The ancient Roman road wound around Siena and into the foothills and the early morning air promised a soft, languid, day filled with sunshine.
Olive trees and overgrown cherry trees dotted the landscape and workers all ready were in the fields and wearing broad straw hats to protect their faces. A fresa, a rotary plow that would level the furrowed field, was being driven by a thin man who told them the land would see 300 grapevines planted there. A boulder was moved and later it would be used for building and rebuilding walls
It was Cecilia’s 16th birthday and she was planning all sorts of merriments with her family and friends.
To begin with, they took an early morning walk, first around the Siena square called the Piazza del Campo which was built in the 13th Century in the Tuscan region of Italy. It is considered one of the greatest medieval squares for its beauty and architectural integrity. Her party stopped at various stalls and bought small, colored ribbon pasta, ripe tomatoes, and herbs and olive oils.
They walked north toward Hotel Certosa di Maggiano which was nestled one kliometer from Siena. This 14th Century Carthusian monastery had been transformed into a five-star hotel. They were going toward Peruzzo and the Basilica di San Clemente.
Their high spirits and jovial mood made Cecilia feel quite content in their company. Her birthday party was set for 2 o’clock that afternoon and 12 friends were invited. Her color theme was pink, white, and silver and she planned to wear her new pink dress with satin ribbons in her upswept golden hair.
Her father, the mayor of Siena, had said her Sweet Sixteen party would be one to remember and his planning had been meticulous. Buono, said her father when all the plans were formulated. Cecilia was the starlight in her father’s eyes. She was his dawn and his sunset. His North Star. She had her father’s cheerful ways and his determination and his verve.
After their walk was completed, the party returned to the home for a light lunch of ragu di funghi porcini served on fettuccine, rounds of bread, and some sparkling water. A mascarpone tart completed the meal. Then they all took naps to be ready for the party. These were mellow days in this ancient place. It was April and Spring was bursting out all around them.
The fireplace was blazing with light and heat. On it were the spits of beef and ham for the birthday dinner. The cooks had been busy all morning fashioning the meal and baking the birthday cake. Cecilia always requested an angel food cake with fresh berries and this time she would have to blow out 16 candles. Amid the song and the giggles of her family and friends; amid the love surrounding them. The gifts would be placed on the sideboard waiting to be opened after the meal. All were bursting with the joy of this occasion.
The word focus comes from the Latin for fireplace. In Italian it is focolare, the center of the home where they cook and eat and talk all of which give clarity to life, its focus. The Italian meal is always a celebration with many dishes and tastes. It is thought to make every meal count because no one knows what the morrow will bring.
The table was set overlooking the valley. Everyone was seated and the prayer was led by Cecilia’s father who asked the gods to protect everyone seated there and to grant blessings to all. The oldest story of the Tuscan table is fire. The second oldest is bread. One match starts the fire. La dolce vita.
Two hours later, it was time for opening presents and for the birthday cake. What a joyous birthday it had been. The presents included several gold bracelets, luscious scarves, leather goods, stationery, and assorted clothing. Everyone stood to honor Cecilia and to sing “Happy Birthday” to her.
When the sun began to set, Cecilia thanked her guests and bid them a safe journey home. Each was given a memento box filled with olive oil, sweet pears, wild asparagus, and breads.
Turning 16 had been magic. Good fortune would be hers.