Zeus v. Athena (Jupiter v. Minerva)

Most people know that Zeus was the god of - among other things - Weather. Well, here in Italy ... the Romans adopted most of the Greek gods & goddesses, just with different names. Zeus became Jupiter. And when near Rome, I will do the same. So ... using ancient mythology as a reference, someone here in Tuscany must have pissed off Jupiter: Today down in the heart of Florence, it was 35 degrees C, which according to my favorite 'convert just about anything to just about anything else' website is 95F. And average here for this time of year is about 85, so everyone here in 'noairconditioningland' is a little miserable but trying to put a stoic face on things. Heavens, NOW I know why everyone closes for the month of August. I mean, if late June can be this bad... !?!? Florence also rivals Swampy Washington DC (or N'awlins) for sticky-no-air-movement. BLECCCCCH! So hot you can't concentrate. Fratello Guido, Il Cavaliere and I just sort of sat there in the office staring miserably at each other. Then of course, we were crazy enough to get steaming hot Chinese food for lunch .... (!?!?!?!?) I'm sure my body will adjust, but my office girl 72-perfectly-climate-controlled-degrees temperature gauge is going through its own version of culture shock.

Tonight, however, Jupiter went a little schizo on us ... it's downright chilly. The house sits at about 600m high, on a ridge, which is .372 miles (just less than 2,000 feet). Thankfully, it's cooler here than in the valley - there's some goofy 100 meters / less one degree rule of thumb, but I don't know if that really works...?!?! ... I think owning a thermometer would just make me more miserable, and what can I do about it anyway, so I don't have one. Either way, there's usually a breeze in the evenings - and the last two nights, there's actually been a stiff wind. Last night's was warm and vicious - I only know the Santa Ana winds by rumor, but this was what I imagined them to be - warm, loud, and almost stinging when it hit you. Tonight, a cold front found us, winds were brisk right around dusk (oh, I vaguely remember something about sun/land/heat/cool/convection/air ... where's Mr. Fig when I need him?!?!) and I actually am sitting here typing at midnight in a sweater and light scarf!

Since today's topic is weather, that's an ideal segue into my other favorite weather-affected topic: hair. (Deep breath). (CAUTION: Totally vain, obsessive rambling ahead). Okay. I'm COMPLETELY self aware enough to know that I've got more high-maintenance hair than ... um, I'm running through the list here... 99.44% of you, blogodites. Virgin Blogger *may* be a tie with me, depending on the year. (I say with reverence and admiration!), and some of ye metrosexual tendency boys out there are equally FUSSY, but once it's done, it's pretty much done. Mine, on the other hand, is an organism unto itself - morphing continuously throughout any given day if not properly situated at the beginning.

One of my biggest emotional hurdles in this move is going to a simpler hairstyle. Less 'fluff.' (Blossom gets credit for trying - in his sometimes not-so-gentle way to edge me in this direction for years now.) AKA - as just about any gal out there knows - the excruciating process of 'growing out' Add steamy summer days, no AC, and the fact that - I'll admit it - I'm a 'head sweater' ... blow around a bit, and, voila': stewed, drowned rat.

But, apparently, all my kissing up to the goddess Minerva (Athena in Greek, i hope you're following ... legend has it turned Medusa's hair into snakes, so I've been kinda hoping she can use her power for good, too ...) seems to have worked. It's just now long enough to twist up and put in a clippy on the back of my head. Which I've learned to just start out with on hot days, rather than even try for anything else. AND, glory of glories, I caught a glance at myself in a mirror today, and I was shocked to find that while I looked a little flushed, my head itself did not look like it had suffered the proverbial 'swirly'. You rock, Minerva. I owe you one.

Hey, DC dwellers, hold me accountable for not going back to 'fluff-osity' when I'm back next month: you know how addicts go right back to their habits in their old environments. If I can pull off Minerva 1 - Jupiter 0 here in Tuscany, I bet I can do it there too.

Millions of Sunflowers

Yesterday, in my wanderings in Umbria ... gorgeous fields upon fields upon fields of sunflowers. They harvest the seeds for oil. Amazingly, spectacularly beautiful.
It merits mention that my crappy photographic skills are NOT responsible for this photo -- this is from the site of my new friends, Bob & Rosemary, who are both incredibly talented artists living in Perugia.

A toast to the Anonymous Commenter...

... who, for those of you who haven't quite figured out how the whole 'comments' thing works, said today (in response to my previous post...):

"Se non ora quando?" is the title of a book by the Italian writer Primo Levi. Supposedly he borrowed it from a east european poet. (-supposedly- since I don't remember now if Levi fictiously pretended to cite a poem written by another author or it was actually real).

Oh, how I desperately yearn to be such an erudite literary scholar that I could pause, pull my spectacles off my face, and respond with authority: "Well, of course, Anon. Commenter, Levi's compelling work (when read in its original Italian, because the subsequent '87 Weaver translation - though solid - still doesn't have quite the passion that Levi's original text did) was exactly the inspiration for my denomination of this journey."

However, friends out there in blogville, know this if you know nothing else: Viaggiatore will always give it to you straight, even when it's not pretty.

And so, here I will somewhat humbly confess that I have no recollection of ever even HEARING of Primo Levi. (Which, humorously and loosely translated from Italian means First Jeans?!?!!) Nor have I heard of (and therefore never read) 'Se non ora, quando?' -- which -- for those of you who haven't caught on yet, translates to: If not now, when? Though it is entirely possible that it was mentioned somewhere along the way to me, it (clearly!) had zero absorption into the grey matter.

Now that I know it's 'out there,' I WILL see the day when I am able to read and absorb it in its original Italian. That day, however, is not today. I can just now triumphantly ask for - and UNDERSTAND! - directions when I'm lost in Perugia (which I was, twice, today.) That aforementioned Weaver translation, (thanks, Google!) however, is absolutely moving to next on my list of books to find. Amazon will be getting an order tonight that will be waiting for me before I get back to the States next weekend.

Crazy. Part of me feels like beating my abjectly ignorant head against a wall, but knows that's ridiculous: we cannot know everything, even regarding subjects about which we are passionate. The other half is humming with a slightly tingly aura of fate/beschert/destiny/former life/divine intervention. I mean, really ... what are the odds of stumbling onto the same title as a book by an Italian author?!

And so, if I were wearing a hat, it would be removed as I bow deeply in appreciation of Anon. Commenter and his/her enlightenment. And as for who 'Anon. Commenter' is in this case, I could probably surmise a logical few names on a short list of those I consider to be literary scholars (or Italian aficionados, or Trivial Pursuit Champions, Literature PhD's, everyone's 'phone a friend' on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, or general savants) who read this here rambling, I may likely be surprised at Anon. Commenter's true identity.

And so, in lieu of singling out Anon. Commenter in person -- I raise a glass to all of you who are here: may we all surprise ourselves - and others - regularly. Be just a little more than you seem. And if you are not more than what you seem, for heaven's sake, be mysterious.

Today's language & philosophy lessons

My use of the word euphemism in the last post reminded me of one of my other favorite not-so-often used (or rarely used correctly) words... aphorism. I share it with you now, courtesy of Merriam-Webster online, because I'm a total dork for languages. Really. And in the case of both euphemism and aphorism, I have to say I must disagree with my teenage hero Ferris Bueller, who said, "Not that I condone fascism. Or any "isms" for that matter. "Isms," in my opinion are not good. A person should not believe in an "ism." He should believe in himself." (Which is, in and of itself, an aphorism: vicious language circle!) But I've kept you in suspense now too long:

Main Entry: aph·o·rism
Pronunciation: 'a-f&-"ri-z&m
Function: noun
Etymology: Middle French aphorisme, from Late Latin aphorismus, from Greek aphorismos definition, aphorism, from aphorizein to define
1 : a concise statement of a principle
2 : a terse formulation of a truth or sentiment : ADAGE

So. To use our new word in a sentence, class, we would say that 'If Not Now, When?' is Viaggiatore's current favorite aphorism.

And so it is.

I certainly didn't create it. Memory is a little foggy on this, but it seems that I read it in a book? Saw it in a movie? Either way, it resonated with me and sort of accidentally became my mantra 3 years ago, New Year's Eve, to be precise... (*never a banner holiday for me.) It struck me that for that year, instead of those horrible 'lose 10 lbs, buy fewer pairs of shoes, volunteer more, drink less, nurse stray animals back to health' resolutions, that my ONE resolution would be to ask myself that question: 'If not now, when?' about all major decisions in my life. To articulate decisions about IF I was going to do or not do things -- and if they were going to be postponed, until when? (not just that horrible LATER or SOMEDAY trap that people fall into; to put actual dates on things.) This is a variation on Beatrice's 'put it on the calendar' mentality. It works for minor decisions, too, interestingly. Allow me to illustrate:

That New Year's Eve -- the question was:
If I'm not going to sell my house and move into the city NOW, when am I going to do it? (Answer: I am going to sell the house. Not today, but in February.)

Nearly 18 months later, the question was:
If I'm not going to move to Italy now, when am I going to do it? (Answer: if I don't do it now - with every opportunity wide open and no reason NOT to - I will never do it. And that's not okay with me. Statistics say that the longer we live, the more complicated our lives get ... and mine is oddly wide open now with no reason standing in my way to not go. Almost as if I was supposed to, which depending on your particular religious belief, maybe I was. Fated. Beschert. Divine intervention. Destiny. And who am I to mess with that? I can't not go just because it's scary, I will never forgive myself.) And, if it ends up not being all those things, I will invoke another favorite aphorism -- this one courtesy of my favorite comedian, bartender, businessman, everyday hero: my Dad -- "there are very few decisions in life that are irreversible" (having children and suicide were his examples. I'm confident, upon reflection, that this was during some sort of a teenage sex-discouraging talk.) But the principle is true, and has stuck with me.

So. If not now, when:

Illustrated with little (hypothetical) decisions:
If I'm not going to eat that entire sleeve of girl scout thin mint cookies now, when am I going to do it? (Answer: Never. oh, please. The sugar rush alone would kill you.)

If I'm not going to learn to speak Japanese / spin wool / play the harpsichord NOW, when am I going to do it? (Answer: Probably never. The follow up question -- is that okay with me? Yup.)

... and it works when counseling others...

If you're not going to dump that guy who is so obviously, classically wrong for you NOW, then when are you going to do it? (Answer: After the wedding you've agreed to go to together in two weeks. Or before he introduces you to his mother. Or before you have to throw him a surprise birthday party or suffer through another totally thoughtless stupid christmas present from him. Or before you meet his kids. Or you're not going to drop him completely because there's SOME redeeming value there at least for the moment(ahem), and you're willing to settle for that for now, but you're going to be brutally honest that this isn't going anywhere and is just casual. Or heavens, before you walk down the aisle. Or whatever. Because you're not meeting anyone ELSE while you're spending every spare moment with Mr. Wrong. But sometimes filling time with Mr. Wrong is easier for the moment. But make the decision, either way -- consciously.)

Answer the question. Put it on the calendar. Live a deliberate and aware life. Make conscious choices -- even if they're choices to keep doing what you're doing. You can always change your decision later. But don't just float along thinking you don't control what 'happens' in your life. You do.

If not now, when?

A cock just crowed.

That's not a bad euphemism. Literally, it's 4:46 am here. And I heard someone's cock crow. Not mine - my farm is cockless (meaning that we are without rooster). Or chickens for that matter. Or, actually, any form of farm animal, except the cats - who would probably be characteristically nonplussed to be thusly categorized.

Anyhow - back to the crowing. Hearing it isn't a good sign ... because that means I'm lying here awake. It's not the heat - it is actually a pleasant, 73 degrees-ish night, pretty much ideal sleeping weather in summer (or at least, as good as I think you can hope for, so you take it when you can get it!) Some people typically are up this time of day - by internal clock or discipline of routine ... Neighborhood Vigilante and The Mom come to mind! ... though any of you who have ever slept with me (and I mean that in the literal 'sharing of a roof' way, not the poorly-configured sexual euphemism,) know that I am NOT - under virtually ALL circumstances - not a morning person. This is a truism in my life.

I remain convinced there are two fundamental kinds of people in life: morning people and not-morning people. Typically, not-morning-people are night people, but this is not always the case. I myself, yes. But definitely not a morning person. Indeed, I can probably count on two hands the number of times that I have actually by choice (or by inability to sleep) seen the sun actually rise. I particularly appreciate having a sunset view house here - which, when the opportunity arises, I will nearly always stop, relax with a cocktail and worship for a moment. Some people say you can "become" a morning person -- I know women with young children who claim this ... I would argue that this then becomes a 'nature vs. nurture' question. Along with soooooo many other things in life, I say you're born one way or the other. Best to find a life that lets you live as you are. So - for me, not-morning-person, I've moved 6 hours ahead of my office in the US so I don't have to be in the office at the crack of dawn each morning. So far, this suits me fabulously - most days, I work about 2 pm - 10 pm here, which are the hours I'm really at peak performance anyhow. Added benefit -- fewer cocktail hours to go to, which also means (heavens, let's hope ...) less of a struggle keeping down those extra cocktail-induced pounds!

Logic and science would dictate that they are fundamentally equal, but it seems to me that sunrise is shorter than sunset. Suddenly, the whole day is bathed in light... before the sun itself is even visible. I suppose one's perspective on this depends on which side of the ridge one lives ... the sun is 'up' for quite some time on the opposite side before it ever peeks over my trees. There's no time for enjoying the early rays, it's as if nature just knocks up the rheostat like a party guest with an errant elbow. Me, on this side of the ridge, I prefer sunset ... you get to SEE and appreciate every moment of it, instead of just guessing what's happening.

It's a beautiful, quiet and cool summer morning. I find, oddly, that I don't miss the city at all, which surprises me a lot, having really always been a city person. I DO miss having things in walking distance - but don't miss the 'buzz' of it. The country has a buzz all its own, but not one made up of freakish people - the bees are already waking up, the early birds are starting to answer back the rooster. The first car just passed by on the road, likely a farmer (who ELSE would be on a rural road at 5am?!?!) It's still and clear here. Looks like a pretty day.

It will be interesting to see what my adjustment is to sleeping back in the buzz of the city next month (and with the morning people Neighborhood Vigilante & Old Soul, eek!) Though that's where my 'heavy sleeper' tendency will also come in handy. As many of you will also attest, I can pretty much sleep through anything... (even when it's only supposed to be a 'disco nap'!)

Hmmmmm. Interesting. As I re-read this, I realize that I'm more pensive, reflective, and dry in the mornings, more witty in the evenings. Thank heavens for all of you that I typically write at night!

Bats and Snails and Lizard tails...

That's what today was made of! I woke up this morning to find a mashed snail (not totally uncommon) and a lizard tail at my door. Just the tail. About 5-6" long. I will spare you the photo. I must assume that it was a gift from one of the cats. I hope the rest of him escaped. Perhaps they've figured out who the hand that feeds them is and it's some sort of a welcome gesture? Gosh, really - a fruitcake would have been fine. And if that brush with wildlife wasn't enough, I had my second visit from the Pipistrelli last night. Actually, and it kind of kills me to admit it ... they really are eerily beautiful. I'm still glad to see them from inside the complete false sense of security offered by my net-tent, but their flapping is totally unmistakable and kind of ... weirdly calming. I was not at all expecting this to be my reaction: I didn't hate it. Now, I'm not hanging rotting fruit from my ceiling to attract them, but ... I can learn to share the evening with them. Who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks?

Fair warning ... to those of you who have just gotten lulled back into complacency with my regular posting ... The upcoming week is frantically busy (while all ye back in the good ole U-S-of-A are flag waving, beer drinking and fireworking, I've got to make hay while the Italian sun shines here... before the country closes up for 'holiday' in August so I won't be able to deal with anyone! Plus, there are only 10 days before I'm back in the states again, eek!). I'll be halfway up and down the country working to get things organized for our upcoming tour groups this fall. I'm sure it will give me tons of fantabulous tales for you, but you may have to be a bit patient about getting them.

Coffee talk ("Tawk amongst yourselves")

I've oft been quoted as saying (usually at work when trying to facilitate the inevitable discomfort of change):

"It's not better, it's not worse, it's just different."

While – as has already been noted, I do miss the hell out of my Caribou large – nonfat – vanilla – no froth – latte: I must say that coffee here is really excellent – much better than the average in the States, though if you are weak of palate, it will take a bit of adjustment. To paraphrase some unremembered author, Italians prefer to take their coffee in short and very strong bursts throughout the day. A ‘bar’ here refers to a coffee bar. The concept of a ‘to-go’ coffee is completely nonexistent. You go up to the cashier, pay in advance for your order, get a scontrino (receipt) and then walk over to the bar itself, where the barista (this word sounds Italian, but I'm not confident that it isn't just a manufactured Starbucksian word?) makes you whatever kind of coffee you want - served in a *real* coffee cup - and you stand at the bar with the locals, knock it back, and head out the door.

But before THAT, you have to figure out what to order: the myriad ways to order coffee was actually invented here, I’m certain. Ye Starbucksians will catch on relatively quickly: Ordering just a caffe gets you an espresso. (Also called Normale.) Doppio is a double shot of espresso. Macchiato means marked (as in marked with a touch of milk.) And so on. (random Italian language trivia – when you order Venti at Starbucks, that’s the Italian word for twenty – as in the number of ounces the cup holds. See? You already know more Italian than you thought you did!) Americano means – one guess – bigger and weaker. The word Latte literally means milk – though when referring to coffee, it has been adapted to mean coffee-with-milk. Despite the fact that I’m a picky-coffee-orderer in the States, here I just drink it Normale. I figure I already appear to be enough of a foreigner without mangling a prissy coffee order before my tongue is warmed up in the morning! I’m STILL not totally confident of what the difference is between a latte and a cappuccino, though – in either country! And, oh -- a cappuccino is ONLY for breakfast here – ordering one after 11 am definitely identifies you as ‘not from around here’!

Speaking of breakfast, this is the part of my soul that has always been Italian – the non-breakfast eating part of me. You see, I’m one of those odd Americans who simply doesn’t love breakfast: other than the necessity of coffee -- I’m fine with eating nothing, or a simple piece of toast or a bagel (oooooh, real chewy New York style bagels. Add THAT to the list of things I miss!). I can’t stomach eating anything sweet in the morning, nor do I like eggs, anything made with eggs (frittata, quiche, omelet, etc etc.), oatmeal, cream of wheat, bananas, or generally any preserved fruit. The Old Soul will quickly pipe in that I have ‘texture issues’ – which is true, though it makes me sound much more finicky than I really am. I’m actually a pretty adventurous, easy-to-please eater, at any meal other than breakfast. But this is an easy transition to Italian life: they aren’t breakfast eaters, either. A quick coffee and a small pastry of some sort (cornetta, flauti, croissant, etc.), and they’re off and running for the day – until about a 1 or 2 pm lunch. Perhaps it’s because their systems are still working off the heavy (and LATE!) dinner from the night before!

But back to coffee, I’m working on outfitting the Capanna (1-bedroom guest house) for guests. Since I’m living there for the next 2 months while Diplomat, Renaissance Artist and I are all overlapping here, it’s the best time to figure out what people would really need to actually stay here. So, during my trip to the IperCoop this past week, I also bought an electric espresso pot. The instructions – no kidding -- came in 20 languages, including Arabic and a host of others I didn’t recognize. I threw away all but the Italian and English. After three tries to work it and no luck (I insisted on reading only the Italian directions, to see how much I could ‘get’), I finally realized that I was using the wrong type of coffee. Argh. It’s amazing how missing one little word can throw off the entire program. Also bought a Tostapane (toaster). I must admit, I’m impressed with Italian innovation: you put the bread in these funny ‘holder’ things and THEN stick it into the machine. When it’s done, simply grip the (cool) handles, and easily remove bread. All this for only 9 Euros. Though this overly-smart innovation begs the question of how Italian children learn about electricity if it isn’t while sticking a knife in to a toaster to fish out their stuck bread?

The first wave of guests is already making their reservations – The Mom, Chickie, and their gang of assorted friends will be here for Christmas, and I’m trying to convince Blossom to abandon American Thanksgiving and come hang with me here. The Professor & MaryAnn have sent word that they’re making a pilgrimage (to birdwatch among other things) next spring. Old Soul & Neighborhood Vigilante are working their oh-so-busy calendars. The Traveling CloudBoffers will hopefully stop by between tours this fall, as might Peter Pan. Beatrice & the Pensive Oak will be here in October. As for the rest of you … start thinkin’! My very FIRST guests will actually be here next week: Sparky & Tortola Artista are going to be in Tuscany on vacation in early July – staying by sheer coincidence only about 15 miles away. So we’ll christen their visit (and all those that follow!) with Prosecco, of course. As for the rest of you: I’ve now got the right coffee, mosquito net, and a toaster: it's like boy scout camp with really good wine! Ya’ll drop on by!

City dwellers, beware.

...and those of you who knew me back when I was a city dweller and was, um, to put it politely - not domestically skilled?!?! (I had a cleaning lady for my 650 square foot apartment), you may want to skip this post if you're faint of heart or just want to remember me 'the way I was.' At least take suburban dwelling kids to another room.

So, now that the sensitive impressionable ones have signed off: here is where I say, thank goodness for Little House on the Prairie. You know, that cheezy 80's tv tribute to the life of Laura Ingalls Wilder, the show that gave Melissa Gilbert more time in the spotlight than she ever deserved and launched the career of Jason Bateman, featuring that once-upon-a-time slightly dreamy Michael Landon. (*You're wondering where this gushing wholesomeness is going, I know ...) THAT is where I learned how one hangs wash out on a line. At least I think it was, I certainly can't imagine where ELSE it would have been! And today, I did it in real life. Add THAT to the list of things I never thought I would do that are about to become second nature. Now, don't get me wrong, we do *have* a dryer (The Diplomat did not go entirely medieval during renovation). It's just too darn hot to run it. Plus, the electricity is crazy expensive. On a sunny summer day, it's really the only rational alternative.

And since I've got the hang of posting photos now, here's the pic to prove it. Note the cypress tree and haystack in foreground. It's far enough into the backyard that the (ahem) delicates don't flap around in plain view during cocktails on the terrace. Yup, this is the country! I am shaking my head a bit ... it's moments like this that it's hard to believe how much my life has changed in the last 2 months!

Things that make you go hmmmmmmmm.

Obviously she's had too much Tuscan sun and time on her hands today ... But even if there wasn't, don't ever let it be said that Viaggiatore is not responsive to her 'peeps'. Here ya go, Chickie. And yes, the ability to comfortably refer to oneself in the third person is definitely a sign of psychosis. For those of you just tuning in, read the comments from the last post. And the blob of spices from The Mom in the middle is 'la casa mia'. I woulda filled in the whole country, but we're rationing the Chipotle, kiddos.

Makin' good on that photo promise...

I promised some time ago that I'd get some pictures up here, so today - my first quiet Saturday in I don't-know-how-long - I'm going to make good. Besides, I'd bake in the mid-afternoon to do anything besides stay inside and work quietly on the computer!

As for this one, it's hard to remember a night here in the past month or so that there hasn't been a spectacular sunset. I'm not a particularly good photographer, but tried to capture a bit of the 'light & cloud' show that takes place. Plus, we're far enough North that spring and early summer the sun doesn't set 'til well after 9 pm. No wonder dinners start so late here! (Though if my astronomy classes serve me well, we'll have the opposite problem in the winter months?) As Beatrice says, I don't need to borrow trouble from tomorrow. Just enjoy the sunset today.

But before today's sunset, I do have to comment on the PACE of life here. Everything is so -- much --- slo---wer. People don't seem to be frantic. Everything in good time. Lunch takes 2 hours, and everything closes. My major accomplishment for the day was that I made myself a pedicure appointment -- for Thursday, the soonest they could get me in. Small town, one esthetician! Aaaaah, for the days when I could walk around the corner and have my nails done in less than 30 minutes with no notice! It's REALLY easy to spend an entire afternoon and not know what you actually did. As for me, after a long few weeks of non-stop running around, today I made myself a big salad (add THAT to the list of things I miss about the US!), and sat in the shade beneath the 'lunch tree' (which not-so-glamourously consists of a makeshift bench made out of a length of wood) to eat while reading a book. Glorious. This was the view out to the valley ... that's Siena there in the distance, in the valley just beyond the chimney in the photo.

Out of Africa

Not that I'm counting, but I think I've actually LIVED here for not quite a full month now (not including the trip back to the the states.) And in that time (living completely in the open air), I am thrilled to report, I have not been bitten by one single thing.

That is, until tonight. So much for a good luck streak!

Maybe it's the season changing a bit. Maybe it's the passing of the summer solstice. Maybe something finally finished its gestation period and launched a whole new army of flesh-munching babies into the summer air. At any rate, my - ahem - significantly fleshy legs have become the daily special in the all-night bug buffet.

In the 'I must be psychic' category, on the way home I stopped at the IperCoop (like a really messy combination Target/Grocery Store on steroids!) to buy a coffee pot, a toaster, and a Zanzariera per Letto (one of those gigantic nets you hang over your bed.) In the 'SHE must be psychic' category, Danza Sorellina actually GAVE me one of these for Christmas this year that's still sitting at The Mom's house because it was too big to get back to DC. (I guess that 'psychic' thing of mine only goes so far.)

So anyway, just before sunset, I hung that puppy up over my bed. Truthfully, I really bought it because it's waaaaay to stuffy to sleep with the windows closed, and I still have those thoughts of pippistrelli running through my head. Yes, nature lovers, I KNOW they don't hurt you. But the thought of being startled awake by one fluttering in my face was a little too much to let me sleep comfortably. You simply can't undo 30+ years of brainwashing about bats. But with the new crop of nibbling insects I discovered tonight, I can see this was definitely a good call. I stopped scratching long enough to type this, have just doubled up on the benadryl, and I'm calling it a day.

And just for the record, the bed net thing looks MUCH sexier in the movies than it does in real life. It looks a little like I may be in some sort of a quarantine situation. Yeah, *that'll* bring in the cute single Italian men in droves. But that's okay. For the moment, my blotchy, red, swollen legs aren't fit to be entertaining.

Re-entry Pangs

I'm not sure which was harder -- reentry to the states 2 weeks ago, or the subsequent reentry here to Italy yesterday! There are so many things that stand out to me differently now, just after one short month. It just goes to show how quickly you can change 'normal' in your own mind! There are so many ridiculous comparisons to make, political commentary to offer on the rampant consumerism and disposable society that exists in the US. But that, friends in blogville, is a depressing rant for another day. Instead I will offer just a few of the fascinating juxtapositions (aaah, who can resist the chance to use a Venegoni word?!?!) of the past two weeks:

In Minnesota last week ... I called the hotel engineer twice to try to fix and then replace my air conditioning unit, rather than sleep in the sticky night air at the Marriott (and my window was sealed shut... !!)

In Tuscany last night ... I left my three windows and door standing open to try to get some sort of cross breeze into the slightly-toasty guest house that I'm living in until The Diplomat & Renaissance Artist leave for Cairo. The heat is only bad a few weeks a year here, apparently, but it's been an unusually warm spring and the house was closed up while I was gone. Of course, that meant that I woke up to an unexpected knock on my partially-open door from the TV guy this morning - he stopped in to drop off my invoice for the satellite wiring he did. Thankfully I was sleeping in something - (ahem)- modest! Lesson learned!!!

In Minnesota last week ... I was staying across the street from the mecca of all horrifying consumerism: the Mall of America. Anything and everything your little heart could desire, nearly all of it that you don't need, available nearly 24 hours a day.

In Tuscany this morning ... I was thankful that I had a granola bar left over in my purse from my travels, since when I drove through town yesterday, it was during the 'lunch break' and stores were closed. Mrs. Hubbard's Cupboards were VERY bare!

In Minnesota last week ... a busload of people got all a-flutter (pun intended!) when a bee found its way into the open bus door.

In Tuscany today ... welcome back to the Insect Grand Prix in my open room. The yard has changed so much in the few weeks that I've been gone: tons more butterflies now, which are beautiful. Also discovered that I have 'mud daubers,' which are apparently wasps that eat spiders but don't bite people. THESE are my kinda wasps!

In Minnesota last week ... I selectively bought 1,750 Q-tips (more than 500 days' worth!) and 192 gallon size ziploc bags at COSTCO to pack into my return suitcase. As I was leaving, Chickie presented me with his farewell gift: two bottles of Advil (enough for 165 days of morning-after dosages!)

In Tuscany yesterday... I was tickled to have not one but TWO boxes of gifties waiting for me from Chickie and The Mom. (apparently my plaintive wailing here has not gone unnoticed!) Soooooooo thoughtful: The Mom sent chipotle spice and recipes, BBQ sauce, some Ghirardelli chocolates from the 'homeland', and Advil. Chickie, bless his sweet heart, sent a year's supply of Bounce even though he's violently allergic to it, plus loads of Carmex and some fun sippy straws with umbrellas. I'll have static-free clothes and soft but spicy lips to wrap around copious amounts of straws ... Let the party begin!

In Minnesota last week ... I had to be witty and entertaining to 210 friends (okay, a few friends and mostly strangers) on less than 4 hours of sleep a night.

In Tuscany last night ... I had to be witty and entertaining to 8 guests at a dinner after a night of sleeping badly for a few hours in a coach airplane seat next to a guy who snored... At least I was *kind of* in charge back in Minnesota!

In Minnesota last week ... I was rudely awakened more than once by a screaming child in the room next door.

In Tuscany this morning... I was rudely awakened just a touch after dawn by what I would *swear* is a cuckoo bird. I had no idea these actually existed other than on those gaudy Swiss clocks! They're loud. And persistent. Like the clock chiming continuously at noon. Those earplugs that I used for the snoring guy on the plane are coming in handy.

I'm resigned to the fact that for the next few months, home is where my suitcase is, which is part of the adventure. I'm in that awkward time when neither place feels like home. (Cue Neil Diamond crooning "LA's fine, but it ain't home -- New York's home but it ain't mine no more!") Going back to DC next month should be interesting. But for the moment, at least until I pack Magdalena (that's my suitcase. long story.) up again, it's really good to be back. I *do* think I'm gonna like it here. But I still miss the hell out of my Caribou large vanilla nonfat no foam latte.

Happy dance!

I'm BACK, and have really missed blogging for these past few weeks, tho it's been so crazy busy that I truly haven't had a spare moment.

Promise to post more later tonight, but just couldn't wait to share the FANTASTICALLY exciting news that my shipment of 'stuff' that's been floating in the atlantic for the past month or so arrived here this afternoon, about 2 hours after I returned to the house. Timing truly couldn't have been more perfect. Aside from the slightly creepy guys who delivered it, I'm very impressed with the 6 weeks door-to-door service for my 19 boxes of 'assorted life'. Yes, I'm already wondering what the hell is *in* those boxes, but that's another story. They're all stuck in the basement for the moment waiting for The Diplomat & Renaissance Artist to pack up *their* things, which will be later this summer.

Even better is that the shipment made it here without any certification from the city government (Comune) about my residency (which they SAID they needed but apparently really didn't)... so this is one more "CHECK" on my list of bureaucratic hoops to jump through. Wa-hoo! I feel so much better knowing it's all HERE.

Also on the 'dontcha just love it when a plan comes together' note, closing on the new condo in DC will be able to be scheduled when I'm back next month, which is truly grand news. I'll even get to camp out there for a few nights to say I lived in it before I rent it out for an obscene amount of $$$. Clearly, someone 'up there' is looking out for me, and I'm abjectly grateful.

Just when I was getting settled...

I'm off! Today I'll drive 4 hours south to Terracina (which is on the west coast 2 hrs. south of Rome - to inspect a hotel for an upcoming tour) and then tomorrow morning, I jump into a Delta cattle coach flight back to the States for a little fun and a little (okay a LOT!) of work. The best part is that I will get a chance to see Beatrice & the Pensive Oak, Chickie, Pollyanna Buckeye, Nature Boy & My Favorite Ski Coach, EJoe, The Professor & Maryann, Tearjerker, MP/LameDuck, and many more! Logic tells me that if I were still living in DC it's not like I would have seen everyone before this trip anyway (other than P.B.), but it, oddly, seems so much more of a 'homecoming' than just a 'trip' now. Mindshifting.

Fratello Guido was here last night, and he and Il Cavaliere seem to have good news on the visa/work authorization front, which makes me rest a bit easier. Having loose ends with bureaucracy sets my spirit a bit on edge. I will have to seek Beatrice's translation assistance this weekend with the papers and see what hoops need jumping through next!

Anyhow - I bore you with all this because I'm hoping to keep updates going while I'm on the road at least part of the time - tho may be a bit less prolific than usual -- since of course, this is a blog about living in Italy - not running my sweet patootie off dawn 'til dusk shuttling around 200 of my nearest and dearest friends through Minneapolis!

True Confessions Time

Okay, I'm going to totally blow that sophisticated, worldly view you all have of me (hah! As I scrape dirt from my fingernails...): I kinda miss not having mindless American trash tv here. When I uprooted myself, I was just getting hooked on 'Eyes' (mostly 'cuz Tim Daly is so emminently ... doable) and Desperate Housewives, and, okay, Boston Legal....it's the delightfully vicious James Spader character that I can't resist. Here, TV comes in one flavor - Italian, and there are 5 channels. Wahoo! I'm spoiled for choice!

I do turn it on to train my ear, but there's not much worthy of watching. On the surface, their 'game and reality' shows are a thousand times more inane (and less sophisticated, I think?,) than even ours are, if you can believe THAT! -- though I'm willing to bet ours would seem much worse if I only understood every fourth word? There's one where it seems the goal is for the three 'contestants' (who may be semi-famous?) to make a series of selections (food, wine, music, etc,etc.) and then at the end it is revealed if they are 'hot or cold' lovers. Boy, I'm at the edge of my seat waiting for THAT?!?! Another where contestants are stuck together living/working on a farm in Brazil - kinda like Big Brother and Survivor and Colonial House all combined. And they have gone out of their way (why I cannot fathom!) to dub Will & Grace into Italian. The voiceovers they've chosen for Jack and Karen are truly, indescribably hysterical!

Speaking of TV, Green Gazelle shared this quiz this week: 'Which Desperate Housewife Are You' ... never one to resist a quiz (me and Virgin Blogger, we must have been trained on Cosmo in our youth!), I of course clicked right in. Since I'm sure you're all staying up nights wondering (Chickie, maybe THAT'S what's keeping you up?!?!): The quiz tells me I'm Lynette. Which I probably coulda guessed. I'm kinda her (once upon a time polished and professional, now just a bit of a mess trying to keep a house in the country together!) Though my life is kinda 'Lynette' without the brood of germfactories to chase after. She's got a bit of an edge, especially when crossed - which is definitely me, though I'm missing the wacko high-jealousy gene she seems to have! I'm not QUITE prissy enough for Bree (though the hairspray comment DID hit a little close to home, at least when I have my "DC hair" on), I'm much more practical, pragmatic (read: adult!) than Susan, and not nearly fashionista enough to be Gabrielle. Plus, the school of hard knocks has taught me that despite all my best efforts, I cannot seem to get the world to revolve around me. Though I could certainly use the young, hot ('lusty, husky, Tuscan?!) gardener! (Really: 20 acres, folks! Tho when he's done with that... )

Umm, the country comes with all this ... Nature?

Okay, I admit: it is one of the biggest adjustments I’ve had to make: all the noises, plants, creatures… it’s a lot for a mostly climate controlled city girl (for whom 'roughing it' was once a hotel without 24 hr room service) to adjust to all at once. Now, after 2+ weeks, I’m finally not flinching each time something flies by me, and have learned to look into the bathtub before I step in each morning (and 3 days out of 5 there is something with at least 100 legs.) Though I do resist killing them if they’re OUTSIDE. I sort of talk to them now – saying, “now, you know the rules, spiders don’t live in the house…” (as if there is a rational argument to be made with them here.)

But I have to admit, I’m fascinated by the incredible variety of new species (?) I am encountering (the scientists in the gang will correct me if that’s the incorrect use of that term…). Once I stopped being freaked out by it all, there’s some really fascinating stuff to see. I’m finding my way back to my early explorer/science student roots (you know, the ones I got in Jr. High with Mr. Fig and the gang… *before* Mrs. Woodall, that vicious psycho witch – not that I hold a grudge, HAH! - beat any passion for the sciences out of me in high school Bio… )

So today I discovered I’ve become the amateur Steve Erwin of the insect world. To wit: normal conversation with myself as I walk through the garden goes something like this: (please imagine my miserable version of a bad Aussie accent here): “now take a good gander at THIS big daddy! He’s the size of my entire THUMBNAIL! He’s a (something scientific-sounding) beetle, which you can tell because he has this really shiny metallic green color on a very hard shell! If you step on him, he makes a nice crunchy noise! They’re very loud when they fly through your living room, but dontcha worry kiddos, this little bugger is really harmless!.... Now this critter here, on the other hand (puts finger dangerously close to a pincher claw lookin’ thing…) – this here is a SCORPION. They won’t kill you, but their bite’ll hurt somethin’ fierce! Better check your slippers for these buggers when you put your tootsies in each mornin’!”

And what is it, really, about me (or is it people in general?): when one of the aforementioned critters breaks the rules and sets up shop nella casa (in the house): though I have an entire HOUSEHOLD of insect smashing items at my disposal; a veritable arsenal of bug-threatening weaponry... I always, out of habit - reach for the trusty ‘right shoe’ (as demonstrated just moments ago in the killing of my first two scorpions.) Yup, my loyal sidearm, always there -- even though it has the remains of many multi-legged creatures resting heavily on its sole. (pun completely irresistable!)

Okay, for you insects’ rights folks out there – and there MUST be some, I come from the Politically Correct Capital of the World… : I don’t kill the big ole’ shiny beetles, they’re too pretty and stupid and I mostly feel bad for their lot in life on this spin on the roulette wheel of evolution, reincarnation, or creation (something for all ye believers... ) I just help them back out the window. The scorpions? It's open season, big daddy!

SPLAT: that's the sound of me hitting the wall.

I knew it would happen. As The Mom reminded me pointedly today via phone, I have a typical pattern: run flat out for as long as I can, then collapse in a heap. You know the saying, sometimes you're the windshield, and sometimes you're the bug?

Yesterday, I was a giant squishy bug. Oooooooohhhh, it was *so* not pretty. Fever. Sore throat. Aching skin, hair, neck. An emotional mess for absolutely no reason. The trigger was a letter in the mail from my shipping company (requesting a stack of docs in order to release my stuff from the Naples port - some they should already have, others not yet in existence - more bureaucracy ...), which I received upon my return from a much-too-long lunch at the overprotective mother and son's house, with other neighbors former Ambassador to-or-from-somewhere and his wife in attendance. A lovely affair, really. Just *much* too hot (who eats steaming pasta, roast beef, spinach frittata, and red wine smack in the middle of a hot day?!!), and much too much Italian. I didn't mean that to sound as bitchy as I'm sure it does from afar (I know, I know - be careful what you wish for!) -- it's just that my defenses were definitely down - I was at the point of sheer exhaustion by two weeks of constant learning. I hadn't considered the toll that takes on one's psyche.

Came home and melted into a puddle, dosed up with an airborne tablet, a nyquil, and a bottle of water, shut all the windows to keep out the light and crawled into bed at 4:30 in the afternoon. Woke up this morning feeling somewhat more human, but still feverish and definitely not right enough to try to be the charming and witty expat at the lunch with a group of Guido's friends (1 1/2 hours drive away), so cancelled that (he, bless his sweet heart, said in reply that he would drive down if I needed him to. Saintly, really. He's like a bit of a goofy big brother without having to endure being beat up throughout my childhood.) Crawled back onto the couch with a pillow and watched brainless Italian television until 3pm. Understood about 1/5th of it. Talked with The Mom and reassured her I hadn't died, and went out to water the garden (a gargantuan task that I don't yet have the hang of -- pressure valves, drip irrigation, hoses that don't seem to reach where I need them to ...) A low-key afternoon is a VERY good idea; I can tackle the rest: getting the Capanna set up so I can somehow live there for the next two months, figuring out where to go in town to get the copies I need, and sending the shipping company the docs that I do have -- domani (tomorrow).

For tonight, I will be curling up yet again on the sofa, and treating myself to a bowl of gelato and the watching of a DVD in english. I myself don't OWN a DVD player - so this is all new technology to me, but apparently I can choose my language for audio and language for subtitles: how clever! However, I nose through the collection of The Diplomat & RA to find that my options seem to be limited to pre-1975 releases: a host of westerns (The Painted Desert, My Pal Trigger, a few John Waynes...), Daniel Boone, A Star is Born, Love Affair, Annie Hall, some of Jack Lemmon's early work, Fellini: Satryicon - which may be interesting, but I'm not in the mood tonight. As I'm heading into Rome this coming week, I select the Gregory Peck / Audrey Hepburn 'Vacanza Romane' (Roman Holiday?), and wonder what the rest of the world is up to ...

Just exactly what I needed

As if the schlepping me around town on a scooter in the visa hunt wasn't enough, today, Andrea truly earned his blog nickname: Il Cavaliere - somewhat loosely translated to 'knight' - (which we were joking about while he zipped me around through town the other day anyway ...) but here's the story:

I arrived in the office this afternoon (after sitting - no kidding - for a FULL HOUR at a COMPLETE standstill in the afternoon sunshine on the Autostrada for an accident investigation): color me hot, miserable, cranky - and a full hour late for a conference call. Trust me, it was sooooo not pretty. The office looked 'closed' (blinds on the doors drawn) when I walked up, which seemed odd... tho his charming face greeted me when I walked in, and he had a surprise for me: he had bought a tall, standing ventilatore (fan) for the office. Oh, blessed Mary mother of God!!!!!! On yet ANOTHER 90 or so degree day with no air movement in downtown Florence, with a culture that believes AC will make your joints go stiff (no kidding), this was better than ... anything. Not just the fan -- but the THOUGHTFULNESS of it. And he had the blinds drawn and the lights off so it would be as cool as humanly possible when I arrived. I truly worship this man. My not-sweat-friendly coiffure worships this man. My overly-sebaceous skin worships this man. My inability for my brain to function when it's hotter than 90 degrees in the shade worships this man. Truly, I never thought I would be so jazzed to see a fan: it is *so* the little things in life. Look, Mom -- life IS simpler over here!

The Soviet Safeway has nothin' on us...

Now that I've passed along the mostly successful results of the cooking experience, I thought it only fair to share with you the shopping extravaganza (and resultant frustration) of attempting to pull it together. I *knew* this was going to be a challenge: first, my box of kitchen stuff is in the 'floating in the Atlantic' shipment now, so I had to work with utensils I have here - which would likely NOT include any US measurements (cup, tablespoon, etc.). (Bless the handy convert just about anything to just about anything else website!)

Second, I get a stack of recipes from The Mom (cookbooks also in aforementioned floating shipment), make up a shopping list and truck myself to the grocery store. On the surface, it's your everyday normal grocery store, looks on the surface like something you would find in the states. You know, automatic doors that go 'woosh' when you walk up to them, shopping carts (tho they're much smarter - their carts work on a 'deposit & return' system - you put in a 1Euro coin to get the cart from its stall (like at the airports), then you get your 1E back when you lock it back up. Result: no damaged cars and no acne-faced 16 year old boy having to run gawkily all over the parking lot picking up discarded carts: smart! (oh, and you bag the groceries yourself. What *do* awkward teenage boys do here for a living?!?!)

Inside the store, layout is what I expect: produce in on your right (selection - marginal -- I think it's better to shop in a fresh veggie market for this stuff), then on to milk/eggs/cheese/deli counter. Except the deli counter has easily 50 different kinds of salamis, smoked meats (prosciutto, etc.) to choose from. And eggs? There's only one kind. They're brown, and they're NOT REFRIGERATED. Wacky. And when you break them open, the yolk is really more bright orange. Must be in the feed??? (this must be where Frank Perdue got the secret...)

It won't surprise you that there is AN ENTIRE AISLE devoted to pasta. (and they actually DO sell Barilla pasta here! Here I thought that was just an ad campaign directed at gullible Americans!) So as I shopped, I made a funny list of funny things that are different or don't really exist here ...

Peanut butter (oh, as you know, I found it eventually - there was one tiny little row of about 4 jars - only one option - which looked to be imported from Holland sandwiched next to the 'clam sauce'. Riiiiight. Just exactly where it's intuitive?!?! Crazy, next time you're in the store - take a look. I'd bet there are at LEAST 15 different choices to choose from? (Jif, Skippy, Peter Pan, Smuckers, all natural, chunky and not... super chunky, super extra double chunk, jelly already included.... you name it!) Oh, and FORGET grape jelly. The closest I could find was blackberry preserves. I guess they use all the grapes for wine! (I can't argue with this, really. Who needs grape jelly?!?)

Liquid Smoke or any pre-packaged BBQ sauce. Or any meat flavoring, at all, other than worcestershire sauce, which also was just a small row of 3 bottles (I bought two) near the clam sauce. Hmmm!

Advil. Now *this* is totally worth becoming a 'drug mule' importing this from the states!

Spices: no chile powder, ground mustard, thyme, cloves, garlic powder, just to name a few. The spice section did EXIST, but not nearly as extensively (I did find paprika, dried parsley, and ginger.) I guess they really do rely on fresh stuff. But, geez, why work so hard??

Brown Sugar or Molasses. There is sugar that is brown, but it's just the 'natural' version of cane sugar. Now that I think of it, I really don't know what's *different* about the brown sugar we have (except that it mashes down a lot)? I just took for granted that it was always there.

Marshmallows. (see, Mr. Hospitality? Hence, no ambrosia salad. And the world will be a better place...!) Of course, no marshmallows also means no S'mores, which makes my heart break just a little bit. What will I feed the neighbor boys on their 'campouts' this summer? I may have to import (and probably Graham crackers, too). No child should be without S'mores!

Jello. Yessiree, we have here a whole country that has never experienced the horror of a 7-layer jello salad! Again, IMHO, the world is a better place for this ... tho it's good to know that when Bill Cosby wears out his welcome in the US (isn't *that* nearly a done deal?!?), the rest of the world is just ripe for his next advertising campaign. Mmmm-mmmm, good.

So as not to be completely bashing my new adopted home, there are some things that are much, much better here: Their 'fresh bread' selection rocks (if you get there early enough to take advantage of it). And they have a ready made, roll-out and bake foccacia bread that is truly divine, 10 mins and fabulous (in the section where we would find all those Pillsbury exploding biscuit cans). Every deli counter I've been to has marinated artichoke hearts, which are among my very favorite foods.

And, when I got to the cash register, I did find that the 'loyalty shoppers club' invention of the US is alive and well here, so I paid more than the next guy for most of this stuff. Argh. Add that to the never-ending list of things I need to do -- apply for the 'magic Coop card'.

(and for those of you NOT living inside 'the beltway' - Washington, DC - it's fair to explain the header for this post ... In DC, we have nicknames for all the Safeway grocery stores: the Social Safeway (where people go to 'see and be seen'), the Senior Safeway (self explanatory), the Secret Safeway (hard to find), and - in my old neighborhood, the Soviet Safeway - so named because there is never anything on the shelves. So now ya know.)

Quickie world economics lesson

Found this on another message board I participate in (for ExPats living in Italy - there IS a website for everything!), it came up in a discussion about the French rejection of the EU constitution. I juggled it around a little (and left off the stupid Enron joke at the end), but it is a cute - albeit ridiculously oversimplified - illustration of the significant cultural differences around the world - it's no wonder the EU is having such a tough time getting it together!

TRADITIONAL CAPITALISM -- You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull. Your herd multiplies, and the economy grows. You sell them and retire on the
income.

AN AMERICAN CORPORATION -- You have two cows. You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. You are surprised when the cow drops dead.

FRENCH CORPORATION -- You have two cows. You go on strike because you want three cows.

A JAPANESE CORPORATION -- You have two cows. You redesign them so they are one-tenth the size of an ordinary cow and produce twenty times the milk. You then create clever cow cartoon images called Cowkimon(tm) and market them world-wide.

A GERMAN CORPORATION -- You have two cows. You re-engineer them so they live for 100 years, eat once a month, and milk themselves.

A BRITISH CORPORATION -- You have two cows. Both are mad.

A RUSSIAN CORPORATION -- You have two cows. You count them and learn you have five cows. You count them again and learn you have 42 cows. You count them again and learn you have 12 cows. You stop counting cows and open another bottle of vodka.

A SWISS CORPORATION -- You have 5000 cows, none of which belong to you. You charge others for storing them.

A HINDU CORPORATION -- You have two cows. You worship them.

A CHINESE CORPORATION -- You have two cows. You have 300 people milking them. You claim full employment, high bovine productivity, and arrest the newsman who reported the numbers.

And, finally ... AN ITALIAN CORPORATION -- You have two cows, but you don't know where they are. You break for lunch.

And, on that note, I'm doing the same. I've got leftovers to eat :)

Cena Americana!

So, a few neighbors came over last night for an american style meal. I would hope they actually like me, too, but I'm sure curiosity got the best of 'em, too.
Here's the menu rundown:

Appetizers on the terrace:
Prosecco (of course!) with finger PB&J sandwiches and 'Ants on a Log' (raisins, peanut butter and celery). We did have 2 young kids in attendance, I was trying to be user friendly. Plus, peanut butter doesn't really exist here, so people were fascinated.

'Wedge' salad with gorgonzola and toasted walnuts
Beef brisket with homemade bbq sauce and 'texas toast' - garlic bread
homemade potato salad
fried green tomatoes

Icecream with 'jimmies' sprinkles and watermelon for dessert.

The bbq sauce got rave reviews (and many extra helpings) from the Doctor, which was a relief (I was afraid it was too 'tangy'.) The meat was waaaaaaay too much work with constant basting for 7 hours, because it wasn't the same kind of meat I would have used in the states. It came out more like 'roast beef' (very dense, though thankfully not overcooked. Actually still a little pink inside, whew!). Really, I need to just buy a grill and just do hamburgers next time! Cooking in the house is too hot in the summer anyway. The surprise favorite of everyone was the fried green tomatoes, which I am tickled with! I couldn't find cornmeal, so I battered them in a mix of flour, salt & pepper, and ground up saltine-like crackers. Delicious!

You wouldn't recognize me, and Martha would have been proud -- I clipped a series of bright pink rose blossoms from one of my shrub roses and made a makeshift candle with floating roses centerpiece (in a giant mason jar since I couldn't find a hurricane), plus everyone had an individual rose in a short little glass vase at their place. To keep the 'americana' theme, I did have Garth Brooks on the stereo!

Of course, while we had been battling the heat all week, last night a front came through and it got really chilly - too much so to sit outside, so we had to move into the slightly-snug kitchen. But other than that, it all went according to plan and a good time was had by all! Once I got dinner on the table and relaxed a little, I actually was able to ask an intelligent question about politics (*what did they think of the French & Dutch rejection of the EU constitution), and understood MOST of the answer. Progress!

Living in my 650sq foot apartment in DC, I didn't do any 'full-meal' entertaining, and had TOTALLY forgotten how much work it is! I have renewed abject worship at how much of this The Mom did when I was growing up, she was always throwing THE party-to-be-at in our neighborhood. I hope I did her proud. Top the general work of a normal party with the fact that I'm trying to be the 'charming and witty ex-pat' in a language I'm barely transactional in while I put the finishing touches on a slightly too ambitious meal cooked on a foreign(CELSIUS!) stove in a tiny kitchen. Whew! I need a week to recover! Of course, I was up waaaaaaay too late unwinding (and finishing the champagne...) This morning, I took two of my 'advil ration' (did I mention Advil doesn't exist here, and even The Diplomat & RA have asked me to import for them?!?!), and deemed it a successful soiree.

A farewell party and a good question

Realized that I missed posting this back a few weeks ago... just now catching up on the old notes that I kept in the computer.

(MAY 16) It's been an exhausting weekend of festivities. Tonight was the 'work soiree' which was a general 'good-time-had-by-all' affair (at a local restaurant named Toscana West, appropriately!), complete with limericks and poetry presented from the multi-talented government relations team. Hysterically funny. Here's a slightly edited snippet (courtesy of the Old Soul):

... and she wonders in life, is there more?
She's decided to search a far shore
A peninsula boot-like
on her new Vespa scoot-bike
Lush green hills and old towns she'll explore.

She's leaving behind a new flat
And her office and friends and all that
For chianti and figs,
in her ancient stone digs,
As a charming and witty ex-pat!

She's always been one known to plan -
Plot her next seven moves if she can ...
But this time is diff'rent,
And I'm feeling quite prescient,
She'll return with a big strapping man!

And with luck this one man will like ladies,
tho' she probably won't settle in to make babies.
So please now raise your glass
To our own Irish lass
To Italy, come high water or Hades!

Admittedly, I got a little 'mosh' -- just a touch.

In addition to the extended office family, I was relieved that the White Robe Club was able to make an appearance and pick up my robe for safekeeping until the next meeting in the meadow. (Not THAT white robe club, sillies - what year do you think this is?!?! They're spa robes. yeesh!) And as for the good question... to swing from poetry to philosophy, I was thrilled that ole' college buddy BDK stopped by to say farewell. One of the most genuinely wonderful people I've ever had the privilege of knowing. Brilliant, sensitive, intuitive. I'm sure that I never gave him the credit he deserved in college (not an intentional slight - just the idiocy of youth), but somehow many years hence we have salvaged a piece of a friendship borne out of shared history. It was good to see him, albeit briefly. He cornered me for a moment and asked what is thus far the most pointed and poignant question of this entire experience:

"are you running to something, or away from something?"

I'm not sure of the answer, really. Neither? Both? Hmmmmmm. There's a nugget of a soul search buried in there. This one deserves much pondering over a glass of Chianti, looking out at the sunset.

lest I forget to say 'thank you'...

It's one fifteen in the morning here, and I was up waaaaaaay too early this morning, so have got to hit the hay (swatting three or four helicopter-sized zanzare - skeeters - enroute to the bed). But it just hit me as I was closing up the house, here in the VERY quiet of the night: I don't feel alone here, because of you.

By 'you,' I mean, yaknow, YOU. Those of you who are actually checking in here at my little corner of the internet on a somewhat regular basis, posting comments, and sending me notes. I'm overwhelmed. I love the comments. Some of you are still 'anonymous' - others have adopted your own blog names (or have 'sucked up' the one I gave you). To you all -- chickie, unassuming princess, beatrice, The Mom, stillunnamed sorella, diva di giardina, green gazelle, lastminutecancellation, n. winkust, virginblogger, bicyclebuiltfortwo, and all you 'lurkers' but not posters ... those of you who forward this to your friends, or who tell the story of the slightly crazy girl in Tuscany at a dinner party: thanks for, well, just being there, and being my (also slightly crazy) friends.

Maybe it's a little bit the two glasses of wine talking (easy, now, I moved to the country, didn't lose my legendary tolerance!)... but

- caution: slight moment of introspection, hold the mushy stuff -
I know I'd be writing anyway, though it means infinitely more knowing that it is actually read. (Tree falling in the woods, etc., etc.) You're there to hear me, and I love you for it. (yes, Blossom, this means you. Get on it, you've got a lot of stories to catch up on!)

And, with that: Goodnight, MaryEllen. (and you're all supposed to say... anyone?? anyone???... as the farmhouse goes to sleep for the night? come on, now... don'tcha have Nick at Night?!)

Goodnight, JohnBoy.