Well, I just returned from Italy (with my mom and close friend Karen) and I feel like Elizabeth Gilbert in the the book Eat, Pray, Love. I spent two fabulous weeks eating my way through Italy and learning about my Italian roots. I arrived in Rome and quickly hopped on a high speed train to Florence. My grandfather always said his favorite city in the world was Florence and he was right. We walked along the Ponte Vecchio bridge, saw the David in all his glory, and had a private wine tour through Tuscany. As I was experiencing all of this and truly trying to be present with the moment, I thought about my grandfather. How did he see this beautiful city? and what about it made him love it? I felt like the craziness of NYC was starting to disappear and I was connecting to my Italian ancestors. We left Florence and headed cross country to Montorio
Montorio is a small town on top of a mountain almost 700 feet about sea level. We drove for over 8 hours from Florence to Montorio with very little expectations. We were going to visit close family friends who were on holiday in their hometown of Montorio. The journey was not easy. We were deep in Italy where no tourist would travel and English was not their first or second language. We got lost, then found our way, then got lost again until we saw a town on top of this enormous mountain. All we could see was the top of a Church. Could this be it? Who lives up there and how do we get there?
From the distance the church was getting closer and closer but still so far away. We finally arrived at our destination and this small town had the most amazing charm, elegance and beauty I have ever experienced. The people's warmth towards complete strangers was something I just was not used to. I started to slowly let my New York guard down and allow them in. I ate gelato in the living room of an Italian women, drank homemade wine,walked the town in complete awe and drank water from a man made fountain. The history was beyond anything I imagined it would be in Montorio. After one day, we all wanted to stay longer in Montorio. We changed our plans and stayed for another 2 days. I swam in the Adriatic sea, had lunch on the beach and danced in the piazza to Italian music. I was free!
I felt free- free from society's rules, works deadlines and above all free from myself. The limitations I put on myself because of fear. I did not have one fear at all for 2 weeks. I allowed myself to just be. It is incredibly hard to maintain this feeling inside of you. A feeling that I can do anything I want. Quit my job, move to Montorio, finish this book and just try to find me. Discovering life and really feeling the joy of who I've become.
I always felt myself and free around my grandfather. He was simple, loved life, loved his country and loved me. He never asked for anything more than he needed. He would say "it's not necessary" and that is how he lived his life. I'm not sure in the end he felt free throughout his whole life but reading his diary he was fearless. I could sense his passion for fighting the war and his feeling of being completely free to carry out his dreams. I pick up the diary just to feel it and remind myself of Montorio and the experience I had. An experience of asking yourself, can I be really free?
The two weeks are over and I am back to reality in a sense. Back to work, the subways being late, training for the marathon, and of course the awful jet lag! But in the end, I ate in Italy and Prayed(meditation mostly on the beach.) I did not find love but that's OK because I feel love and I love the person I am
Ciao
Robin
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
A Floating Flag
As I watch the 2010 winter Olympics in Vancover( which I have to admit I am addicted to) I am proud of the American Teams and athletics that have dedicated their lives to a particular sport in order to achieve greatness. One in particular was Evan Lysacek. I watched Evan receive a gold medal for men's figure skating and during the medal ceremony the American Flag was raised and our anthem was played. The pride in his face, the glow in his eyes, and our flag in its glory. It reminded me of a time when I saw the American flag and it was floating in my pool. I am not sure what happened but the flag fell off the flag pole on the deck in the backyard of my home and it dropped in the pool on top of the pool cover in the cold winter of NYC. I watch most of the winter go by and the flag move from back to back in my in-ground swimming pool in a body of water. I watched it through rain, snow, and heavy winds and still it remained on top of the pool covered in water.
Finally, a warm spring day arrived in NYC and everyone was out and about either running, walking or just being outside. I had finished my daily run when I looked out the window to my backyard to see my Grandfather (At this time he was staying with my mother and I in my home part-time while being nursed back to health.) He was leaning over the pool trying to fish out the American Flag that was floating by all winter. At first, I wanted to run outside and tell him to stop I would get it but it just happened so fast. I watched as my grandfather finally got the flag out and sat down on one of the dirty lawn chairs outside. He ran his fingers across the flag with disbelief that it was outside for months. It was dirty and ripped. After looking at the flag for sometime, my grandfather sat up and walked in the house. I thought for sure he was going to yell at me or say something. He didn't. He never mentioned the flag at all to me that day.
Three days later, I was looking out the window into my backyard thinking about heading outside to do some yard work and I see my grandfather again. He was sitting down on the dirty lawn chair with the American Flag on his lap and a needle and thread in his hand. He was sewing the flag back together. It was cleaned and pressed too! When he finished sewing he walked over to the flag pole hanging the flag back up in its rightful place. He never mentioned a word to me. But the pride in his eyes for that flag and what is symbolized needed no words. It was so apparent and clear. He loved his country and his country loved him.
God Bless America!
Finally, a warm spring day arrived in NYC and everyone was out and about either running, walking or just being outside. I had finished my daily run when I looked out the window to my backyard to see my Grandfather (At this time he was staying with my mother and I in my home part-time while being nursed back to health.) He was leaning over the pool trying to fish out the American Flag that was floating by all winter. At first, I wanted to run outside and tell him to stop I would get it but it just happened so fast. I watched as my grandfather finally got the flag out and sat down on one of the dirty lawn chairs outside. He ran his fingers across the flag with disbelief that it was outside for months. It was dirty and ripped. After looking at the flag for sometime, my grandfather sat up and walked in the house. I thought for sure he was going to yell at me or say something. He didn't. He never mentioned the flag at all to me that day.
Three days later, I was looking out the window into my backyard thinking about heading outside to do some yard work and I see my grandfather again. He was sitting down on the dirty lawn chair with the American Flag on his lap and a needle and thread in his hand. He was sewing the flag back together. It was cleaned and pressed too! When he finished sewing he walked over to the flag pole hanging the flag back up in its rightful place. He never mentioned a word to me. But the pride in his eyes for that flag and what is symbolized needed no words. It was so apparent and clear. He loved his country and his country loved him.
God Bless America!
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Robin and James
Well, I just finished watching Julie & Julia and it had so many similarities to my story and the book. If you have not seen the movie I won't ruin it for you I promise but basically a modern day, 30-something NYC women stuck in a boring goverment job decides to mirror Julia Childs life through cooking. She will cook I believe 600 + recipes in 365 days. Julie, the NYC women, writes a blog everyday describing the ups and downs of each recipe and wondering how her icon Julia did it in France so many years ago. Julie begins to change as a person. No longer shy, timid, or unsure of her being she evolves into a person very comfortable in her own skin through this amazing journey. Well, I felt like I was watching me and my grandfather. It was not until I got the diary from my grandfather and read each page did it move me. It moved me to be inspired! To feel different about my life and be more comfortable in my own skin. Before reading the diary, I felt as if I was moving through life in a very slow pace with two huge buckets of mud strapped to my feet.. There were days I was unsure why I was working 18+ hours in a job that I don't feel passionate about or inspired. I constantly wondered "what is my purpose in life, and is this it? Is this my life, really?" I am supposed to be a single, relationship failure as well a success career women all is one? It can't be. Then the diary came along and every day I read a page from the diary and I did research. I felt inspired and I still feel inspired! I look at the words on the page as my grandfather speaks of life, death and fear amidst of so much uncertainty. I connect to the words and feel the same emotions as I walk the streets of NYC.
I have decided to begin sharing every page of the diary on this blog. So, 6 months of about 20 entires is roughly 120 blog entries. I will be blogging every Sunday and sharing the entry along with my comments. So, project Grandfather and Granddaughter is about to begin........ I really hope you like it...
I have decided to begin sharing every page of the diary on this blog. So, 6 months of about 20 entires is roughly 120 blog entries. I will be blogging every Sunday and sharing the entry along with my comments. So, project Grandfather and Granddaughter is about to begin........ I really hope you like it...
Thursday, November 26, 2009
A Story of Thanks this Thanksgiving Day
Happy Thanksgiving- A Granddaughter’s Story- Robin Garofalo
That is my grandfather, James Garofalo, on the left with his best friend, “Mac” in North African 1943 fighting WWII. My grandfather was a top turret gunner for the B-25 Desert Warrior serving with the British Army in N. Africa. My grandfather rarely spoke of his time at war and when he passed 3 years ago left me all his memorabilia to include a diary which documents six months of the war from April 1943 to Sept 1943. He speaks of the end of the N. African War, the invasion of Sicily, being shot down twice, losing his best friend Mac over Sicily, and flying General Patton. He logged 193 hours and 73 missions receiving the Purple Heart and the Distinguished Flying Cross.
My grandfather lost Mac over Sicily July 10, 1943 and was left to battle alone without his comrade in the hot Sicilian sun. The diary entry for July 10, 1943 reads:
"This is one day I’ll never be able to forget. It beats ‘em all- we went out to bomb the air drome at Trapani- god what A/A & lights. We started our bomb run and ran right into 24 search light- they had us-but good he put the ship over on its nose and down we went. We hit over 400mph. The guns went off. Everything went flying. Talk about being scared- man alive- what an experience- took 10 years off my life. We got out at last full of holes but okay. Lucky guys. We lost Mack though. Lt. Fredd never came back. Guess they got him. Poor Mack. I gave him my cigarette ration just before we took off. Sure does get you."
I have been gathering my grandfather’s pictures, albums and diary to put into a memoir for the last two years but my mind cannot stop thinking about “Mac” and who he was or where his family is today. I started my search to find out what happened to Mac on July 10, 1943 and any hope of finding his family. I researched everything I could find about Mac or Macarson as my grandfather indicates in his picture album that was missing in action July 10, 1943.
I find a picture of an older woman receiving the Purple Heart for her son Alvin Macarson who was killed in WWII and listed as a staff sergeant on the B-25 Mitchell bomber- same as my grandfather! I search more to find a November 25, 2000 posting on ancestry.com by Alvin’s niece, Sarah Moore, about her uncle and any information or pictures anyone might have regarding her uncle’s death. I quickly write Sarah back hoping that perhaps she might still be on this site after nine years. I hear back instantly and Sarah is now 82 and amazed that after all these years information on her uncle, Alvin Macarson, is found. She writes “It is unbelievable that we can learn something new about Alvin after all these years. His younger brother is now 89 and recently went to live at a care facility. I was a high school student at the time he was reported MIA. I am 82, have mobility problems, but still alert.”
After all these years to find out and see a piece of their brother and uncle they never knew existed and for that matter I never knew existed is amazing. Sarah writes “I have often heard of stories of people finding people and secretly hoped that I would be that lucky some day. Now I can say that I have experienced the thrill of finding someone important! Your grandfather is a jewel for keeping all of these treasures. And you are the lucky one to be the recipient of his careful keepsakes. I hope you do write a book about his treasures!”
Sarah called me the next day to talk more about her uncle Alvin and how my grandfather held memories her family never knew existed. She told me how Alvin was a fun-loving, sensitive uncle who fought for freedom in both the Navy and Army during WWII. As tears came to my eyes, Sarah asked me "now tell me about your grandfather and his life." I was numb and quickly felt selfish. My grandfather was one of the lucky ones and he was able to create a life for his family and me. I feel like I owed it to Mac and Sarah to do more everyday, say thank you to people, smile more, tell my friends and family I love them and above all give back to others. This book is a way of giving back to one family and hopefully millions more.
I wish you and your family a very Happy Thanksgiving!
Robin Garofalo
Facebook fan page: My Grandfather’s Love
Blog: http://mygrandfatherslove.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
My Grandfather's Diary: An Article for The Distinguished Flying Cross Society
Below is an article I was asked to write for The Distinguished Flying Cross Society Newsletter. I hope you enjoy and please pass it around!!!
I asked my grandfather as he lay in his white hospice bed, “Grandpa, what are you most proud of in your life.” He turned his head softly to look at me with his piercing blue eyes and said “I am most proud of the Distinguished Flying Cross medal I was awarded in WWII.” I was stunned, baffled and curious all at the same time. I leaned down with a complete blank look on my face and took my grandfather’s hand to let him know I was there with him. I wanted to learn more about this award. As I look again into the blue eyes of my grandfather, I see a different man laying in hospice waiting to die. I see a young solider fighting Rommel in the N. African War documenting his war battles in a black, Italian diary. I wanted to learn more and perhaps now since death is near my grandfather might talk about his WWII time. I squeezed his hand one more time, leaned down and said “Grandpa, tell me more about this medal, The Distinguished Flying Cross.” His breathing was shallow and you could see that every ounce of energy was taken from him through his two year battle with kidney disease. He looked at me and said “I have a diary with pictures, read them and learn about my time but only when I have passed, for those are the beginning days of my life that I will remember always and make me proud to be an American.”
My grandfather passed two weeks later. He was a simple, humble man who sold Fuller Brush door to door to provide for his family with no mentions of the battles he witness in the desert of N. Africa. I need to find my grandfather’s diary buried in storage boxes among his other belongings.
I grabbed the box nearest me and began to open it. I heard what sounded like metal meeting with glass. Reaching in with both hands, I carefully pulled out a glass shadow box framed with bronze around the edges. Inside were the medals my grandfather was awarded in World War II. Neatly arranged to stay in their places, there were seven in total, but the Purple Heart was the only one I recognized. I placed my fingers on the glass barrier trying to touch them and in some way touch my grandfather. How did he earn these heroic medals during his time in the war? Did he get shot down while on a mission? How bad was his injury to have received the Purple Heart? I felt tears running down my cheek. Why didn’t I ask him while he was living? My grandfather’s time in the war went unnoticed by his family throughout much of his life. He was a war hero to the world but to our family he was Grandpa. He never even spoke of his time in the US Army fighting in Northern Africa until the last months of his life. That’s when I learned that my grandfather was a top turret gunner on the B-25, Desert Warrior that flew bombing missions over Northern Africa while fighting against the enemy troops. He flew a total of 199 hours logging 73 missions over Tripoli, Tunis and Sicily.
The final box revealed the smell of musty old papers. A dusty grit covered most of the contents inside the box, but there was a white plastic bag that seemed to be completely undisturbed. I blew off the dust and unzipped the plastic bag that had preserved it all these years. There is was—the little black diary. The front cover was a simple impression of a camel looking up to what resembled a palm tree with words on either side of it. Onestinghel Tripoli. The title of the front of the diary was in English: Agenda 1943-XXI. The months were written in Italian. I found it!
I flipped through the pages randomly eager to read each and every page. I turned to July 10, 1943:
"This is one day I’ll never be able to forget. It beats ‘em all- we went out to bomb the air drome at Trapani- god what A/A & lights. We started our bomb run and ran right into 24 search light- they had us-but good he put the ship over on its nose and down we went. We hit over 400mph. The guns went off. Everything went flying. Talk about being scared- man alive- what an experience- took 10 years off my life. We got out at last full of holes but okay. Lucky guys. We lost Mack though. Lt. Fredd never came back. Guess they got him. Poor Mack. I gave him my cigarette ration just before we took off. Sure does get you."
I closed the diary and placed it back in the plastic bag. I hung my head low and cried. How could I not know what my grandfather did in WWII? How could his whole life go unnoticed without ever mentioning this time in his life?
My grandfather, James Garofalo, was award The Distinguished Flying Cross on August 28, 1943 for “distinguished and meritorious achievement while participating in serial flight against the enemy in the Middle East Theater. As gunner on medium bombardment aircraft, Sergeant Garofalo has repeatedly distinguished himself by his gunnery skill, courage under fire, and unflinching devotion to duty. His alertness as an observer has been invaluable, both in spotting aircraft during missions and in passing the information to the pilot, and in making reports to the Intelligence Officer after completion of operations. His record stands as a goal for the entire combat personnel of his organization.”
Grandpa, I am proud to be your granddaughter.
For more information on the memoir, A Granddaughter’s Story, please email garofalorobin@gmail.com. Follow us on facebook at: My Grandfather’s Love or
blog http://mygrandfatherslove.blogspot.com/
I asked my grandfather as he lay in his white hospice bed, “Grandpa, what are you most proud of in your life.” He turned his head softly to look at me with his piercing blue eyes and said “I am most proud of the Distinguished Flying Cross medal I was awarded in WWII.” I was stunned, baffled and curious all at the same time. I leaned down with a complete blank look on my face and took my grandfather’s hand to let him know I was there with him. I wanted to learn more about this award. As I look again into the blue eyes of my grandfather, I see a different man laying in hospice waiting to die. I see a young solider fighting Rommel in the N. African War documenting his war battles in a black, Italian diary. I wanted to learn more and perhaps now since death is near my grandfather might talk about his WWII time. I squeezed his hand one more time, leaned down and said “Grandpa, tell me more about this medal, The Distinguished Flying Cross.” His breathing was shallow and you could see that every ounce of energy was taken from him through his two year battle with kidney disease. He looked at me and said “I have a diary with pictures, read them and learn about my time but only when I have passed, for those are the beginning days of my life that I will remember always and make me proud to be an American.”
My grandfather passed two weeks later. He was a simple, humble man who sold Fuller Brush door to door to provide for his family with no mentions of the battles he witness in the desert of N. Africa. I need to find my grandfather’s diary buried in storage boxes among his other belongings.
I grabbed the box nearest me and began to open it. I heard what sounded like metal meeting with glass. Reaching in with both hands, I carefully pulled out a glass shadow box framed with bronze around the edges. Inside were the medals my grandfather was awarded in World War II. Neatly arranged to stay in their places, there were seven in total, but the Purple Heart was the only one I recognized. I placed my fingers on the glass barrier trying to touch them and in some way touch my grandfather. How did he earn these heroic medals during his time in the war? Did he get shot down while on a mission? How bad was his injury to have received the Purple Heart? I felt tears running down my cheek. Why didn’t I ask him while he was living? My grandfather’s time in the war went unnoticed by his family throughout much of his life. He was a war hero to the world but to our family he was Grandpa. He never even spoke of his time in the US Army fighting in Northern Africa until the last months of his life. That’s when I learned that my grandfather was a top turret gunner on the B-25, Desert Warrior that flew bombing missions over Northern Africa while fighting against the enemy troops. He flew a total of 199 hours logging 73 missions over Tripoli, Tunis and Sicily.
The final box revealed the smell of musty old papers. A dusty grit covered most of the contents inside the box, but there was a white plastic bag that seemed to be completely undisturbed. I blew off the dust and unzipped the plastic bag that had preserved it all these years. There is was—the little black diary. The front cover was a simple impression of a camel looking up to what resembled a palm tree with words on either side of it. Onestinghel Tripoli. The title of the front of the diary was in English: Agenda 1943-XXI. The months were written in Italian. I found it!
I flipped through the pages randomly eager to read each and every page. I turned to July 10, 1943:
"This is one day I’ll never be able to forget. It beats ‘em all- we went out to bomb the air drome at Trapani- god what A/A & lights. We started our bomb run and ran right into 24 search light- they had us-but good he put the ship over on its nose and down we went. We hit over 400mph. The guns went off. Everything went flying. Talk about being scared- man alive- what an experience- took 10 years off my life. We got out at last full of holes but okay. Lucky guys. We lost Mack though. Lt. Fredd never came back. Guess they got him. Poor Mack. I gave him my cigarette ration just before we took off. Sure does get you."
I closed the diary and placed it back in the plastic bag. I hung my head low and cried. How could I not know what my grandfather did in WWII? How could his whole life go unnoticed without ever mentioning this time in his life?
My grandfather, James Garofalo, was award The Distinguished Flying Cross on August 28, 1943 for “distinguished and meritorious achievement while participating in serial flight against the enemy in the Middle East Theater. As gunner on medium bombardment aircraft, Sergeant Garofalo has repeatedly distinguished himself by his gunnery skill, courage under fire, and unflinching devotion to duty. His alertness as an observer has been invaluable, both in spotting aircraft during missions and in passing the information to the pilot, and in making reports to the Intelligence Officer after completion of operations. His record stands as a goal for the entire combat personnel of his organization.”
Grandpa, I am proud to be your granddaughter.
For more information on the memoir, A Granddaughter’s Story, please email garofalorobin@gmail.com. Follow us on facebook at: My Grandfather’s Love or
blog http://mygrandfatherslove.blogspot.com/
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
A Granddaughter's Story
I have been working on the book and trying to find the right voice as well as title to show the beauty of the relationship between a granddaughter and a grandfather. I decided to open the diary again and re-read a passage in hopes that my writers block might end. This time I focus on the contents of the diary- what exactly was my grandfather saying? who was he with? what battle is he referring to? and how is he feeling? I flip to July 10, 1943 where my grandfather writes about his plane being shot down by enemy fire and crashing. I go to Wikipedia and google the N. African war in 1943 and this is the day of the Allied invasion of Sicily. As I read through the historical account of the invasion on Wikipedia it makes the war seem so black and white. I flip back to my grandfather's diary to see the real fear of war, fear of dying and being hit. I also read about the fear of loss- my grandfather lost his best friend that day over Sicily July 10, 1943 when their airplane was shot down. I could feel his pain and sorrow through the letters and words on the page. He was heartbroken.
I think about the loss we feel today when a love one, friend or parent passes. Last summer I felt an unbearable loss. My first boyfriend and one of my closest friends, Benny, past away on a motorcycle accident. I was numb and really did not believe it could be true. How could this happen? Why did this happen? And again I turn to the diary for strength. Strength in my grandfathers words that helped him get through the war without his best friend. He was alone and left to battle the hot Sicilian sun without his comrade. I feel the same way.
Ever since Benny's death, I have been attending church every Sunday to pray to a higher power and God. I know that Benny and Grandpa are together watching over me and I am blessed to love them both and have them in my life.
The book, A Granddaughter's Story, will be published in the spring of 2010
I think about the loss we feel today when a love one, friend or parent passes. Last summer I felt an unbearable loss. My first boyfriend and one of my closest friends, Benny, past away on a motorcycle accident. I was numb and really did not believe it could be true. How could this happen? Why did this happen? And again I turn to the diary for strength. Strength in my grandfathers words that helped him get through the war without his best friend. He was alone and left to battle the hot Sicilian sun without his comrade. I feel the same way.
Ever since Benny's death, I have been attending church every Sunday to pray to a higher power and God. I know that Benny and Grandpa are together watching over me and I am blessed to love them both and have them in my life.
The book, A Granddaughter's Story, will be published in the spring of 2010
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