Last week was busy at the mission office. We had a zone conference on Tuesday, so Myrna and I were out of the office all day (we are rarely out of the office on a week day, but sometimes we are the only ones here.) We attended the zone conference in Milano (about a half hour away) and made lunch for the 30 missionaries who attended. We made sloppy joes, potato salad, baked beans (these were made by the mission president's wife), potato chips, veggie trays,and for dessert, Myrna made pound cake, which we topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. It was quite an undertaking to buy all of the things, cook/prepare them and then take them to the Italian ward building and serve them. The mission president, who is leaving at the end of June, took us to a new store called Metro. It is like a Costco, and mainly sells to restaurants, where we were able to buy large quantities of things we can't get at Italian supermarkets. We bought a large jar of German made pickles, which were the best I have ever eaten. They were not exactly dill or sweet or anything else I have had, but sort of a combination of flavors that is very good. Italians do not have appropriate pickles for potato salad, which they do not have. For the potato salad we bought potatoes where the sign said they are good for salads, they were grown in Israel, but they were pretty mushy, but the salad was excellent. The missionaries eat a lot of pizza and pasta, so we like to make things they don't normally get. We also attended the zone conference, the first I have attended and the second one Myrna has attended. I did not attend the first because I was being trained in my job at the mission office that day. It was inspiring, everyone did a great job encouraging better missionary work. At the end we sing our mission song, which I accompanied on the piano. This is where everyone stands in a circle, arms around shoulders (interesting how they separate the sisters from the elders, using senior couples as "bridges", and at the end we kneel in prayer. The rest of the week was fairly "normal" although every day is an adventure here in Italy.
On Saturday, our P-day, we cleaned the apartment a little and then drove south to Pavia, which is becoming sort of our favorite get away, because it is close and we know where things are now. I was able to play an old organ, about half way down, for about an hour, the longest I have been able to play one so far. When we got there the church was locked, so we went to the next town down the road. I had spoken with my brother Fred, the day before and he asked me if I could take pix of all of the graves in a cemetery so a scout could organize having the graves (pix and text) put in Find-a-Grave as his Eagle Project. This probably came to Fred from our visiting a cemetery last week where Amber's ancestors came from, although Fred wanted the entire cemetery photographed, which could be a big project. I chose a small cemetery in a tiny farming village, which is now more of a commuter town as I suppose most of the people who live there commute to Milano every day to work. Anyway, I systematically took pix of each and every grave marker, most were in the walls, and since we only have one camera, I took them all while Myrna mostly meditated. It was a beautiful spring day. After taking the pix, which took about an hour, we stooped off at the church in that town and fond the priest just leaving, who serves both churches (the one with the organ that plays). I asked him if I could go play that organ and he told me where to find the sacristano, the caretaker, by asking at the gas station. We drove back down, about a mile, gave the gas station attendant a 20 euro note for diesel, and ask him where to find Mario, the caretaker. He pointed to his house, so while he was filling the tank, I went to Mario's house and spoke with his daughter, who said the priest had already called her to tell Mario I was coming and he needed to open the church for me. The doors are so old they don't open with a key from the outside, there are bars from the inside, and by the time we got over to the church he had pedaled over (it is interesting to watch old Italian ride their bikes) and let us in. I played for about an hour while Myrna took videos. If we could figure out how to upload them (there are several relatively short ones), we would. After that we drove down to Pavia and went to a pizza kbap restaurant, Italy's equivalent of fast food. We both had kpap, which is sort of like a gyro sandwich. They have a big hunk of meat rotating on a flame, and when you order one they take an electric knife that sort of reminds me of a hair dryer (although it obviously has a blade) and shaves off some meat they put in a warmed panino (crispy Italian roll), with lettuce, tomato, onion, other mystery veggies, and a white "special" sauce. They cost 4 euros each and are very very filling. Actually, Myrna can't eat one, so I have to finish hers so I was very full, and am getting fatter each day. Then we went to a large supermarket and bought a few things and came home.
In the evening we went to a baptism of a young man, Leonardo who will be a leader of the Church some day, mark my word. He was taught by the APs. This was in our ward, which the APs also attend. There were almost as many people there as who attend sacrament meeting, although there were a lot of young single adults from Milano, who have been working with the young man who was baptized. The institute instructor for the area, along with his wife and 3 children attended. They are a young couple, he is Italian and she served her mission in Italy and came back and married him. She is from Preston, Idaho, where our mission president's wife is from. We learned they are moving to Dubai in the fall, and will attend the English speaking ward there, where my nephew Sterling Jensen and family attend. I told them about Sterling, and he instantly found him on Facebook and sent him a message. It is a small world, especially in the Church. Today a couple attend sacrament meeting who are from Peoria, Arizona, but they left after sacrament meeting to go to see the Last Supper painting by Leonardo da Vinci.
Today at Sacrament meeting I played the prelude, then the piano player showed up and took over. The new convert was confirmed and the talks were good, as were the rest of the meetings. I was asked to speak in church in two weeks, with other missionaries. This afternoon we went home teaching to a sister, Gianna Lanfranceschina, and her daughter. She has three children in the US, one in Alaska, one attending BYU-I and one in Pleasant Grove. When her youngest daughter graduates from high school next year, they are both moving, along with their two dogs, to live with one of their children. It is too bad that Italy loses good members to the US, but it has always been way.
Here are a few pix I took this week.
Cemetery just as you enter the little village. It has about 500 graves. There are hundreds of thousands of cemeteries in Italy like this one. Graves can only remain in the cemetery for about 100 years, although the family could continue to pay, I guess forever, but we have seen few very old graves, even though the villages have been inhabited for over 2,000 years. We were told that if there is no one to pay the cemetery they dig up the bones, put them in a common grave and put someone else in the spot. I assume and hope that the cemetery keeps a record of who was buried in the cemetery and we need to learn more about this.
Inside the cemetery. We only saw one person, a man about my age, who was bringing fresh flowers to put on his son's grave. He showed us the grave and I told him what I was doing and he was excited about the possibility of anyone in the world being able to see the grave on a website.
The grave of the son, Muro Cima, who died last year of a heat attack. The young man was not married and lived with his parents. His father visits the grave every day, taking fresh flowers. I did not have the presence of mind to tell him that he will be able to see his son again in the spirit world, and about the Plan of Salvation, and I wish that I would have. However. I am going to find the appropriate tract at the mission office and take it back to the cemetery and leave it next to the grave (which is on the bottom and corner of a wall), with a note giving our names and addresses. Perhaps the man will call us and we can visit him with the missionaries. I don't know if he has a wife or not, he didn't say.
Sign just as you are entering the village. It is Bornasco, and the warning to the left is that you can skid on the road when there is snow or ice--pretty obvious.
The little church, probably built in the 1500s, or earlier, and perhaps there was an older one on the same site, that was removed to build this on in Bornasco. They like to build on top of old things.
Inside the front door of the church.
Of course, it has an old pipe organ, and, like most, it does not work any more.
About a half mile down the road is another little village with its church and cemetery.
This church was open but there wasn't anyone inside, and I was in a hurry to get to the church where the priest said I could play the organ.
This old church organ actually looks like it is played. But his one will be there for another adventure some other day.
Outside of the next church down the road, with an organ which I played for about an hour, and Myrna took videos. Perhaps I will learn how to upload the video to a blog.
Fresco on the wall outside the church. I took this while I was waiting for the sacristano to come over to the church to let us in.
Ceiling inside the church.
On the outside of the church, apparently when they were installing new fascia, they wanted to preserve this piece of Latin from an older facade. They didn't leave enough so it could be read, so I can't tell when it was placed there.
When we got to the Carefour (a French chain) supermarket in Pavia, they were selling these shopping bags for 2 euros each, about 2.25 US dollars. They are large, heavy plastic and people use them to take their groceries home instead of buying plastic sacks for 10 cents (perhaps 15 US cents). These are the kind of dogs my sister Jan raises, so I thought of her when I saw them. Italians love their dogs. The sister we went home teaching to today, who is moving to the US next year, has two dogs she said she is taking with her when they move. They are like family and she can't leave them here.
Ciao for now.
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