bewitching ballads and when she played, you felt like you were floating along in a lazy river. My mom could play the piano and a little guitar. Dad taught Dean and me to play the guitar and my mom taught us to play the piano. Dean could pick at the banjo but my dad made it come alive when he played it. Later I picked up the violin though I played it more like my mom than my dad. 
My dad built a partition in Dean’s and my room so we had our own space. My parents had given us the larger of the two bedrooms. I got the closet side and Dean’s clothes were in a dresser except for a couple of dress shirts. We were happy that we had one bathroom indoors. If anyone were desperate, they could use the outhouse in the back corner of the yard. I was not a fan of spiders or taking a chance on seeing a snake along the way out there. If I had to go to the bathroom when someone was using the inside toilet, I would just do a dance outside the door until they came out.
The property was thick with trees of all varieties. I loved looking out at the trees as they blossomed in the spring. The redbuds bloomed first, which I really thought should have been called purple buds because the flowers were purple. Soon after the dogwood trees bloomed, they would fill the house with their beautiful scent. I loved honeysuckle and thought the dogwood kind of smelled like them. When the lilacs were in bloom, every day my mom would bring a new bouquet into the house.

​

Macerata Day two:
It was wonderful waking up in a bright airy room. The sheets on the bed were nice and it was hard to pull myself out of bed. I could smell coffee so I knew Jane was up. 
Jane said a little chipper, “Good morning sleepy head.”
I looked at the clock, “It’s nine o’clock.” I said with disgust. She was acting like I slept the day away. “When did you get up?”
“I was up at seven. I have already taken my shower. Wrote to my parents a letter telling them how our trip went and what we have seen so far. Go get ready so we can go for another walk.”
“I need coffee and something to eat first.” As I poured a cup of coffee I eyed the crostata and decided I would have a slice of it with my coffee. I saw the look she gave me. “Tell me a story of you and Adam.” I saw it on her face that she wasn’t ready to talk about Adam. “Come on, something that made you laugh. I need a good laugh.” I made a pouty face.
“I know that pouty face. Adam couldn’t resist that face. I, on the other hand, can.” Jane sighed. “Okay, you are not getting your way. I just know you need coffee before you do anything. I know you are stubborn enough that you aren’t going anywhere until you have it.” She stood there for a minute then sat down with me. “Have you heard about the time that Adam wanted to go skating?” 
I took a sip of my coffee and smiled. “No.”
“Once Adam wanted to go ice skating when we lived in Minnesota. Both of my parents said they didn’t have time to take us to the skating rink. They thought maybe we could go next week. Well, Adam didn’t like ‘the maybe’ so he decided to flood our backyard to make our own skating rink.”
I chuckled at that. If he got it in his head, he was bound and determined to get what he wanted. “That sounds about right.”
“Yeah, I know. Well, while my parents were gone, he hooked up the hose to the kitchen faucet and ran it out the door to the backyard and let the hose run for a couple of hours. Bruce and Pete said they were not taking responsibility for this and went to the park to go sledding there.”
“Knowing Bruce and Pete, they didn’t want to stop him because they wanted it but didn’t want to get in trouble.” I gave her a slice of the crostata. Seeing her take it made me smile bigger. She said that she was going to watch what she ate. I was corrupting her.
“You are so right. Anyway, we had had snow that had been trampled down in the backyard so in those areas the water stayed on top. Adam worked the broom over the other areas. If he stopped, the broom would freeze to the ground. It was so cold. Adam wondered if he stood still would his boots freeze to the ground. If you are wondering, they did. It was so cold it didn’t take long. He couldn’t get them loose. He pulled his feet out of the boots and tried to pull them up.”
“Oh, no.”
“Well, his socks got stuck.” That made me giggle. “The water was still pouring out around him, mind you. Thank goodness that he had on thick socks with such exaggeration and silliness he was able to pull his feet out of the socks. I was laughing so hard I almost peed in my pants. I made him come in because I was afraid he would get frostbite. I had him wrap his feet in blankets until they felt warm.”
“What about the hose?” She tapped her nose then pointed to me.
“We had forgotten about the water running until we went to get lunch. Adam had to go out and chip out the hose and boots. His socks were too hard and he thought they looked cool under the ice. We had a pretty good ice-skating rink with socks in the middle of it for almost a month. Adam had to work off the hose that he ruined and some of the water bill. My parents were mad for a day then they had fun skating with their boots on. The next year my parents made a way better one. Of course, the following year we moved to Texas so no ice-skating rink there.”
“You do have cool parents. Okay you did your job. I laughed a little. I knew Adam was strong willed. I guess he was always that way.”
“It was obvious that he wanted you from day one and he worked his magic on you in a very short time.”
I got up to give Jane a hug. I needed to hear things like that. I felt it but it was nice to hear it from someone else. I wiped away a tear. “Okay, I am off to take a shower. I am not going to wear any makeup and I am just pulling back my hair into a ponytail. I doubt if there are any paparazzi around here.”
“I don’t know what you worry about, you look just as beautiful with or without makeup…and I hate you for it.” She shoved me in the shoulder.
I ignored her comment. She was just as good looking as Adam. You could tell everyone took after Mr. Bailey. I could never call him Arthur or dad. It felt too weird to me. I did my best to not call him anything while Adam and I were married. They only came once to see one of our plays and it was the last one. I think it was our best play. 
Great, now I was crying. It was hard for me to think of what could have been. It makes me so sad. I tried to give myself a pep talk. ‘You are only thirty-two. You still look pretty good when you aren’t crying. Look at this lovely last gift your husband gave you. Walk with your head held high and enjoy it.’ I pulled the massive amount of hair back into a ponytail. My hair was starting to dry around the edges framing my face with wisps of fine curls. “You really don’t look that bad.” I really had to work on my verbiage. I needed to be more positive.
It was hard to keep focused on what we were doing because everything was catching our eyes. I really wanted to get a drawing pad and draw this stunning city. We were so distracted walking that Jane literally ran into a man as he was coming out of a store. He was a handsome man dressed immaculately and Jane was speechless. He was flirting with her and she was acting shy for once. At first, I did the talking but when he realized that she didn’t speak Italian he switched to English. He gave her his card and asked her to call him. He would like to show us a little bit of his community. Jane took the card and thanked Gianluca. 
Gianluca turned his attention to me, “Please make sure she calls me,” then he winked at Jane.
After Gianluca left Jane just shook her head, “Boy, is he pushy and a big flirt.”
“I thought he was nice.”
“Here, you call him then.” Jane handed me Gianluca’s business card. “You have to be nuts if you think I will call him.”
I looked at the nicely designed card. I handed her the card back. “This is kismet.”
“What?”
“Look at what he does for a living.”
I watched her face change as she read the card. “This doesn’t mean anything.”
“Oh, I think it does. Jane, you have to call him to see who is right.”
“Just because he is a pilot and teaches flying you think it’s meant to be?”
“You’d better believe it.”
Jane pocketed the card and we continued on. It took almost the whole day before she brought up Gianluca again. We bantered back and forth until she finally called him. We will meet him in the upper piazza at noon tomorrow. 
For dinner we had picked up a few salami, sausages, cheeses, a loaf of bread and another bottle of wine. With the fruit and vegetables that we had we made another delicious dinner. I loved eating that way because I knew there would be leftovers.
Sitting out on the balcony, Jane asked when I knew I was going to be a singer.
 
The First memories that stay with you, they become your story.
My earliest memory that was more than just a snippet of time was when I was three, almost four years old. My parents were on stage and my guard lost track of me and I came out dancing a silly ballet dance that would make my family laugh. I got to the upstage left and stopped, then I curtsied in front of the audience, they started clapping. My parents were dumbfounded and stood there for a minute and my mom started coming after me and my dad stopped her. “Let her take her bow.” Then I started to sing the song that my parents were to start singing after they were done with their banter, they did half way through their set. My parents were shocked that I knew the song. Again, my mom started for me and again my dad stopped her and took the mic over for me. My dad bent down on one knee to hold the mic for me to sing into. I did a bunch of their gestures and when there was a pause in the singing the piano player, who was the music director, started playing softly while I did a not-so-great soft step that my parents did. I got a standing ovation.
That memory stands out as my favorite memory of all time. I ate it up as they say. I curtsied so much that I started to get dizzy. My parents pretended it was part of the act and sang the last part with me on my dad’s hip singing along. The guard, as I named him, who was supposed to be babysitting me while my parents worked, stepped onto stage when the song ended and took me from my dad. I gave my guard a kiss in front of everyone hoping that he wouldn’t be too mad at me for running off and getting on stage. The audience made the awe sound which I thought helped my guard not scold me. The rest of the show he had me sit on his lap and wouldn’t let me down. Before my parents were finished with their set, I had all the performers coming up to tell me I did a fantastic job.
When their act was finished, my parents ran off stage, my father swept me up into his arms. He was so proud of me. My mother on the other hand started to lecture me one why I was to stay with my babysitter. I think in my head there were so many things to explore I really didn’t think I was running away. I just wanted to see what was next.
Going on stage was planned. I had been practicing my parents’ routine in my head all summer long. I knew that song but nobody had time for me to hear me sing. I thought I would make them all have time if I went on stage during a performance. It worked and everyone heard me.
The music director came up behind them cutting off my mother who was still chastising me for running away again. Since the show was over the music director brought me over to the piano. “Sweet Dart, can you make this sound?” As he hit a key.
I stepped up to the piano and hit the key he had, “There.” I backed up very proud of myself.
My dad said he knew what the director was trying to do. “Dorothy,” I knew he was serious when he used my name and not my cool nickname. At least, I thought it was cool when I was young now, I just thought it was a part of who I was. Dean hated his name because some people thought he was named after sour cream. My dad said my mom should have named me after Judy Garland because I had such a magnificent voice just like her. “You know how daddy warms up his throat by singing la, la la? Do you think you can do it with me? We are going to sound like the piano, okay?”
“Okay, but then can I play the piano?”
Daddy looked at the director and he shook his head yes. “You have a deal though you have to sing with me as long as I say, first.” He stuck out his hand and I knew we had a deal.
I sang along with my dad. I had no idea what I was doing at the time but everyone was standing around us as we sang la, la, la then we progressed to do-re-me. We ended with the song that I sang on stage. I remember all that happened that day though the faces I saw were the faces that I brought up in my memory when I was nervous about something or wondered if I could do it. It was like I was their child learning to walk for the first time or say my first word. When I finished everyone cheered and clapped. I did too, though I had no idea why they were clapping. 
My dad picked me up and tossed me in the air then set me back down, “My darling Dart you are more like your mother every day.” He reached down to tousle my hair. I smiled because I loved my mommy more than anything. “You not only have her gorgeous black curly hair and smile; you have inherited her perfect pitch.” He surmised that I had no idea what perfect pitch meant. “You sing as beautifully as mommy,” tapping my nose.
“I sing as good as mommy?” I cocked my head, “Does that mean I can sing in the show?” Everyone laughed at this conniving little three-year-old. I was sure they thought if I were in the show, they wouldn’t have to keep an eye on me. They had been holding their breath until the director answered yes, and everyone exhaled with relief.
Stan, the music director, was extremely tall and I used to call him my gentle giant. He wore black pants, a blue pinstripe shirt with black garters on his upper arms, a blue vest, a black string tie and to top off his costume, a black bowler hat. That day he knelt down trying to get to my height though he was more my mommy’s height. He tapped me on the nose, “Would you like to sing that song with your mommy and daddy?”
I ran and hugged him around his upper thighs. He picked me up and I kissed him on the cheek. “Please,” again, I cocked my head, “Do I get to wear pretty dresses like mommy?”
My mom stopped the laughter, “Okay little one, that is enough asking for things. I think you should take your curtain call and come take a nap.” I guessed she forgot about the deal with the piano. I knew my mom made the rules so I knew it was naptime. I was too old for a nap but every time I would lay down for a little bit, I fell asleep. If I was up, I was up and very active. If I lay down for a few minutes I would fall asleep. It didn’t have to be quiet. I could sleep through anything. That habit would prove to be useful the rest of my life.
I loved singing with my parents. I got to wear the prettiest dresses with lots of ruffles and lace. I wasn’t a fan of the stuff under the dress that made my waist and legs itch. The ruffles were stiff and made my skirt stick almost straight out. When the weather was cooler, I wore tights and didn’t mind the itchy stuff underneath.
I only got to sing once a week at first then gradually I got to sing more. They didn’t want to ruin my voice so I never sang anything that would strain it. Stan made sure I didn’t do anything that was too high. If I was goofing off during practice and hit a C5, he yelled at me. I wasn’t a fan of yelling. My parents never yelled at me…ever