Yesterday I started my new "get in shape and pain-free" routine.  I started Pilates in the morning which I'll do at the school twice a week and I had a "hands on" healing in the afternoon for my chronically sore hip.  The healer thing is way out there for my cynical self but I'm willing to give anything noninvasive a shot.  The gal who does this is a colleague who needs guinea pigs in order to get her license.  She's been studying and practicing for 10 years and swears by it, so What the Hell?  I found it very relaxing as all I had to do is lie there with my eyes closed while she "moved energy" into me.  She looked at me expectantly after the session but I felt nothing alas.  Instead of energy I practically fell asleep but I must say I slept better than usual last night!  I told her I am a tough nut to crack and lets give it some time and a few more sessions.  Am I supposed to feel guilty about not being cured?  Hmmmm.

Our Pilates instructor is a pretty youngin' from Brazil who came with her husband, the new Gym teacher at the school.  Our headmaster found him playing soccer on the beach when vacationing this summer and scooped him up.  (This in itself is another story for another time.  All speculation of course.)  So anywho, they are a lovely couple of Italian descent.  He speaks Italian and she is picking it up so our lessons are a mix Italian/Portuguese.   They are some of the few Italians who come back for more than just a visit!  Where the US is a country on immigrants, Italy is a country of emigrants.  Huge numbers of Italians left between the late 1800's and post WWI and then again post WWII.  Southern Italians headed north to the US and Canada.  Northern Italians headed south to Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay.  The mafia set up a retirement community in Santos Domingo and the people from Veneto all went to Australia.  That's an over simplification but pretty accurate.  Whereas the people who emigrated to North America and Australia did well and improved their lot in life, those that moved to South American weren't necessarily so lucky.  GP's Great Aunt (or Great-Great?) went to Argentina sometime between the wars and had a son who looked just like my father-in-law.  Years ago GP was there on business and visited Mingo and his wife who he said were living in dire conditions.  From that point on the family here would send them funds to keep their heads above water.  When they both passed away, Mingo's mother's jewels, three pairs of earring from the 20's I'm guessing, were returned to Italy and the only living heir, Aldo.  The other evening at dinner, these earrings were handed on to me and will obviously, eventually, go to Grace.  When I think of the road they've taken I'm rather humbled.  xxoo me