Tag: daughter

Ravello

I’m lying on a lounge chair, in a plot of bright green grass. In front of me, a stone ledge drops down to another layer of this tiered garden, so nothing except for a minimal wooden fence is obstructing my view of the breathtaking cliffs and crystal blue sea of the Amalfi Coast. Tall rocky mountains rise up sharply from the shore, extending to my left until they are lost in the low hanging clouds. They are converted in green vegetation, with large sections of terraced land where rows of lemon trees grow abundantly. It’s harvest season, so large strips which were covered in black netting several days ago are now exposed so the farmers can pick the ripe yellow fruit. The towns of Minori and Majori lie below me, their little houses nestled into the cliff sides and right up to the beach. Further in the distance, the edge of Italy stretches south, until it can’t be made out anymore.

From the balcony of our hotel room, the view is just as incredible. In the morning, it’s hazy with condensation in the air. Thick clouds wind their way in from the ocean and through the sharp valleys of the land. Little boats bob near the harbors in clumps. The clouds are so thick that you can’t see the horizon. Some mornings, clouds float so close that you can reach out and touch them. Then within a few hours, they’ve dispersed and you can see clearly again.

We arrived to Ravello on Thursday afternoon, following a long and windy car ride up from Naples. The roads are steep and skinny, barely wide enough for two small cars. I’ve driven steep dirt roads on the sides of cliffs getting to trailheads in Colorado, but those are four lane highways compared to this. After a mild amount of motion sickness, we arrived at our hotel.

Ravello is a small town, with the central area mostly comprised of walking streets. There is a square and an ancient church, the villa of a nobleman who once hosted Wagner, and countless limoncello vendors and pottery stores. A bit after arriving, we were about to leave the hotel to find an ATM, and the concierge called after us to take an umbrella. I was confused, as it was bright and sunny outside the last time I checked. As if on cue, rain began pouring from the sky outside. My mom and I huddled under the umbrella as we made our way down the steep cobblestone steps. People stood under awnings, waiting out the storm. We wandered down a few streets, but after 10 minutes, we decided the cash point could wait until later.

That evening as the rain persisted, we were thankfully having dinner at the hotel, and didn’t have to walk far. We ordered a few courses, but nothing too crazy or filling. After leaving us with some breadsticks, the waiter then brought a selection of appetizers from the kitchen. This included a piece of veggie sushi, a miniature haddock bun, a stuffed tomato, an airy, savory cake topped with foam made of cheese, and a small chip with dots of sauce on it which tasted like a crispy pizza. And then there was more bread. Then our two courses were served, mine a salad of local vegetables and a lemon ravioli, my mom’s a noodle soup and a fillet of scorpion fish. We were absolutely stuffed afterwards, and replied the typical “oh no I couldn’t possibly” in regards to the dessert menu. Several moments later, a cart was brought next to our table, and the waiter unloaded a lemon cake, several chocolate biscuits, a selection of chocolates, and two frosted lemon creme puffs. Welcome to Italy, you say you’re full, and they’ll ignore you.

On the second day, we hiked from Ravello all the way down to the town of Amalfi. It took about 5 hours. A woman named Maria was our guide, and told us all about the history of the towns, the buildings, and the culture. The towns are laced together by stone walkways and steep stairways. Children practice dance routines in small passages, people walk up and down on their way to the store or the cafe, and cats slip between iron fences, searching for a snack. As we reached an overlook above Amalfi, she waved over across the valley to a man who was on a ladder in the middle of a patch of lemon trees. It was her dad, she explained. “He’s out taking down the netting over the trees, so they can harvest them. It’s mostly just him, because my mom doesn’t like to help with the trees.” She said she left home to go to school, and was away for a while, but has now come back and lived here for the last few years. She explained it quite poetically: “You have to go to the place where your heart is at home. No matter how far away you go or what you want to see, your home will always know you best.”

We hiked down into the valley, which had a unique climate, close to a tropical rainforest. The mountains and trees shield the area from wind and weather, and water is constantly seeping in from the springs high above. The area is home to a rare bulb plant from the age of dinosaurs, and some extremely unique wildlife flourish in the ecosystem it fosters. My personal favorite were these ladybugs with dark iridescent wings, like gemstones.

Amalfi is the tourist hub of the coast. Tour busses bring in throngs of travelers every day, to walk the streets, buy souvenirs, and visit the cathedral. The streets are too small to accommodate the crowds, and it’s sometimes difficult to get where you want to go. Thankfully, Maria knew several side streets which she snuck us down, passages easily looked over by foreign eyes. We came back to Amalfi for dinner that night, and our table overlooked the harbor. The sky slowly turned pink, then darkened, and all the lights on the hill turned on one by one, until it looked like a pile of stars. The view goes very well with a sweet wine, I’d recommend Privilegio dei Feudi di San Gregorio, 2016.

Four days isn’t long enough to visit all the towns, soak up all the sunshine you wanted (particularly with the daily afternoon rainstorms we were getting), or drink as many Aperol spritzes as you intended. It’s the kind of place you could visit over and over again, and create a tradition of. The focus isn’t seeing the big attractions, visiting museums, or taking pictures in front of important monuments. The best way to see the Amalfi Coast is just to be in it, to spend a few days at that pace of life, to explore it with an open heart. There are no to-go coffee cups or fast food restaurants. If you need a bite to eat or a bit of caffeine, you sit and enjoy it. You eat late, and you eat everything they serve to you (even if there are 10 extra things you did not ask for). You soak in the richness of the culture, the quaintness of these sweet towns, and the light scent of lemon that lingers in the trees.

And when the view unfolds below you, you take a moment to sit in silence and take it in. You’ve seen the pictures on Instagram I’m sure, but it’s no understatement to say that it takes your breath away. Even when you’ve looked out on it countless times over the course of a few days, it still is just as thrilling. It makes you feel just as small. And always, endlessly grateful.

Proud Mary, Proud Daughter

My mom is an extraordinary woman. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized this more and more (after getting through the “ugh, mom, you’re so embarrassing!” phase). Once I got to college, any friend who had met my mom would pour praise of her onto me, telling me how cool and classy she was, how she was like a second mom to them, and how she could probably out dance us all if we brought her to the club. And they’re right. She’s incredible.

I don’t think writing can properly describe her in full. She simply must be beheld to be understood. But here’s a little list of things that one should know about her.

1. Her name is Diane Anthony Canepa. Formerly Diane Marie Canepa, then Diane Canepa Olson (many years after marrying my dad, she gave in after people kept changing her name automatically on documents and reservations), then to Diane Anthony Canepa (this wasn’t because of a split with my dad, she just wanted her original last name back. She also changed her middle name to her dad’s name).

2. She has 10 siblings who were all tap dancers. They would go on tour around the midwest, with full costumes and everything. They still do a dance at every family function (yes, Canepa weddings are absolutely insane).

3. She drinks exclusively champagne. Really dry, very bubbly is her preference, but she’ll endure a glass of prosecco if she has to.

4. She has way more game than I will ever have. We went to an Avalanche hockey charity event, and she was chatting up all the players, got a few phone numbers, and has basically invited the entire team to come skiing in Breckenridge and stay at our house. I can laugh along, but won’t even attempt small talk with any of those guys. Their asses are so intimidatingly tight, it’s impossible to not feel like a complete potato in their presence.

5. There is one specific story I tell people when they ask me to tell them about my mom. A story which I think fully embodies the kind of woman she is, the energy she creates, and why she will always be the most fun person I know. Here’s the story:

My mom and I were in Chicago visiting some family in the winter of 2015. This was the first time I was in Chicago being of legal drinking age, so naturally, we got a group together to hit up some bars. The group was: my aunt Sue, my cousin Kate, my mom’s longtime friend Kelly, my mom and I. We went to this really cool bar called …- . Yes, that is the name, though Three Dots and a Dash will also work. It’s hid away in an alley with a small neon sign marking it. Downstairs, it’s a tiki style bar which mixes drinks three times stronger than anything you’ve ever tasted. We all got a drink, my mom got a glass of champagne, and we hung out there for a few hours just talking and laughing. We got another round of drinks somewhere in there, so we were quite enjoying ourselves by the time we stumbled back out onto the street.

Not wanting to call it a night, we scrambled around on our phones until someone found a place called Bub City just around the corner. We walked in… let me paint the picture. It’s a country karaoke bar. There’s a giant American flag constructed of red, white and blue painted beer bottles behind the bar. The room is pretty full, lots of people wearing denim. It was easy to forget one was in central Chicago, and not a highway side bar somewhere in Wyoming. A live band is playing, with whom you can get up and belt out your favorite Whitesnake power ballad (thankfully for those listening, they’ll just cut your mic and sing over you if you can’t hold a tune). We found a high top table in the back, next to a table of gents all old enough to be my dad. My aunt Sue got another round of drinks (and this isn’t a place classy enough to stock champagne, so my mom is stuck with a soda). When my mom and Aunt Sue get together, they’re always a fun time, and the rest of us just try and keep up. They pulled us up whenever a good song came on, and we’d dance and sing along loudly. It drew a bit of attention from the tables surrounding us, mostly because we were the only ones dancing and visibly having a good time. After a bit, a waitress brought over another round of drinks. She informed us that the table next to us bought us another round. We turned and give a little “thank you” wave to the dad table. They came to chat with us for a bit, and me and Kate ran off to the bathroom to avoid being flirted at. By the time we came back, they’d thankfully found their seats again, so we rejoined the ladies.

The song came on slow at first. A cute young woman with a remarkable voice belted out the first few lines. “Big wheels keep on turnin’, Proud Mary keep on burnin’, and we’re rollin’, rollin’, rollin’ on a river.” We cheered as the song picked up the pace. Then suddenly, my mom climbed up on top of our table and started dancing. She knows all the moves to Proud Mary, and she was not holding anything back. Just to briefly remind you, she’d only had 2 glasses of champagne here. This is not a drunk response, this is just my mom being the greatest party queen of all time. All of us at the table responded accordingly, Kate slammed her elbow on the table to keep it steady, Sue danced and cheered from a slightly safer stance on the floor, Kelly was crying laughing, and I was filming the whole thing. A security guard came over and yelled at my mom to get down, which she did, but not before the entire bar was made aware that our table was the most lit in the whole venue. Dad table sent us a round of shots. The girl who sang came over to thank us for getting so into it. The bouncer came over again and asked us to leave. We walked back to our hotel crying with laughter.

I’ve told this story a lot. To friends, classmates, and dates. Even if you don’t know her, it’s funny as hell. But it’s not just something I share as evidence of my mom being super fun and a bit crazy. I share it because I’m proud of her. I’m so proud to be her daughter. She is a woman completely unashamed to share joy with the world. She will dance on a table because she wants to, and because she wants to make people smile. She can confidently talk to anyone, because she has no shame in who she is, and knows she is worthy of respect from everyone. And she is kind and generous, and shares her joy with the world.

I hope that one day, I can carry the legacy of all the lessons my mom has taught me. It’ll take time, and practice, and a whole lot of self love to master the lifestyle which she has turned into an art. But until I’ve got it down, I will never miss a chance to dance on a table. And neither will she.