The quest for my Italian villa is once again on hold.
I had my much-anticipated appointment with the Italian consulate only to discover I was still a few papers short. Due mostly, to that arcane tradition of a woman changing her name at the time of marriage. So, my plans to obtain my Italian citizenship have been thwarted, as well as the rankling of my feminist streak.
Frustrated with the abruptness of my Consulate visit, I came home and started the next phase of paperwork gathering…I called my mom. As she was at the root of my stand still, having been married and divorced before marrying my father without nary a moment spent resetting names back to the original, I now had a break in jure sanguinis, which I had to mend.
For those of you who are saying, “jure sang who?” it means continuity of blood. According to my parents’ marriage certificate, my father married some woman who shows no proof of coming from my grandfather.
Now, I know she’s my mother, and YOU know she’s my mother, but Rafaella has no clue.
So, to appease my new friend Rafaella, I need to show the paperwork trail from the time my mom was perfectly content to use her maiden name, to the time she changed her name to the one we both currently share. This paperwork trail will include a marriage certificate, a divorce decree, a final judgment, and a certificate of fact (aka certificate of clerk). All which are going to need an apostille. All which must be translated into Italian.