If not now, when?

One American woman. Twenty acres and a 1650 farmhouse in Tuscany. Random introspection and hilarity, depending on the day.

15 February 2005

Let's start at the very beginning...

Okay, you'll hate me in two hours for this, and you can blame it on an overly musical upbringing, but I've got Julie Andrews singsonging in my brain - it's a very good place to start ... do, re, mi...

Always a writer but never a journaler, I'm finding it hard to get into the disciplined of putting this all down. Of course, I'm afraid I'll miss something if I don't just jump in. I suppose everyone begins one of these similarly - thinking there won't be enough to say. I'm starting with the small idea - this is the chronicle of an adventure, not a bold social statement or dramatic interpretation of the life around me.

It started with a trip hiking in Tuscany that I wasn't supposed to take with an unlikely friend, who we'll call Beatrice (pronounced the Italian way - Be-a-tree-chay. It's not her 'real' name, but I'm following the inspiration of one of my favorite blog mentors, the Sensitive Rebel who has a handy way of referring to people by some sort of descriptive nickname, rather than their actual name. Keeps it interesting and protects the guilty, innocent, or anonymous all at once.) Long story short, I was there only because Beatrice had been recently diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer and I accompanied the small group on the hiking trip as a backup plan of sorts in case anything went awry (one of my very best skills: group crisis management in unexpected situations.) At any rate, during the trip, I was casually introduced to The Diplomat, a friend of Beatrice's. Long story short - The Diplomat and his partner Renaissance Artist were wondering what to do with their restored 17th century Tuscan farmhouse when they left in summer 2005 for another 4 year diplomatic posting. 3 glasses of wine and a bowl of fresh olives later, Beatrice (in her incredible, inspiring, grab-what-life-throws-at-you kind of way) suggested that I could live there. The Diplomat looked at me and asked if I was moving to Italy, and my simple response was that I couldn't think of a reason why I wasn't.

And so, two years hence, I am in the midst of preparation for a move from an english basement apartment in Washington, DC to a 1650 Tuscan farmhouse. "If Not Now When," is my attempt at chronicling (for myself primarily, but also for all the friends, family and aquaintances who will want stories of) the adventure. Because so many of the magical and frustrating and introspective moments are bound to be the little ones that will be left out of the annual Christmas greetings.

Benvenuto alla avventura mia!


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