February 17th, 2025

Saluti,

    Today marks the day of the end of my six week hiatus. Julie arrived on Tuesday to "rescue" me and bring me back to America. On Monday, we fly to Amsterdam where we will spend the day and evening and be ready for a flight on Tuesday back to NYC then on to Rochester. 

     Julie joined me for the last days of my pilgrimage. It was a wonderful voyage on all fronts except for one minor detail. The day before Julie got here I lost my dear Stetson hat. It fell off my scooter somewhere in Trapani and is gone forever. It has been part of my life for the past 10 years. It’s sort of like Don Quixote losing his helmet or armor. Oh, I’m sure I can get another but it’s sort of been like a pet. It’s been part of my life and it covered my bald dome and it’s gone somewhere in the streets of Sicily. Alas, I will find another…because I will be coming back here in the not too distant future.

   I’m excited to see how the guys have done at the store and all the new instruments that have arrived. I still love the business and I love old instruments. I haven’t had a banjo in my hand in six weeks and I’ve got a bit of withdrawal… but I do have concerns about returning to America. I have been somewhat following the current affairs, but I think I now have a different perspective, a more worldly view. I have seen the concern on the faces of people in Europe, for what was once the beacon of light….America. As you know, I’m the son of immigrants and I grew up in an immigrant household and with an extended immigrant family. And right here and now I want to tell you the truth about how it was….

     When I was growing up I was very self conscious of my odd name and my complexion being different than the kids around me. (I secretly wished that my name was Jack Burns and I had blonde hair and blue eyes.) I was actually ashamed at people who had an accent. People who spoke "broken English", like my grandparents and great grandparents were kind of a burden. I didn’t really know what they were talking about most of the time and when they did speak English, it was so mottled that I became ashamed of it. It’s my fault, but I never became close enough to them. Actually, my grandma Rose, taught me a few phrases that I barely remember, but she did not grow up only speaking Italian. She was born in America. Her English was fine. Her Italian was Sicilian. Two phrases she taught me were:

quannu tu sputa ntô celu iddu (when you spit in the sky, it comes back in your eye)

è la manu ca sciogghìu la salsa, no la cucchiara (It’s the hand that stirs the sauce not the spoon)

    I think both of these phrases have a lot to say about the state of affairs in America today. When you cast aspersions on others to make yourself look better… I have a problem with that. When you blame others for what you actually created yourself… I have a problem with that. I spent a lot of time in the churches here. I don’t know why… it was part of my pilgrimage, but I am planning on practicing that same message that I have heard so often since I was a child……………

                  Feed the hungry, care for the sick, love your neighbor….

Cu la paci, 

John Bernunzio 

Sometimes I think all of Italy is just one public art display