travel – Valerie Dimino

Penny in Paris, Grandpa in Grotte

Up until this past December, I had never traveled out of the country other than to various areas of Canada — which, as a Western New Yorker, is nearby enough to hardly feel like a change of territory.

I’m blessed that my fiancé, Rich, values traveling and that we have the means to do so. Regardless of your travel inclinations or abilities, I hope you can gain some inspiration from what I share here, whether it’s about taking the trip of a lifetime, exploring your own neighborhood through a new lens, or honoring your family roots in a creative way.

In December, Rich and I went to London and Paris, and we recently returned from a trip to Italy. I have so much to say about both trips, and I hope to write more soon with a broader overview, but first I have to process my thoughts on what were easily some of the most impactful moments of these trips, both involving symbolic gestures to honor family. Emotions will ensue.

Hat-tip to my Aunt Jeneane, my dad’s sister, for the inspiration behind this project. After learning that I’d be traveling to Paris, she wrote to tell me that my great-aunt Penny (paternal aunt to my dad and his sisters) had always dreamed of going to Paris, describing the fabulous things she would see and do there. Aunt Penny was fabulous, through and through, from her brightly colored clothes to her extravagant accessories to the piano music and vocal melodies she could fill a room with at the drop of a hat. Thinking of her thinking of Paris made me smile. She would be such a natural there.

Aunt Penny passed away in 2020 before ever getting to make the trip. Aunt Jeneane asked if I might consider taking along with me something that reminded me of Aunt Penny and leaving it in Paris, so we could feel like she finally got to make that trip.

I was immediately on board and quickly knew exactly what I would take with me. Aunt Penny had quite a collection of Christmas jewelry, a large assortment of which came to me after she died. I love wearing her necklaces of tiny lights and her mini-ornament earrings during the holiday season. Given that we were traveling to Paris in December and it would be decked out in Christmas glory, I knew this was the perfect fit.

I chose four pieces from the collection, wrapped them carefully in tissue paper, and stowed them in a bag in my purse. As Rich and I strolled around Paris, taking in the twinkling lights, the smells of hot chocolate and mulled wine, and the decadent department store displays, we had such fun picking out precisely the right spots to leave an Aunt Penny trinket. I imagined her there beside me, her eyes gleaming as she took in the sights and sounds, exclaiming, “Oh, isn’t it wonderful?!”

I didn’t feel quite right about leaving these sentimental objects by their lonesomes, so I wrote a little note to set with each one:

My great-aunt Penny always dreamed of traveling to Paris from New York. She was vibrant and funny and fabulous. She died in Nov. 2020. I’m leaving some of her Christmas trinkets around the city on my first trip here, so she can see it with me.

We placed a Christmas tree pin on the roof of the Galeries Lafayette department store, with a panoramic view of the city; another on a bench on the Champs-Élysées, lit up with row upon row of sparkling trees; an angel pin by a walking path along the Seine; and a jingle-bell bracelet in a park housing a Christmas market, with a view of Notre-Dame.

I included the hashtag #PennyinParis on the notes, and my Instagram and Twitter handle on the back, in the hopes of creating a sort of tracking to find out where the mementos ended up. I knew there were risks that the notes would be discarded, would never be seen, or would be difficult for a non-English-speaker to translate. (Only recently, upon the Italy trip, did I learn the wonders of Google Translate — what a gift!)

Ultimately, it didn’t matter if I never heard from anyone — the point was that now it felt like Aunt Penny got to Paris.

And then, about a week later, I heard from Tomi.

He had found the card by the Seine, without its trinket, and messaged me on Instagram to let me know. He said he lives in a small village in northern France, that he’d found the card on a trip with his school class and was going to keep it on his bookcase. In our brief exchange, I could quickly tell that he understood the importance of Aunt Penny and this effort to honor her. “I really hope that she rests in peace,” he wrote. “I hope a part of her is in the card.”

This compassion was more than I had hoped for. I replied, “I believe there is a part of her in it and therefore now in your life.”

He agreed to give me his mailing address, and I sent him a couple other trinkets from the collection, a pin with Christmas beads dangling from it and a delicate string of mini imitation Christmas lights. On New Year’s Eve, I got a message that he’d received them and put them on his shelf with the card.

And so Aunt Penny continues to enjoy her Paris residency.

The guitar in the background of Tomi’s photo added a layer of emotional impact. I mentioned earlier Aunt Penny singing and playing the piano — my memories of her are wrapped warmly in music. There is a rich history of music on that side of the family. I’ve long heard stories of my great-grandmother’s house being filled regularly with family jam sessions, including my grandfather — my father’s father, Aunt Penny’s brother, Al — singing and playing the upright bass or guitar.

Which brings me to the next chapter of this adventure.

A couple months ago, as my Italy trip neared, my dad asked if I might consider doing something similar to “Penny in Paris” on this trip, in honor of my grandpa. My dad is quiet-natured, cradling his emotions close to his chest but quick to sniffle when talking about his dad, who died of pancreatic cancer at the age of 38. My dad was 13 years old; his sisters were 15 and 6. Of course, I agreed immediately, feeling like I was being entrusted on a crucial quest. He gave me a tie clip and a set of cuff links that had belonged to my grandpa.

Since first starting to plan our trip, Rich and I knew that the focus would be on Sicily and that we had to include a day trip to Grotte, the small town in Agrigento where both of my paternal great-grandparents were born, from which they immigrated to the US as children. We would be traveling with Rich’s sister, Allison; her wife, Maria; their youngest child, Marcie; and Maria’s brother, Tony, all of whom I adore. I was so grateful that they understood the importance of this trip and the added weight and excitement of it in connecting with my homeland.

Before leaving, I talked with my great-aunt Marian (sister to Grandpa Al and Aunt Penny) and my dad’s cousin Mary Kay, both of whom had traveled to Grotte years before. I wondered if there were specific street names I should look for or any known relatives still in the area. They both were so excited about my trip and encouraging about my plans to see Grotte, although neither could offer many specifics. Aunt Marian described the area as quiet, simple, and folksy, with people sitting around outside, the women talking and the men playing cards. She told me it was very hilly and that street signs might not easily be found. Mary Kay regaled me of her adventure there pre-cell phones, pre-Internet, making her way by phone book in pursuit of remaining relatives.

I was not at all discouraged by their descriptions. I felt I now had a sense of what to expect, a vision building of this quiet, slow-paced town. And it didn’t matter to me whether I found any relatives currently living there — I just wanted to set foot on the soil, walk the streets my ancestors walked, and know that this is where we come from.

Our arrival in Grotte provided all of that and more. Thanks to the wise recommendation of a friend, we first visited the local cemetery, which I expected to be a tiny corner lot with centuries-old headstones in various states of disrepair. What we found instead was a seemingly endless sprawl of elaborate monuments, mausoleums, and engraved walls, many overflowing with fresh flowers. We could have spent a couple hours there and not seen everything.

Upon first walking in, we crossed paths with a few men working, whom I asked for permission to walk around. Using the aforementioned gift of Google Translate, I explained that my father’s family was from Grotte. They nodded and gestured, of course, come in, and asked about my family name. I mentioned not only Dimino but Valenti, my great-grandmother’s line, and one of the men smiled and pointed to a massive headstone just inside the entrance that bared the Valenti name.

We quickly found many more Valentis and Diminos as well as other names Rich had dutifully noted from his Ancestry DNA research on my behalf. We have a lot of research ahead of us to figure out which threads connect and where! It was such a thrill to walk around with that list of names, everyone taking pictures as they found matches and calling out to come see this or that.

I was overwhelmed, in such wonderful ways.

The caretaker of the cemetery, an elegant and kind woman, spoke to me enthusiastically in Italian (thanks again, Google Translate!), trying to help ensure we could find what we were looking for. She seemed so deeply happy that we were there and trying to trace my roots, like I was being welcomed home by a stranger to a place I’d never been. She sent me off with a hug and a kiss.

I left the tie clip outside a Dimino family mausoleum, not sure (yet) if those Diminos are related but feeling like it appropriately honored the name’s presence in the area and the commemoration of those who have left us.

Again, I wrote a note to accompany these trinkets:

My grandfather – my father’s father – Alphonse Dimino, was a child of two American immigrants from Grotte, Francesco and Carmella (Valenti) Dimino. Al was a powerful presence, handsome and charming, a talented musician, and a loving family man, who died far too young.

On this first trip of mine to Sicily, I am honored to leave a little piece of him here in our homeland.

#GrandpaInGrotte

We ventured on into the town, sipping cappuccinos at a corner café, watching the old men sitting around chatting and the women bustling around with canvas bags on their shoulders. The man who had pointed us to that first Valenti headstone in the cemetery drove by and waved. Again, I felt so welcomed, so understood.

I wasn’t sure yet where I wanted to leave my grandpa’s cuff links. I felt a bit of pressure building as I wondered how I’d know what spot in this little area would be the right one.

We strolled just a bit further, instinctively seeking some shade from a row of trees along a park-like stretch of sidewalk, lined with benches. And that’s when it felt precisely right.

Much like my visions of Aunt Penny enjoying the views from the benches of Paris, I imagined Grandpa Al sitting there on one of those Grotte benches, enjoying the shade and the breeze rustling through the trees. I looked out at the view he’d be seeing, of an inlaid stone street and buildings that had been there for centuries, and thought, This is the place.

Maria helped me roll the note up tightly so that we could slide it through the cuff links, hoping to ensure they wouldn’t get separated before someone found them. As I laid them down onto the bench, church bells rang out across the square. I was flooded with emotion, especially gratitude, in what felt like a cosmic moment between my grandfather and me.

My grandfather died when both he and his family rightfully assumed they had a lot of time left together. Aunt Penny died during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, when so many gatherings were postponed with the thought that we’d make up for the lost time soon.

Tomorrow isn’t promised. Book the flight. Take the trip. And then, even when your feet are tired or the weather doesn’t cooperate or you’re hangry, savor every moment of it.

I’ll be forever grateful that I did.

10 Reasons The Quiet Place Is the Ideal Getaway

I’m here today to let you in on a little secret. Perhaps it’s a poorly kept secret, as I keep discovering more people amidst my own network who are familiar with this Upstate New York gem — but, even then, it feels like we’re part of a really cool club. And I want more of you to get to experience it.

The Quiet Place Getaways are a group of properties nestled in prime locations throughout the Finger Lakes region. As the name promises, the focus is on quiet — you’ll have plenty of space to yourself and feel encouraged to slow down and appreciate your surroundings.

The accommodations range in size to suit anywhere from 2-6 people. Solo retreats are also an option (mostly at the 2-person properties; occasionally at a larger one, depending on availability). I highly recommend this for writers and any other creative types. It’s immensely productive!

The business of bookings and communications is centrally managed by a lovely husband-and-wife team, but each property is individually owned. They’re like a family, each member with its own unique personality and strengths. I don’t know if there’s a certain checklist to be included in the group, but there’s clearly a certain standard to be maintained, a particular vibe shared amongst them so that, browsing the properties, you quickly get a sense of the brand. Not just any place would make the cut.

I’ve been blessed to stay at several of these properties in recent years, and maybe I’ll write about the others another time, but first and foremost I need to tell you about the Naples Chalet, my favorite of the bunch. (Sorry, others; you’re great too!) This place played a critical role in the drafting and revising of my first book, provided a safe getaway during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, and unexpectedly became a place for healing when I sprained my foot the night before one of my stays.

Coming here feels like nestling into my own little oasis. I walk up the gravel path, an expansive view rolling forth as I round the corner, where I always need to pause to breathe deeply and take it in. Standing here, I feel very small in the most moving way — there is so much to see and smell and hear, the open air stretched out endlessly before me, just from this one little spot. (That’s Canandaigua Lake visible just over the treetops.)

This view, walking up to the Naples Chalet, gets me every time.

Throughout my stay, I feel assured that every need has been thoughtfully addressed — and yet I’m left entirely to my own devices, in the best sense of the phrase. (And the best of both worlds for an introvert like me!) I don’t have to talk to anyone upon checking in, stand in a crowded elevator with chlorine-scented children dripping from a pool, or worry about neighbors having their TV on too loud or slamming their doors in the middle of the night.

While details vary across the properties, the general vibe and the goals are the same, with a focus on relaxing and recharging.

So, with some details here specific to my beloved Naples Chalet, here are 10 reasons why you should consider The Quiet Place for your ideal getaway.

1. It’s QUIET! You’re unlikely to cross paths with any other people while at your stay. If there are other houses anywhere in the vicinity, there’s some sort of unspoken understanding that this is a place for peace, calming, and reflection.

2. At the same time, it’s close to great food, wineries, trails, shops, and more. Naples, Canandaigua, and Bristol are a short drive, so if you want to be among people and find things to do, you’ll have plenty of options.

3. Beautiful views, surrounded by nature, are a standard accommodation. Every property has some combination of deck, porch, sunroom, and/or fire pit, to encourage you to soak up your surroundings.

4. Most properties have a hot tub and/or a soaking tub inside, for an added element of melting away your stress.

5. It’s well stocked with amenities — you’re away from it all but by no means roughing it. You’ll have that “off the grid” feeling while still having electricity, plumbing, heat / AC, and Wi-Fi!

6. The décor is gorgeous and creative, with so many fun little gems to discover. I love walking slowly around the Naples Chalet to see what touches have been added since my last stay. It demonstrates how much the owners care for their properties.

7. Likewise, there are always thoughtful hostess touches. When I step inside the Naples Chalet, I’m greeted by piano music playing softly from the stereo across the room, like I’ve just walked into a spa. Flowers and Hershey kisses grace the table. There are welcoming details at every turn: flyers and coupons for local restaurants and wineries, bottled water, and more fresh flowers in the bathroom and on the deck.

8. It’s the ideal atmosphere whether for a solo retreat (for me, focused writing and marketing time), a couple’s getaway, or catching up with friends. Slowing down and simplifying is a natural catalyst for reconnecting.

My workstation while at the Naples Chalet. I feel like I’m in a treehouse.

9. You’re working with a small group of local people for booking and during your stay, providing great communication and helpful guidance. They can talk you through which property is best for you or what to do while you’re in the area.

10. For all of this, the price is the same as (or less than!) what you’d pay for a nice hotel room — and you’re getting an entire experience.

All of this adds up to a justified investment in myself — my work, my mental health, my overall wellbeing.

I always leave a Naples Chalet stay wishing it could have lasted a bit longer and hoping I can carry home with me the sense of renewal and restoration it’s granted me. As I walk back along the gravel path, I again pause by the Adirondack chairs to take in that view one more time, breathe deeply, and meditate a moment on a flooding warmth of gratitude.

“That Door Is Now Closed”: A Sexual Assault Survivor on Coping, Setting Boundaries, and Redefining Her Life

A few months ago, I introduced you to Jessica, a survivor of rape and sexual assault whose forthcoming memoir, The Man Behind the Curtain, I’m coauthoring. We’re nearing the finish line on the writing and aiming to self-publish later this year — stay tuned for exciting updates in the coming months!

Here, I talk with Jessica about what the writing and healing processes have been like for her, what she hopes to accomplish by sharing her story with the world, and what’s next for her — including a major personal life update she never thought possible.

The following transcript has been edited for clarity, including some context from me in brackets.

VAL: In our book, you talk about how you’re no longer willing to let yourself be punished for someone else’s crimes, nor to let your past define you or your future. Tell us a bit more about that journey, how you came to make and embrace that shift in your thinking.

JESSICA: It was all about surrounding myself with positive people, to shut out the negatives. As soon as they found out what had happened to me, my grandparents were so supportive. Consistently going to therapy also really helped. My counselor, Debbie, was and continues to be a very positive person to be around. She understood all the feelings I had and even came down to Tennessee from New York for the trial. They all reminded me, and helped me to keep reminding myself, that everything my stepdad had done to me, and everything my mom had done by turning her back on me, was not my fault.

V: What are some of your proudest moments from the last few years? Are there things you’ve accomplished that you might not have thought possible before?

J: My job [as a flight attendant] is really hard to get into, and I didn’t think I’d ever be able to do something like that because of how much everybody had put me down for years. So, I’m really proud of that, and also of being in a healthy relationship, finally, with such a supportive partner, Matthew. Other than from my grandparents, I didn’t grow up with an example of what a good relationship should be like, so I’m grateful to be able to have that now for myself.

Also, Matthew and I recently found out that we’re having a baby in December! One of the nurse practitioners I had seen after the abuse was reported said she didn’t know if it would be possible for me to have children in the future. Because of that and the trauma of my past, I would not have thought that this could happen for me. We’re so excited!

V: What do you know now that you wish you’d known back when you were a teenager, enduring the abuse and then the trial?

J: I wish I had better coping skills back then. I would shut down a lot; I was just putting one foot in front of the other, doing what I had to do. Now I know how to cope if I start feeling panicky or really anxious. The main one I use is to hold onto an ice cube, which brings my focus onto that and slows my thoughts.

Another important thing I know now is that I’m going to be okay without my mom being in my life. I’m making peace with it. Because of the baby, I’m no longer open to her being in my life. That door is now closed. It was cracked open for years.

V: Has it been difficult to revisit your past in working on this book? How have you navigated and worked through that?

J: Sometimes I do try to avoid it so that I don’t have to think about the past. I’m to the point where I don’t think about it every day. It’s almost like that was another life, one that I haven’t dealt with in so long. But I navigate it by allowing myself to feel however I’m feeling, instead of trying to bury those feelings.

V: What has been the most surprising or rewarding part of working on this project?

J: Honestly, when we announced it on social media. [See, eg, Jessica’s Facebook post and my Facebook post.] There had always been so much negativity surrounding what happened, so seeing all the positivity and supportive reactions was really nice — and surprising. I look forward to the book coming out, even if it just helps one person.

V: Are there any resources that have been particularly helpful to you as a survivor of rape and sexual assault?

J: While I was actively dealing with the aftermath of the abuse, the truth coming out, and the trial, my attorney connected me with Bikers Against Child Abuse (BACA), who became such a helpful support network. [Their mission, in part, is “to create a safer environment for abused children” and “to empower children to not feel afraid of the world in which they live.” They have chapters around the world.]

Also, again, therapy has been so helpful, including a therapy group I found while I was living in Chicago that was focused on sexual assault. It’s great to know that those resources are out there.

And I always rely on family and friends who have been really supportive and who keep me positive.

V: What do you hope readers will learn or gain from your story?

J: I hope readers who have gone through similar things will know there’s a light at the end of the tunnel and won’t always feel so negative about it or so alone. And I hope people will learn signs of what to look for if something might be happening to their children or to someone they know and will learn about the damage it can do if they’re not supported.

V: What’s next for you? What goals do you have for the next few years?

J: I’ll be focusing on the baby. I can keep flying till about 36 weeks, and then, between maternity leave and baby-bonding leave that the airline offers, I won’t be working for about 5-6 months. I do want to go back and continue flying after that. But mostly I’ll be focusing on protecting my child as they grow up. I want to make sure my child doesn’t have to recover from their childhood like I did.

Read some post-publication thoughts here.

Photo by Christine Renard, downloaded from Pexels

Cheryl Strayed’s WILD: A Journey of a Thousand Miles Propels a Journey Inward

I recently finished reading Cheryl Strayed’s memoir, Wild, which had been on my to-read list since it was first published in 2012. (As an English major, I’m ashamed to admit that I saw the movie before reading the book. I do highly recommend both.) For those unfamiliar, a woefully oversimplified summary is that it’s about Strayed’s experiences hiking more than 1,000 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail, alone and inexperienced, after the devastating death of her mother and dissolution of her marriage. As the book jacket states, “Wild powerfully captures the terrors and pleasures of one young woman forging ahead against all odds on a journey that maddened, strengthened, and ultimately healed her.” How soothing to think of strength and healing as the resolution after madness. That’s precisely the kind of journey Strayed takes us on.

I had the pleasure of hearing Strayed read from the book and speak about it as part of SUNY Brockport’s Writers Forum series in 2013. I was struck by how humble, approachable, and normal she was; after having completed this astounding journey, I thought she would seem somehow otherworldly, untouchable. I was awe-struck by what she’d accomplished. But as she talked about what it was like to stagger under the weight of a backpack so heavy she couldn’t lift it from the floor — she calls the approach she eventually managed to adopt “hunching in a remotely upright position” — it was like she answered my thoughts of Wow, how did she do all of that? with her own enthralled gush of, I know, right?!

That humility is present throughout the book and kept me mesmerized by Strayed’s narrative voice. She acknowledges her own amazement and gratitude about being on that hike, her unpreparedness for it and how that added to its impact on her. She knows she wasn’t well suited for it on paper, but that was one of the very reasons she knew she needed to do it. Which, to me, means she had exactly the right kind of mind for it, and the rest she figured out along the way.

One of my favorite moments is when she describes settling in at her campsite one night, 7,000 feet up in the Sierra Nevada mountain range:

“The silence was tremendous. The absence felt like a weight.”

How brave of her to go willingly into that silence, to take that journey inward — accompanied only by a constant soundtrack of her own thoughts, memories, pains, regrets — in order to better understand all that is happening around her. Having gone through a few major life changes myself in recent years (exhibit A and exhibit B, among others), I’ve sometimes felt drawn to the idea of that sort of exploration — a long trip somewhere new all alone, a drive on unfamiliar roads with no destination in mind — but I have yet to conquer the self-doubt that inevitably creeps in as to what it would require of me and reveal to me.

Another favorite moment is when she meets a 5-year-old boy on the trail who sings her a song his mother taught him after learning that Strayed is grieving the loss of her own mother.

She describes him singing “in a voice so pure that I felt gutted” and says she felt “half demolished by the time he finished.”

I love this description of something being so beautiful and moving that it’s painful. That’s how I feel about Strayed’s writing. Her craft is so good, so finely tuned, that it hurts; it’s the kind of beauty that punches you and leaves you stinging.

As I neared the final chapters, I experienced that wonderful juxtaposition of emotions stirred up by a great read: I was eager to learn how it would end and yet reluctant to part ways with it. As I read the last few paragraphs — and immediately read them again — I felt gutted. I felt I was mourning a loss. Like Strayed, I was in awe of the journey and grateful to have experienced it.

Reaching the end of her hike and trying to process its finality, she writes:

“There was no way to go back, to make it stay. There was never that.”

Oof. Doesn’t that so accurately describe, with such aching beauty, any sort of loss? There is no route back to before it was gone, no choice but to continue moving forward, no matter how uncertain the steps may sometimes seem.