Sons and Daughters

We leave nice and early this morning- actually ahead of schedule!
Just a side note before we begin. Chris did a thing. And he’s been warned to never do the thing again. But he did a thing. He decided to come all the way to Italy, AND COMPLETELY SHAVE HIS FACE. SHAVED. Like hes preparing for death. Smooth as a baby’s arse. Which is kind of what I call him when he walks into the room- or something like that. I mean SMOOTH FACE. I don’t deal well with change- I remember the time my mother came home from being in St. John’s with dad at the hospital. She and my grandmother decided to take us to Corner Brook…and somewhere along the way a plan was hatched to ruin my life. Because when we got there- mom decided to get a perm while my grandmother walked me around the mall- acting like everything was normal. Then I saw her. And it didn’t look like her. And I’ve never felt so betrayed in my life. I still get anxious thinking about it. PTSD. And NOW CHRIS. With his BABY ASS FACE. His WHOLE FACE. Just OUT THERE. All NAKED. My god.
Anyway. Back to the drive.
The tricky thing is that there are two ways to get to Naples for our flight- through the mountains or around the mountains. Around is more reliable because once you get off these tiny roads you are on the highway but its significantly longer- through the mountains is prettier and shorter, but if someone has run into trouble on that road and you can’t get by you’ll have to turn around and make your way back to starting and go the other way. (and by trouble I mean someone may have forgotten to tie their goat on this morning and its on the side of the road refusing to move, or two people are having a conversation through their car windows and they refuse to stop because they are arguing about pecorino….or someone forgot to pull their side mirrors in when passing another car on a 3 foot wide road and now we have a jack knife situation- all likely scenarios). So being it’s a travel day and we have a plane to be on time for- we decide to take the longer more reliable route- Gary is driving so this should be interesting- murder fur in his ears, me yelling directions from the backseat- and no matter how many times I say “turn right here”—he will always answer with “here? Right? Or left? When? Why?’. sigh.
We make it to the airport and put on the masks we’ve been happily not needing for extended periods of time for a couple of weeks (just in tight quarters or supermarkets). ALL the luggage comes out of the car and it gets dropped off- into the check-in line we pile. We have grown by about 50 lbs….easily. with Easy Jet- if you buy the upgraded ticket (which is literally $20 more per person on an already inexpensive $50 ticket) you get no weight limit on your carry on. I’m not sure they were aware of how much we can pack in a carry on….. as it is I have to wear a sweater, a scarf, my jean jacket and carry my hat- that’s just to get everything else in the luggage. I swear Gary is clinking when he walks….most likely candle holders (or breakfast beers, I’m afraid to ask…) and I think I saw his pants light up when he was walking in front of me. Solar Fairy lights. (I’m surprised he didn’t ask Chris to carry them so they would charge on the plane ride from the burn on his legs…..).
We take off and are blessed with the BEST VIEW Of Vesuvius and the Amalfi Coast- seeing the tip of the boot from the air- okay it wasn’t the tip of the boot. But I thought it was in my uneducated geographic mind….let me have this one. It made for the perfect pic and the #tipoftheboot tag. Its actually just the jet out into the sea of the tip of Amalfi around the corner from Naples.
We are delighted when the Attendant comes on and tells us that “we will be serving the foods and the alcoholics immediately after take off”. I scream, “YEAH NICOLE!! HES SERVING US FIRST!!” They get the service out right away and throw food and booze at everyone in record time. Its only a 45 minute flight- and we actually do it in 35! My kind of flight 
Flying into the island I see the mountains and turquoise water of Sicily come into view – just what we need after the packed 2 weeks we just had.
We rented a house back in early 2021 for this trip- and although we’ve been in contact with the rental company- they are Italy-ing this and remaining very quiet- contacting us just a few hours before arrival with important “how to get there” details, instead of weeks before like we would have liked because we’re anal- but really whey would they? We’re trying our best to embrace this Euro-lifestyle…but I fear we will never get there- needing all our ducks in a row. And named. And bathed. And tattoo numbered behind their ears. Cute shoes on. Backpacks filled with their covid vaccination papers. So when we arrive and get our rental car at the airport in Palermo we immediately start to blow up the WhatsApp of the owners. To which we get a “text when you’re closer”.
But we have bigger issues right now. We’re hungry. So when Chris takes the wheel- and thinks he’s heading in the direction of Catania (where our rental is) – he doesn’t realize we have plugged McDonald’s into the google maps…..YEAH WE DID! So off we go- and I have never been so happy in my life to see a Bigmac. We’ve eaten well on this trip- and will continue to (menu for the next 6 days is amazing!) but MCDONALDS??? YES PLEASE. A burger and fries, and beer (because beer is on the menu and its no extra?!?) with a coke for Chris. We sound like we haven’t eaten in days- groans and smacking lips.
Then its off for the 2.5 hour drive to Catania on the other side of the island- starting in the city and quickly turning into wide open flat expanses- distant rolling hills with roaming sheep (example of how Nicole and I don’t shut up- I decide that the sheep look like hill maggots-and declare that I will be calling them that from now on. They really do look like plump white little squirmy maggots eating away at the hillside from this distance. Which she laughs at – but says at first she thought I said “hill magnets” and then I go into a tirade of describing Sheppard’s arranging their magnet sheep in various swears and grocery lists all over the mountains-black legs sticking up in the air flailing about- backs stuck to the mountains. We laugh until we cry. The boys rolling their eyes, trying really hard not to call us lunatics).
As we get closer to Catania, we start to see her in all her glory. Mount Etna. One of the big reasons we rented where we did- a full view of the active volcano. Europe’s highest active magma flow. Breathtaking and more then a little daunting, she stands 10,071 feet at her peak…higher before all her explosions- chipping away at that height year after year- but adding to it also with lava rock hardening in her wake. At the moment she has two long trails of smoke leading from her top- one is the norm- but she sprung a magma leak back in Feb and opened a new crack- we’re lucky enough to see it first hand  More on her history in the next blog- we plan to see her up close as long as she doesn’t blow before then.
So we use the google maps to get to our rental…or what we think is our rental. We finally get directions from the rental agency- which basically are – here’s the address. Text us when you arrive. We wander down some pretty crazy dirt roads and come to a gate with chains and a significant lock around its middle. All the communities around here are VERY gated- I assume a left over from when the Mob was at its peak on this island. So as we pull up to this gate, we are more then a little shook….it doesn’t seem like anyone has been here in YEARS. I’ve seen Hostel. I know what happens now. We get murdered.
I text the rental agency and say “I think we’re here…..but no one is here to meet us” while Gary gets out to try the lock and rattle the gate around a little while we scream at him to get back in the car. Michelangelo – the agent- writes back eventually- “no you’re not. Send me a pic.” I do and he thankfully informs us that we are in the wrong community all together. He tells us to make it to an Esso and gives the address and as we leave the main gate for this community we see a security car coming in HOT- no doubt looking for the inept burglars that are trying to get into Don Coralion’s compound where they keep all their loot. I’m not sure- but I think we are leaving just in time…….
We meet Mr. Gianni at the Esso and he brings us down the road about 3 kms (man were we off!) all the while driving like he stole the car he is in- and in through a beautiful tall gate to a patchwork of stucco homes all terraced and manicured. This is more like it-Nicole and I settling our shoulders just a little. As we drive into our driveway- we gasp. This CAN”T be it. I mean there were pics on line- and they were magnificent. But W.O.W.
A large ornate steal gate opens to a stone paved driveway- and leads down to a white stucco house with green shutters. I hear the Godfather music in my head- probably because Nicole is humming it- and we hop out. Mr. Gianni is enthusiastic – he’s the manager of the property- and he and his wife have come to greet us and show us a few things around the property. He opens the doors to a large room filled with ceramics and couches, huge dining table and armoires. And he starts to show us the rooms. He has opened the two masters- one at either end of the upstairs level each with an ensuite bathroom- large and open- HUGE glass doors in each that open out on to separate decks. Mine and Chris’s its own walled terrace- 30×20 at least. Nicole and Gary’s the same size with a lovely stone staircase that leads down to the pool and courtyard. We start to count bedrooms. 1,2, 3, 5, 7, NINE. We knew it slept 17- but we assumed that was an Italy 17- where everyone is piled ontop of everyone and they put 3 in a bed- if you pull in your side mirrors – 4. He shows us the 10 bathrooms. TEN BATHROOMS. 6 with bath and shower. 2 with just showers and 2 with just toilets. Each is decorated with the same ornately cut tile – each a different color. We MAY have overestimated our needs…..a little…..
The kitchen is perfect- It will be a joy to cook in- fully equipped- EVEN HAS A MICROWAVE. There are four fridges- one in the kitchen and the others scattered outside in all the little terraces and sitting areas…I can see Nicole’s head swimming with thoughts of filling each one with 1Euro beers.
Mr. Gianni uses google translate to talk to us- I’m not sure it does a great job- I don’t think he means to say, for example, “don’t worry about the Gate in the drive at the night- Daddy will not visit- Daddy is away and no one knows where Daddy is”. We just nod. “K…….”. After he gives us the various keys for the doors and outside community gate, shows us how to turn on all the outside lights, and gives us all hugs- he scurries off to his next appointment, Driving like he’s an F1 racer- and we run around looking in all the rooms, dipping our feet in the pool and realizing just how big this place is-Large gecko’s scattering- shocked someone is here. I’d be lieing if I said it wasn’t just a LITTLE creepy. None of us want to say it at first- what a thing to say after realizing that this mansion is ours for the week….but it is. Its HUGE and feels like it has a history- and we can’t yet put our finger on how sorted or innocent that is. I don’t think its had people in its halls in a while- although everything is clean and the sheets are new- I suspect we’re the first here in a bit, and you can almost hear the echo’s of the people past- the distant laughs and the faint splash of the pool…creepy like an old record. And then there is Etna- a perfectly framed view of her in the dining area, and she is front and center off the pool and deck area. Somehow comforting with how present and large she is.
WE drop our things in our rooms and head back to the car. We need supplies- food and other essentials. So off to the grocery store we go- which is always intimidating- not a lot of english speakers on such a small island- and we have no idea of the do’s and don’ts of their stores. But we figure it out eventually- getting everything we will need for a few days and huffing it back to the car. Back home to prepare supper and settle in.
When we walk through the doors we are met with a flying bag of fur. a cat kamikaze if you will. Someone obviously left a door open when we went to town- and a cat has crawled in – perhaps she rented it on line also as is checking out all the rooms- whichever way she has found herself in the house, she is now very much wanting OUT. NOW. She runs and flings herself into every closed window in the compound- head butting and bouncing off each one, rolling on the floor and shaking her head, up to try again. She isn’t crying, but I do hear a few meowing sobs from Gary as he chases her around trying to help her out- opening up any holes not nailed shut. Just as she is most likely preparing to drown herself in one of the 57 toilets- she finds her way to one of the open doors and SPRINGS out with such reckless abandon that I fear if it hadn’t been open she would have put her tail through her throat. She’s out, Gary is a sobbing mess in the corner calling 911, Chris is in the fetal position noticing all the cat prints on the ceiling and fur in the air through swollen cat allergic eyes, Nicole and I standing there- mouths gapped open…..wondering who we should tend to first….
After we give Chris a few Benadryl’s, and Gary a few Ativan’s I make a sausage penne- authentic sun dried tomato sausage made fresh this morning- and Nicole a salad accompanied with a meaty red wine- made on the south side of the Volcano- famous for its deep flavor- soaking in that rich lava stained soil. And we sit in the courtyard and watch the lights of Catania shimmer. Our giggles intertwined with those of the past. It feels like we are dining in a Disney diorama of a 50’s Italian movie-the food the best I’ve made in a long time- the most love poured in. The loves’ cuddling and smiling, excited about tomorrow and its relaxation promise.
As We clean up from dinner we see the second of the scavengers. A cat…. question mark?????. Have you ever seen pet cemetery? Where the animals come back from the dead? Well- we just found one of the extra’s from that movie. I call him a cat…but he looks more like a small homicidal muffin on legs. His eyes glow just a little yellow, his fur meant to be white and black looks like its been hung in an antique store for years…..holes and matts, brown from the dirt he was burried in more then once I suspect, and he looks like he’s seen some crap. I’m not sure if he’s trying to tell us something? Almost has a “purrrrrgetoutofherepurrrryouvebeenwarnedpurrrrrrrr” on the tip of his kitty tongue. But of course Gary thinks he’s the sweetest thing he’s ever seen and adopts him right away-pulling out the cat treats, inquiring about the cat jet from earlier….the black and white mange just looking at him like hes demanding his wallet.
Off to bed after a Muppet Rum and coke on our respective terraces in the dark by candlelight.
The next day is just a pool day- and we notice early that Etna is starting to spew a bit more smoke then when we arrived. Amping up? Or down? Who knows….she makes some pretty angry growls a few times. And we bounce around the pool and eat left over pasta, drink more wine and sleep.
Dinner is a Carbonara, quick and dirty. And we now are the proud owners of 7 cats. All huddled at the door looking for scraps- little squirt in the back with crutches and an “I survived on the inside” sticker on her chest- Gary making sure she gets extra viddles. That’s when the night descends accidentally into a Muppet Murder Mystery night. We notice a few things out of place…an old creepy key on the floor in our room, a sliding door open in one of the unused bedrooms on the second level. Chris and Gary both disappeared for a few minutes after dinner and Nicole and I are convinced they are up to something. So, while they are gone Nicole and I sneak up to her room and see Gary standing there, clearly trying to figure out a way to freak us out. So we bang on the glass door a little, and rattle it around. And he runs like a little girl- beaten at his own game, as we sneak off and back to our chairs before he’s any the wiser. Sipping on our wine like nothing ever happened. And then the felt-y muppet fingers start pointing. There is many a “WHERE WERE YOU ON THE NIGHT OF THE 18TH??” and more then a few “I THINK YOUR UP TO SOMETHING…” ‘I WAS IN THE KITCHEN THE WHOLE TIME” and even a “I WAS POOPING!!!! IT COULDN”T HAVE BEEN ME!!!” thrown in for good measure. This goes on for hours. And the more wine we drink the more like C.I.A. professionals the interrogation gets. “We banged on the door, yes, but only because of the key you put on the floor in our room”. “ I didn’t do that!! All I know is Gary came in and asked for a knife…” “I WAS POOPING!!!!!”. It’s a long night. And by the time we go to bed I’m not even sure NICOLE AND I had anything to do with it. I suggest it was the maid and the chef in the library and we settle on that. Not even sure what we’re trying to solve anymore.
Leaving early this morning- we are going on a walk about. Actually a walk in another mans shoes. Planned carefully for months- Years on Gary’s part.
Private Harry Angus Hicks.
He was born on January 23, 1918 in Lockport, Nova Scotia. One Day after his father died in action in France on January 22nd- news of Harry’s birth likely hadn’t reached him yet- news of Harry’s fathers death reaching his Mother while she was no doubt still losing sleep with a newborn. Now a fatherless child.
Harry, the young aspiring baseball player- the best catcher on the Lockport team, enlisted in his fathers footsteps 6 months after Canada joined WW2 at 22 on March 20th 1940 as one of the West Nova’s. He enlisted when Gary’s mom was 16. She deary loved her bother. – they were roughly the same age difference as me and nicole. Thats hard for me to think about.

He was sent to Aldershot, then England for training, sent to Scotland, and then sailed for Sicily in June of 1943- well trained after 3 years, and hungry to do what he signed up for- to help. Follow in a mythical father footsteps.
As we drive past the coast and head to the mountains Gary tells us the story of his Uncle Harry. He had been tasked OH SO MANY YEARS AGO as a school boy to write about a hero…someone he admired. Who would it be? A small boy from rural Lockport, there were not many opportunities to get to know anyone famous…he brought the question to his grandmother. And she said-“ why don’t you write about my son-your uncle Harry. He was my Hero- I’ll tell you the story and you decide if he could be yours too.” And so Gary’s project took shape, and what started as family lore from his grandmother – still a woman in so much mourning all these years later- losing 2 hero’s to War….eventually became rooted in fact as more and more information has become available over the years thanks to the internet.
We drive on.
Harry landed on July 10, 1943 in Pachino- driving through it now a large town but then no more then hillside- coastal and rural, more fish then people. And he and the other West Nova’s marched along the west for 3 weeks, with Mount Etna in the background the whole way-her with a minor eruption just the year before, and a major one 6 years later.
As we make our way up into the mountains I can feel the excitement mixed with heaviness. Walking in history is fascinating starting with marvel at how far we have come- but more often then not wandering down a path of “but why?”- especially when we deal with War History. Even more so with what is happening in Ukraine. As we drive along we picture the troops, here in July and August. Marching, a TRUE freedom convoy, fighting the German’s the whole way. The heat must have been unbearable with all their gear and the stress of the enemy to come. They advance towards Catenanuova- still fighting. The silence of the car lends itself to the same faint noises we heard in the villa- but giggles are replaced by boots on the ground, echo’s of music by bullets. Many towns we are driving through were liberated by the Canadians during that month- I can’t help but think that some here today wouldn’t be had it not been for their efforts- fathers would have been killed had it not been for the armed Canadian’s killed in their place. Sobering.
They end up in Centripe- as do we-79 years later. Driving up the mountain to the town Gary reads us the history. Now the road up is full of switchbacks, the town high at its top- if you try hard enough you’d swear you were looking at a 1940s town. If you ignore the roads (easy to do given they are only 4 feet wide!) and the signs, the phone in my hand and the car shifting, you could convince yourself you were back there.
Its early August 1943. They have been here for 3 weeks. Sitting at the base of the mountain that houses Centripe, 2 companies from the West Nova’s are ordered to the top of the mountain, assumedly for vantage- intelligence telling them it was cleared. But as they ascended the mountain, they were met with heavy small arms fire, intelligence had been wrong. German fighters shot at them from the advantage of the top, easily picking off the boys one by one- sharp shooters killing the West Nova’s as they advanced. They battled throughout the afternoon but because of poor radio communications they couldn’t call in artillery support. Far too much for the boys to take on alone, the two companies failed after repeated attempts to fight off the German’s.
I can see it all playing out in front of us on those slopes in black and white. A movie as we drive along.
It was the bloodiest day for the West Nova’s with 19 killed-27 wounded.
The end of the story comes too soon for me. I had hoped for more. Wanted more from Harry’s time here then just 23 days.
The tidbit that Gary remembers most is the part his grandmother was told when she was given the news her son died. The part you can’t find on the internet. When it became obvious that they wouldn’t get help, no one was coming, The German snipers in the hills would have to be found if there was any hope of safety. They had asked for volunteers to search for the sharp shooters. No shock to me that this is Gary’s relative, with a shake in his voice Gary tells us that Harry and 2 others volunteered- 2 were killed. One he can’t find the name of, and his Uncle Harry, the third making it back to tell the tale. Bravery stacked on top of Bravery.
The car is silent for a long time then. We can all see our version of Harry in our minds. We driving in our air conditioned car, snacking and laughing.
By early September of that year the allies owned Sicily, German’s retreated. His death not in vain?
We make our way down the mountain through small village after small village we come to the Canadian War Memorial cemetery in Agira. The place we came here to see. The resting place of Harry Hicks.

Its absolutely breathtaking. I can’t think of a more peaceful place for a cemetery. As you drive in you see it is flanked by two stone buildings at its base, and the lawn and headstones line its banks- all looking at a lake, and Mount Etna. Large trees everywhere. A rose bush or lilac planted between each and every headstone- a picture printed and framed posted under each stone.
Harry looks so similar to Gary’s son Joel.
And there are 491 of them. Real care and work has gone into this ground by the Italians-the government keeps it up- and I have to say it’s the best kept area I’ve seen here. . Harry’s plot B E 195 Memorial ID 56410833. Gary and Nicole were here before, 10 years back- so he knows exactly where to go. I think he thought this time wouldn’t have been so emotional- and perhaps it is a different kind of emotional- but he forgot that time doesn’t heal- it just passes. And I can see the tear in his eye as he puts his hand on the headstone, hello Uncle Harry- its me again.…….
..we walk away. Let them chat.
When Gary and Nicole met she asked him where they should go first on their list of lifelong travel together. He said the only place he wanted to see was his Uncle Harry’s grave in Agira, Sicily. He told her the story that he knew based on his mom and grandmother. And Nicole said -done. And they decided to do the extra internet research- get the story straight, and make their way here. 10 years later they are back again. Nothing much changed.
We decide that each and every one of these headstones needs to be looked at. So we set out to read each name- some just “unknown soldier”. Some dedicated with “love mom to my only son”. I am sobbing. Chris is red faced. Nicole keeping an eye on Gary to make sure he’s good. We take a pic of all of the West Nova’s stones. I’ll add them here- maybe someone who can’t make the pilgrimage will see their hero’s name- maybe some comfort felt seeing the resting place.
We eat lunch here at the memorial- sharing a bottle of wine. I take out something I brought just for this occasion. 4 jars with tiny scrolls rolled up inside… a scroll for each of us to write anything we want. We do, Gary and Nicole combining their scrolls in one bottle and burying them under Harry’s stone. Using the other bottle to gather some soil for home on the mantle. A reminder of the preciousness of life taken- a think you left.
I sit and sketch the headstone in the quiet with the wind in the trees. Every time the wind blows it sounds like a huge burst of applause- it’s the strangest thing.
Then we drive home. Pretty quiet. Not sad. But quiet. Contemplative. me mostly thinking about Chris’s naked face and wondering if his beard misses me as much as I miss it.
(yeah enough heavy. Back to the Karen blog)
We stop at a grocery store on the way home- well, we get lost in the parking lot first. And then go into the grocery store that google maps brought us to. Its IN A MALL. So there we are, the canadianest canadian’s that ever lived- wheeling two carts through the mall filled with beer and cheese and one large man sized naked faced baby. (still bitter).
Get home and make STEAK and baked potatoes. The thickest largest steak you’ve ever seen…on a brickette BBQ. And that’s when we notice some loud noises coming from Etna…and as we look in her direction, the sun going down…we see it. SHES ERUPTING!!! Full flame and lava spewing out her top every 15-20 seconds!!!!! I. am. Beyond. Excited.
We are all SO HAPPY WITH OUR DAY!!! Between the cemetery and the drive, the steak and the eruption??? I’m not sure what I’ll remember the most…but I do know this day will take a long time to top. We’re up for the challenge. A GOOD bottle is opened in honor of the day. A GOOD BOTTLE. We listen to a song called Son’s and Daughters that has been playing in my mind all day.
And I will hold you tight. Like the moon in the arms of the sky.
And I will keep you warm. I will build a fire in this house.
And I, ill keep a light on, to call you back home.
And in our hearts, we still pray for sons and daughters.
And all those evenings out in the garden with red red wine.
Those quiet hours turning to years.

Good night Muppets.
This was an epic one.