A not-to-be-missed experience:

Me. Scooter. Streets of Florence. And... ACTION! Whew! Wait a moment while I re-fluff my capelli (hair). Helmets are a necessary evil.

This morning, Andrea (who really *does* deserve his own blog name - but for now, he's just Zio - Uncle - Andrea), met me at the Discover Tuscany office and we arranged a game plan for our festive morning of bureaucracy. Andrea, bless his heart, has agreed to help me jump through the Florentine hoops in a hopefully-not-vain attempt to get my work authorization and 'nulla osta' (one from the Provincial Labor Office, the other from the Questura - the Italian equivalent of immigration.) Bureaucracy is the same the world over: these are not easy tasks, even when you have all your ducks in a row. We are not daunted, though.

I should preface ALL of this by mentioning, ahem, (stage direction: brief aside to the audience...)Andrea non parla inglese (does not speak English - please, kids, tell me you got that one? I'm trying to be good with the sprinkling in of words and translations, but really...). Anyhow, he does speak a word here and there (hello, thank you, ok), but basically none. (By mentioning this, I want to be clear that I do NOT in any way consider this a fault! He has lived in Italy his whole life, therefore speaks Italian. I have lived in America my whole life, and speak English. Well, and enough Spanish to survive - albeit badly, and now, a bit of Italian.) I bring it up as central to the story because it makes this particluar situation a bit more challenging. This morning, we are relying completely on my ability to understand him (and make myself understood) and somehow navigate our collective way through a bureaucratic web -- somewhat akin to a blind, deaf, and mute duo holding hands and finding their way through the New York subway system on the first try. But we are not daunted.

Shortly past 9, after a very strong caffe, we hop onto his scooter, and take off for the centro (city center). I have the utmost confidence in his driving abilities, though these little scooters zip in and out of Florentine traffic like mosquitos. (Actually, the brand name 'Vespa' means wasp in Italian!) With just the slightest admitted trepidation, I (in my flippy shoes, flowy skirt, and perfect hair), strap on my casco - translated as 'crash helmet' in my minidictionary, which does NOT invoke confidence - and swing my leg over the back of the scooter. I am not daunted.

As we cross over the river (the office is in a section of town just South, i think, of the Arno), Andrea tells me to look at the beautiful city and the Ponte Vecchio just off to the left. It is indeed a picture perfect moment. Me on the back of a scooter, blue sky, sun shining, looking out at the historic, beautiful skyline of Firenze. I think I'm gonna like it here.

More later on the travails of Tuscan bureaucracy, which certainly deserves a post of its own, but suffice it to say that on the morning of what turned out to be a 93 degree day with no airconditioning (crazy, abnormally hot for here this time of year), the wind whipped ride careening through the streets of Firenze, seeing the historic streets and buildings through the fresh albeit rapidly jading eyes of a resident -- on my version of the white horse and knight helping me along ... pinch me, I really *live* here... is a perfectly polished memory.

R.O.U.S.es

Aaah, yes. I can't resist a great 80's movie reference. Rodents of Unusual Size. (and the movie title...? anyone??? anyone???? Bueller???) Look at that. TWO great 80's movie references in one posting! Clearly, I don't have enough current media stimuli.

But I digress. Just when my fears about a cat-eating prowler in the yard were allayed by Maxi's reappearance ... sunset watering tonight brought another discovery. Yesterday, I was impressed at the beautiful purple Irises that had just bloomed in the back garden. Tonight, my watering can and I discover that the bed of irises has been totally massacred. Cruelly yanked out of the ground by their stems, cast aside, and with football-size holes dug in the nearby ground (presumably so whatever did the massacring could eat the bulbs.) This is good and bad news, I must surmise: the cat eating monster is clearly still on the prowl, but has gone vegetarian. Yeesh. What's next, kabbalah?

Anyhow, this discovery prompted 'note to self' in journal: don't sleep with bulbs under your pillow and the window open. See how much I'm learning about the country??

Altogether now: a giant sigh of relief

Since I know all you out there in blogville were on pins and needles (hah!), I'm happy to report that tonight, exactly 48 hours after last sighting, Maxi (the cat) just showed back up at sunset. No major scars, no missing limbs, no ear chewed off. Not even a scratch that I could find. He just walked up. Very anticlimactic, really.

Not that I wished him injured, of course, but I have spent two days a bit frantic, and he just saunters in from the garden like he's been napping. I've walked through most of the nearby property calling his name, hoping I'd hear a mewling from under a shrub somewhere. (Geez, now I know what parents go through)... and he just SHOWS UP without explanation?!? So I'm supposed to believe that he skipped two days of free (regular) meals (the really expensive cat food), and just ... went 'walkabout'?? What, he didn't like the new girl?

I feel a little rejected, and a lot relieved. (Tho there's still no explanation for the yowl-fest that went on Saturday night.) Regardless, it would NOT have been an auspicious beginning to my stay here to have to email the Diplomat to tell him we are short a cat.

So, Maxi, Ceci and I are one happy family again. A bit dysfunctional, yes. But aren't all the best ones?

1,005 years of history for $5 a bottle: Est! Est!! Est!!!

I picked out a bottle of what looked like a nice 'patio white' at the store last night to drink with dinner. Testing the 'all wine is good wine' in Italy theory, I went with something cheap (actually, I was sucked in by all the exclamation points). While looking up a recipe online today, I saw a link to it as a recommended wine to eat with Panzanella (the fancy way to say 'day old bread and vegetables, which is often served as an appetizer). And lo and behold, got a fun history lesson:

The Est! Est!! Est!!! di Montefiascone is one of the few wines of ancient origin whose date of creation is known: the year 1000. Up until that time, the wine produced from grapes grown on the slopes rising from the shores of Lake Bolsena to the town of Montefiascone was appreciated locally and it was praised by travelers, who remembered it and discussed it in the various other cities they visited. But there was really no trade in the wine.

However, in the year 1000 the Holy Roman Emperor Henry V marched on Rome at the head of a powerful army to settle some controversy with Pope Pascal II. Bishop Johan Defuk was one of the followers of the expedition but he apparently was more interested in the sightseeing and Dionysian possibilities offered by the excursion than politics. He instructed his cupbearer, Martin, to go ahead of him on the route, keeping always one day in advance, and to select the inns where good wine was to be had. When he reached Montefiascone, Martin found that the usual notice "Est!" chalked next to the door of the inn selected was wholly inadequate because the wine in the town was truly excellent. Since he had not arranged any other signal with his master, he decided to communicate his appreciation of the wine by writing Est! three times, adding an additional exclamation point each time.

The reputation of the wine was made on the day Bishop Defuk tasted the Est! Est!! Est!!! di Montefiascone. Enraptured by the wine's smoothness, the prelate stayed on in the town for three days. After completing his imperial mission, he returned to Montefiascone and remained there until his death. And he was buried in the town's church of San Flaviano. For several centuries, it has been the practice to pour a barrel of wine over his tombstone every year.

Yup, $5 well spent.

A (Sorta) Hearty Country Girl

It's my first weekend on my own in the country. I didn't realize how much energy staying in touch with the office daily would be - there really isn't much time for other stuff during the week, save for the essentials (grocery store, water the plants, feed the cats).

But this weekend, there's time to settle in to the place. I promise to try to take some pictures for you.

The back stone terrace is a half-day job just to sweep clean (I think this is a once-a-season thing... there's all the winter debris to clean off). And it can't be done in the sunshine (even the more gentle morning sun), because you melt. Methinks I need a good garden hat and gloves. Thank goodness I'm going to garden mecca (MN) for work in a few weeks, will come home with some new tools. And I don't want to mislead you - watering plants here is practically a full time gig. There are lots of new 'structure' plantings (6 new olive trees, new laurel shrubs, 6 new fruit trees of assorted varieties, grapevines, wisteria, and ivy) ... that I'd hate to be responsible for killing in my first three weeks. And the rose blooms seem to be crawling with some little black bug with white spots, hmmm.

I know, I know - this is starting to sound suspiciously like one of those little old lady 'let me tell you all about my garden' blogs. So as not to disappoint you, here are some short humorous highlights:

I have not one but THREE blisters on my right hand from yesterday's work. Now, momma didn't raise no wussy girl here, but it's fair to state for the record that I have not historically been one much for massive amounts of physical labor. Partly that's living in a 600 square foot apartment in a city... where 'physical labor' entailed hauling a case of wine home from the store (okay, I admit it - I usually even had the wine delivered!!!) This clearly restates the need for aforementioned gloves. I'd hate for my delicate womanliness to be in danger. (HA! double HA!)

This morning while watering, I felt a funny sharp thing on the back of my left leg. After pulling NUMEROUS ticks off of the cats over the past few days (yeah, I've become a regular Dr. Doolittle), I'm hypersensitive ... tho thought maybe I had just gotten a thorn stuck to my jeans. I played with it for a minute (thinking I could just brush it off) and then realized IT WAS ALIVE! Truly, I'm sure there are folks who would pay to see a video of me whipping my pants down around my ankles (about 5.3 seconds, a world record) in the front yard only to have a bee fly out of them. I'm not quite close enough to the road for this to have been a great show, but funny nonetheless.

This seems the right time to mention that there must be a wasp nest somewhere near the house. All the windows are open during the day (necessary for air circulation) and they zip on through in the flying insect version of NASCAR. A bit unsettling at first, but I'm getting used to it. I can actually tell the difference in buzzing now between a fly, a wasp, and a giant beetle. One of the locals recommended putting a mixture of vinegar, water and sugar in a giant bottle, cutting a hole just above the water line, and then sitting it out. I tried it, but all I caught were about a dozen moths after the first day - flapping frantically and probably scaring off the wasps. Definitely a failed attempt at organic controls!

On a not-so-funny note, I heard a massive yowling outside somewhere around midnight last night - sounded like a giant cat fight. This morning, I can only seem to find one of the two kitties at their breakfast time. Elementary, my dear Watson: this doesn't look good.

Okay, so even WITH the blisters, the vipers, the wasps, the potential that there is a giant cat-eating thing roaming the property at night, it's amazing here. Tomatoes taste like no tomatoes I've ever eaten. The sky in the late afternoon (striking blue with stunning white clouds when the sun hits them just so) looks like you're sitting under some magestic Botticelli or Michelangelo painting. Prosecco - with its delicate bollacini (little bubbles) is about $7 a bottle. I have so much to learn and I know the time will whiz by. Though it wasn't like I was living the 'hard knock life' before, today I feel like Annie at Daddy Warbucks' house: "I think I'm gonna like it here...!"

Lots of folks chiming in wondering where I actually *am*, so here's a map (the size of the star is out of scale, but you get the drift...) 1 hour south of Florence, 2 hours north of Rome, half way (30mins each) between Siena and Arezzo.

I knew it would happen ...

... it was just a matter of time. Today, I fell in love. With not one, but TWO boys: Leonardo and Lorenzo (Italian names are just incredible, aren't they?!!? Those are BIG names to live up to!!) I got a big kiss (bacio) from each at the end of the night, and they understood everything I said ... even with my marginal Italian. Of course, I was ABOUT at the same level conversationally as the two year old ... and the four year old was perplexed that I didn't speak better Italian, as I seemed to be an otherwise perfectly functional grown-up. Funny. I can imagine how confusing that must be as a child! I played with them in the yard while their Mamma fixed dinner, and I knew the important things ... guarda! (careful ...) and fermata (stop...), delicato ('don't kill your brother') and I played spaldi (swords) really well (there might not be anything cuter than a super-serious four year old saying 'in guardia' (odd that we use the French -- En Garde, but the Italians do it in their own language...!) I did a puppet show with a dragon on my hand saying things like "mi piace mangiare i piedi di ragazzi" ('i like to eat the feet of little boys), and we played an old standby game trying to find something hidden: caldo o freddo (hot and cold). Of COURSE he would assume I spoke his language! The unconditional acceptance of children is a wonderful thing.

Today was a blur. It's been a full week since I landed, and I'm now brave enough to start to meeting the neighborhood people on my own. Ida and Luciano (the parents of the aforementioned ragazzi are the neighbors to the South -- he is a doctor (ALWAYS a good neighbor to have.) She is bubbly, sweet, and very patient, close to my age, home most of the time, I'm thrilled to know her. She seems genuine and not at all freakish. I think she's relieved to have another woman under the age of 60 in the neighborhood, too...! I also went for a quick cup of tea this afternoon (a tradition we simply MUST revive in the states) at my neighbors to the north -- Rita and Alessio's house. Yeesh. What a f*****d up story this is: Rita is the mother, who (I thought this stuff wasn't real...) has her 31 year old son still living at home, watching his every move like a hawk. Crazy protective. She apparently was quite a catch in her day (and you can tell she has the 'bones' of a once-stunningly gorgeous woman), but is now keeping her (also very attractive, well-spoken, perfect gentleman of a) son under her thumb like a concubine. No kidding, there's a word -- mamone -- for this in Italian. In English, we'd just say 'mamma's boy'... Thankfully, the Diplomat and Ida had both warned me about the situation, so I was somewhat prepared, but it was still really odd. Admittedly, the 'family business' (I say this in the non-Sopranos way ..., they run a B&B of sorts) probably keeps him close at hand, but this is an obviously bright, attractive guy who I can't believe isn't driven a bit crazy by this (then again, maybe he is). Literally, she wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise. Odd. Maybe it's just that I'm the 'new single American woman living next door' so she's preening and peacocking for me. Who knows. Will be interested to get to know him a bit and see if I can suss out the real story. Luciano (the Doctor) did say at dinner that Alessio is 100 percent different -- (better!) without Mamma hanging all over him. Weird. I felt really sorry for him, actually...

One thing Luciano mentioned at dinner in his helpful 'trust me I'm a doctor' way was il Vipero. Yup, that translates pretty closely -- Vipers. As in snakes, which are apparently relatively common here. Yeeesh. As if I wasn't already worried enough about the rest of the woodland creatures. The good news is that they apparently move pretty slowly, and they aren't likely to be able to kill you, but it's definitely very bad if they bite you. Just have to remember to dial 118 if I run into the fangs of one, and then somehow in (panicked) Italian (with my vision blurring from the venom) manage to tell the ambulance where my totally remote house is located. Riiiiiiiiiiiight. Suddenly, the Pippistrelli don't seem so bad!

Dove' Normale? (Where is Normal?)

My life in DC didn't really have a normalcy to it, so I'm not sure why I'm striving for one here, but so it is. After an exhausting morning of satellite installation (90% finished, at least enough to be posting again...) I went to the grocery store yesterday, relieved to do *something* that didn't feel like I'm on vacation. Gotta find a routine that works. Having the Satellite up and operational so I can connect to the office (it's all working but the webcam at the moment, which is pretty freakin' amazing, all things considered. As Pollyanna Buckeye observed, that's the result of a LOOOOOOT of hard work and research - my own and my crack tech team's - and I'm tickled pink with the results so far.)

The constant psychological tension of being "on" (having to pay attention - REALLY closely - to what people say to me just so I have a basic grasp on conversations) is truly down-to-the-very-bone exhausting. (Okay, okay - the secret's out - I've only been half paying attention to what you were saying all these years. You do it, too - don't play dumb ... but here, I don't have enough spare brainwaves to multitask yet.) I'm amazed at the people I meet who can switch effortlessly between English, French, German and Italian. Europeans learn three or four languages and are still just as well trained in their professional fields as Americans -- what do we Americans DO with all the extra time and mental energy that we generally DON'T put into learning another language? I'm never embarrassed to be an American, but it sure does feel like we're a bit educationally complacent by comparison ... I welcome thoughts from the educators in our midst.

A quick rant to offer - since I could go on and on and on about how gorgeous it is here and how wonderful people have been, but that's not really a completely fair picture of the place... other than the fact that ICE doesn't exist here (which I was emotionally prepared for), my trip to the grocery store revealed a giant missing link in the Italian consumer society: DRYER SHEETS. You know what I'm talkin' about, dontcha: Snuggle? Bounce? The generic grocery brand? Nope. Non esista! And I'm not talking the corner store, this is the relatively well-stocked 'Coop' (just past the one stoplight) in town. Other than the delightful smell of spring rain or powder freshness or mountain dew whatever other crap they claim to be, they are useful for one major (and for the fashionista - ha! - that I am, critical) thing: STATIC ELIMINATION. I can't fathom why the Italians aren't all walking around with their skirts clinging in desperation to their legs and a sock stuck to the back of their shirt. More investigation to be done, but until then ... I'm counting my socks carefully when they come out of the dryer.

Aaah. A good rant always clears the head. It's nice to be 'connected' again. I'm not sure if anyone is out there really reading this, but I DO feel an obligation to 'you' (my peeps - whoever you are) - to let you know on a pretty regular basis what's going on here. Plus, it gives me a routine: get up, go for hike, have toast and coffee, study Italian, check in with you ... Call it codependence if you want, but it makes me happy.

Speaking of my peeps, I'm loving my "Buh-bye" tribute from my blog daddy & friend Sensitive Rebel (he calls himself The Sean Show), on his site. (though I must utter a word of caution to all the kids or fundamentalists in the room - his site is NOT for the meek or easily shocked suburbanites. But he's mostly all bark, I promise...) He taught me that one good link deserves another. It's nice to be back up online so I can see what he's been up to. He always finds fun diversions to share ... like this one ...


You're Brigitte Bardot!


What Classic Pin-Up Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

I'm not sure I agree with the Brigitte Bardot thing, but c'est la vie. And now, I'm off to the big city (Florence - called Firenze here) for the afternoon to buy an Italian cellphone and see Andrea and Guido at Discover Tuscany (yup, the caricatures are true, everyone here has a friend named Guido!).

Solo!

D&RA left this morning early for flights out of Rome. And it’s my first day ‘solo’ (same in English!) here at Covivole. I feed the cats, make myself coffee, and
have breakfast (yogurt, a pear, and salami) on the terrace.

One of the things that I expect I will have the hardest time getting used to is the ‘openness’ of it all. Screens on windows and doors don’t exist here. Everyone is much more okay with nature than we seem to be in the States. The doors and windows are always open to let the breeze (and the flies, bees, and everything else…) in. It seems that there are no real biting insects here, which may be the difference. I opened the house this morning with some trepidation as the flies zipped through (you just have to remember that when they’re inside, they’re probably trapped – they would rather be OUT and just need to find the next window!) It definitely takes some getting used to! Simone had told me excitedly last night that they had left their bedroom windows open (they live lower in the valley so it’s not as cold there at night), and the Pippistrelli (bats) had flown in, around the room, and out again. She told the story in this passionate voice … ‘zee Pippistrelli, zey are so beautiful, zo silent az they fly!’ (imagine the French accent here) Oooh, boy. It’ll be a while before a bat flies into my bedroom and I don’t lose my shit. Three days out of the city does not a farm girl make.

Had a strange visit from the Carabinieri (local police)this afternoon. It’s a small town. I assume they drove by, saw the house was open and knew D & RA were gone … they drove in, I waved at them (the beauty of the curving gravel road is that I've got about 2 minutes of warning as people drive up ... I waved at them, apologized for my bad Italian, told them I was new here and D/RA were gone for tre settimani (three weeks). They wondered if I was here alone(their eyes telegraphing that they thought I was a little crazy), and told me to dial 112 on the phone if I needed anything. An hour or two later, I passed them on the street on the way to the store and they waved and called out 'Ciao' to me. I'm sure eventually it will drive me bonkers, but for now, the small town feeling is reassuring.

Seems that I already have a busy week ahead, which is crazy considering I’m brand new here! Today I am thankful to be alone, catch up on the blog, and finally relax a little. Will call and check in with the Mom when she’s up and at ‘em back in the States, then make my way into town to buy some provisions for the week ahead. Also feel terribly ‘Italian’ – as “plant three olive trees” is on my list of things to do this afternoon (RA didn’t get to them yesterday afternoon so I promised him I’d take care of them. Methinks I need a good pair of garden gloves!)


Monday: satellite guys come to do the final connections in the am. Hopefully will be able to connect and work Monday night somewhat normally.
Tuesday: into Florence to visit Guido and Andrea and get my Italian cellphone.
Wednesday: market day in Monte San Savino, have to put in an order for my ‘calling cards’ (meaning literally, personal business cards with my name, address, phone on them for the locals…). Need to inquire as to whether or not there’s an Italian tutor in town.
Thursday: Ida, my Italian-only speaking neighbor who is married to the Doctor, is coming over for coffee to meet me with her children, Leonardo and Lorenzo (4 and 3). This will be an important good impression to make! The Diplomat introduced us by phone, but she’s coming over to visit on her own. This will *definitely* test my language skills (how many times can I ask her where she was born and where the library is?!? Why do they teach you such useless things in classes?!?)

My first date and new friends

Afternoon Delight
Okay, all you tuning in back in the States are probably fascinated … what? Two days and she already has a date?!?! Yes, as a matter of fact, this afternoon (post-Festa), I had my first date with Harry, which is the name of my lawnmower. (I don’t make this stuff up, kids, apparently the Italians have a thing for naming their appliances. It’s got HARRY in big letters right on the front!) Renaissance Artist showed me the ropes and while he was tending the garden (spraying the peach tree for leaf curl, planting a laurel bush and a pomegranate, etc., ) Harry and I spent about an hour and a half of quality time together mowing the front yard. For those of you playing along at home, you may remember that it’s been, um, at LEAST 15 years since I lived anywhere that had a yard that needed mowing … and Mom will probably gently remind me that it’s been probably nearly 18 yrs. since I actually *did* any mowing, this was no small feat!) I don’t have pictures of the front yard yet, but prepare to be impressed when you see them … it’s a jumble of terraces and hills and paths on about 6 different levels, with stones in the ground providing constant cautionary diversion for Harry and I.

Today, I left the back yard to the Renaissance Artist, but suffice it to say that is yet another 3 or 4 levels of terraced lawns and paths between the gardens. Whew! I won’t miss the gym at ALL when I’m doing this on my own!

My first English speaking friends
Tonight, we go over to the house of Robert & Simone (he is English, she is French), who have restored a gorgeous house about 10 minutes away. We had a glass of Champagne and a delightful tour through her gardens (I’m sooooooooooo thankful for the limited garden knowledge I’ve acquired through work, it will be very helpful here - gardening seems to be a passion of everyone we meet; Simone was describing lovingly her David Austin rose and how his breeding is superb, etc etc., and I was thrilled to know who and what she meant!) They were incredibly warm and generous – they live here only in the summers and during some holidays, but they seemed genuine when they invited me over ‘any time.’ Simone is a bundle of positive energy – though they’re both nearly 70, you’d never know it. She greeted us in a pale green mesh blouse, pearls, a swishy black skirt, heels and FISHNET stockings – with her silver hair pulled on top of her head in a loose bun. She’s passionate and excited about everything, switching easily from English to French to Italian. I definitely want to be her when I grow up. Mostly I’m greatful to know someone here who speaks English when I hit a panic point! They’re next on the ‘invite for drinks or the American Bar-b-Que list… entertaining here is a BIG deal and a critical part of being accepted into ‘society.’ I’m thankful for the introductions – maintenance is up to me.

Tonight, Diplomat and Renaissance Artist are in a panic – needing to pack for their three week trips that both start tomorrow. There’s much still to teach me about the house. They hand me a ring of what must be 14 keys – each door has two (front and back), plus the garage, the three different storage sheds, the tech room, the well, the Capanna… a quick tour through the dishwasher, the washer/dryer, the stove, the fireplace, the breakers… I reassure them that I’m quite resourceful, and will figure it out. (Si puo fare: this can be done!)

My first Festa

Today dawned exactly like the last two – perfectly clear and sunny. The Renaissance Artist arrived mid morning after finishing his work in Sorrento, and the three of us went to a lunch party – it was the birthday of two sisters, Maria Vittoria and Emmanuele. It was the perfect traditional multigenerational Italian family lunch… the sisters (sorelli) and their husbands, their daughters and their husbands and the ragazzi (children), 6 under the age of 4 – running around delighted. The three of us were the only non-family guests, a great honor. Everyone was very kind to me, welcoming me with the ‘double kiss’ and a benvenuto. I enjoyed the hustle and flurry of it all – though the rapidfire passionate and loud conversation of the giant table made it hard to understand much at all. Mostly, I understood when a man named Paolo next to me said ‘Posso?’ (literally ‘I am able?’) as he offered me wine, meat, veggies, or water. I’m getting very good at the ‘Si, Grazie’ response. The meal was very typical of the region: Crostini with pate to start, two types of pasta next, then a mixed grill of four or five types of meat (including the VERY strong fegato (liver) which is apparently a delicacy and hard to fix. I tried it, but the flavor is really overpowering.) Potatoes and vegetables, fruit and cakes to round it all out … and a café afterwards --- whew! Maria Vittoria and Nicola particularly went out of their way to give me their number and tell me that if I needed anything, I should call them (they live quite near to me). They will definitely be early on the ‘invite over for drinks’ list when I am settled a bit!

Busy days and conspicuous Americans

This morning I was on my own, The Diplomat had meetings in town. I know I need to get into a routine as quickly as possible – got up, went for a walk, had a cup of tea, studied Italian a little, and then went into town to check out the grocery store. Stopped afterwards for lunch at a little ‘bar’ (used here to refer to coffee & sandwich shop, not 'pub') near the one stoplight in town – had a proscuitto and tomato sandwich and a birra sitting out in the sunshine. Delicious.

This afternoon, I ran around doing errands with the Diplomat – he marvels at how strange it is to be with a woman… he’s not used to people ‘looking’ at him, but heads seem to turn when I get out of the car. It’s probably partly a compliment, and partly that it’s so obvious that I’m ‘not from around here’ in this small town (a straniera). Hopefully the curiosity will subside over the next few months.

Tonight, we had dinner in Lucigniano (darling little town about 20 minutes away) with The Diplomat’s friend, Ita, who runs the local equestrian center. She is single, probably 37 or so, and will likely be a good contact for me. She had guests in from America (Florida and Colorado), so the group of 6 of us went to dinner. I was proud of myself that I was the least conspicuous of the Americans, at least able to speak Italian to the cameriere (waiter). It’s the little victories for now that I have to savor!

So many firsts!

My first attempted pickpocketing
The car pickup was in and of itself amazingly smooth (if you’re ever going to be in Europe for more than 17 days, www.europebycar.com is definitely the way to go!). I had been on the ground for approximately 30 minutes total (including passports, baggage claim and shuttle to the other terminal) when a guy tried to steal my bag. I was sleepy and not paying attention as well as I should have (*that’s* when they get you!), with everything in a cart next to me at the rental car counter, when I felt someone ‘in my space’ and turned in time to see his hand on my (open) carry-all bag. Though my wallet itself was on the counter with me (so all he would have gotten was a toiletry bag, socks I wore on the flight, a book I had just finished, and a power bar… It was so quick, I thought I must have imagined it – and he and the woman stood next to me for a few minutes in ‘line’ like they were waiting for something – obviously not wanting to call attention to themselves. Then they vanished, one at a time. In hindsight, next time, I will say something, and LOUDLY. If I’m wrong, I can always apologize – if right, I will hopefully prevent it from happening to the next person. The lesson here: you can never be too careful, and trust your instincts when people get too close to you!

My first drive along the Cote d'Azur
The weather for my arrival day couldn’t have been more beautiful! The coastline along the south of France and heading into Italy was sparkling and lovely, now I know why they call it the “Cote d’Azur” (literally, the Blue Coast, I think, in French?) It strikes me now more than ever that Americans need to 'get over' the wailings about how much gas costs -- I have a TINY TINY TINY Peugeot, which cost me exactly 50 Euros (nearly $70) to fill up, about $5 a gallon!) I took a wrong exit at Genova and ended up on the road through town (it’s a major port city, and was more beautiful than I had expected it to be. As I headed through town, there was a parking place right in front of a florist shop --- perfect luck, as I wanted to be sure to pick up flowers for the Diplomat and the Renaissance Artist.

My first purchase
I took a deep breath and walked into the shop – having practiced many times in my head, “Vorrei un grande gruppo di fiori, per favore” (I would like a big bunch of flowers, please). Of course, I first apologized profusely to the shop owner that I am just learning Italian. He was very sweet with me, walking me through the shop and asking which stems I wanted… conversing all the time with me in slow and simple Italian (where did I arrive from, how long was I staying, told me he had tried to learn English but found it too difficult, though both his children had studied in England and were very smart – both in the sciences. Seems that bragging about your children is an internationally shared pastime!) Twenty minutes, no English, and thirty Euros later I left with a gorgeous ‘mazza mista’ (big mixed bouquet), directions to the entrance of the Autrostrada on the other side of town, and a greatly lifted spirit.

A Casa a Covivole: la prima sera (the first evening)
The remainder of the trip, about 5 ½ hours total, from Nice to Monte San Savino was easy, I arrived in time to enjoy the waning afternoon in my new home. The Diplomat was out, but had left the Capanna (literally ‘hut’ in Italian, but more gently the ‘one room guest house’) open for me, so I took a deep breath and settled in: bless the Unassuming Princess who had sent ‘real mail’ that had arrived and was waiting for me on my bed. It was a perfect welcome to my new digs.

Spent the rest of the afternoon going for a hike to reacquaint myself with the property (20 acres, eek!) and stave off the 15+ hours of sitting, then returned about 7, poured myself a glass of wine and settled in with a book to watch the sunset.

The Diplomat arrived a bit in a flurry a few hours later, it is a very busy week for him. We took a quick walk through the garden, then the stone man showed up to consult on some repairs to the terrace, and the blacksmith (Not kidding. We have a blacksmith!) arrived to take measurements for two new iron gates on the storage spaces, plus a framing for a pergola that ivy will grow on outside the capanna. More on this later, but the array of tradespeople and craftsmen to become aquainted with is a bit dizzying!

My first friend
I haven’t even been on the ground for 24 hours yet, (apologies to all you out there for whom all these “first” details must be painfully boring,) but I wanted to be certain not to miss describing these early days – I know that in a very short time, things will seem ‘normal’ to me here: thought the feeling of excitement, nervousness, and discovery is all fascinating to me for the moment.

Tonight, Thursday, The Diplomat invited me to go to hear an historic speaker with him at 9:30… though it was an hour away, and knowing it was my first night, I was confident I would embarrass myself and be sound asleep in the midst of it (especially since it was, of course, in Italian!). Instead, I went on my own to my ‘local restaurant,’ Il Cacciatore, 2.4 kilometers away.

I arrived and asked for a table for one. Paolo, the owner, remembered me from the night that Beatrice and I had eaten there a few months back. I explained that I was ‘new here’ (nuova qui), living at Covivole. Paolo is called ‘il dentino’ by some of the locals (meaning ‘the teeth’ – because the poor thing has been a victim of the notorious lack of Italian dental care). He immediately adopted me – teasing me for reading a book in English (though it was ABOUT Italy!), introducing me to the other two men who were eating there, and generally lavishing me with attention – a glass of prosecco as an aperitif, a bottle of wine when I ordered only a glass, pasta to start, some grilled steak, and a plate of the famous cinghiale (wild boar), which is a (DELICIOUS!) specialty of the house. Finally, I cried uncle (Basta means ‘enough!’) – simply not able to eat any more! (It’s interesting to note that Italians generally are members of the ‘clean plate club’). After the meal, café and Amaro – a ‘digestive’ liquor … he wrapped up the ¾ of a bottle of wine that I hadn’t finished, and sent me on my way with a ridiculously tiny bill (15 Euro!). I offered him an extra 5 Euro in appreciation for the service and told him genuinely that I would be happy to be a regular there. My second real Italian conversation seemed to have gone well.

While the day was clear and sunny, nights here (I’m not sure what the elevation is, but it’s higher than most places around us) are still crisp and chilly. After the short drive back to Covivole, I made a fire in the wood stove (the Old Soul would be very proud of me), hauling wood in from the shed. Self-sufficiency will be the key to survival. The moon is very bright and so are the stars, a comfortable and clear first night.

I’m not yet completely comfortable with the night sounds of the country, so pulled out the computer and put on some tunes. The low-key soundtrack for tonight: “Feels Like Home” (Chantal Kreviazuk), Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic,” “These Are Days” (10,000 Maniacs), Sarah McLachlan’s “Do What you Have to Do” and Diana Krall’s “I’m just a Lucky So and So…” the perfect soundtrack to the best possible relocation day that it could have been!

D-Day (Departure Day!)

Held it together while leaving the office today, barely. Bald Eagle took me to the cab and I nearly lost it when he said ‘we’re gonna miss having you around here.’ (That’s about as close to emotional as he could ever be expected to get.) My eyes did well up with tears as we left National airport; the flight path went over the Mall (and ostensibly the office and my brand-new condo I’m leaving behind), and then north past the Cathedral, American U., and Bethesda… on such a clear day, I could see it all and it felt like a bit of a ‘this was your life in Washington’ 12-year review trip by air. And so I’m on to the next adventure!

Skygods smiling on me – though I’m currently ‘earning my transferred status’ with Delta and therefore waiting three months to ‘prove’ my worthiness for their Gold Medallion program (in the interim waiting in the lines with all the ‘little people,’ haha …) – the woman who checked me in took pity on me and waived my severely overweight bag (savings: $270), and was moved from a middle seat to the aisle in an exit row with a woman next to me who didn’t have any interest in trying to talk my ear off (thank god for that!) Flight was completely packed with people flying into the South of France for the Cannes Film Festival and the GrandPrix in Monte Carlo, I think. It was overall an uneventful trip, and I actually did sleep a bit, thanks to the earplugs and eyewear (a complete travel necessity - grazie, Mme. Etiquette!) and landed in Nice around 9:00 am.

An Overwhelming Tuesday and a Literary Lifeline

Overwhelmed today with all that needs to be done. I’m thoroughly fatigued with the details and depressed by the emptiness of the space - have completely realized in the past week that surroundings being ‘in order’ are critical for my psychological well being! I'm irritated with the real estate company here who is fighting me over a perfectly reasonable request. Call me crazy, but the concept of ‘customer service’ should somehow resonate when someone is investing hundreds of thousands of dollars and has waited 2 ½ years for delivery of a condo!!!! Argh. More later on that.

Was brought back to focus today by an endearing message from Stavestatic … which I’ve gotta admit made me – even in the midst of a hellacious day – stop and get a bit misty. In it, he shared a favorite poem, indicating that while I may know it – it is always worthy of another read. I could feel my mind reciting the lines from memory, though it has radically different meaning today than in high school. So many paths not taken, not circled back to, and still others that had to be taken to learn the sometimes harsh lesson that they did not need walking again, that the best way out is usually through and not backwards, and that things are not always what they seem. As way leads on to way, even if you circle back to the paths not chosen, indeed you are never the same person after having traveled. Yup, that Frost – even in his deceptive simplicity, he was onto something. This all prompted another Runtz’s English class flashback: “I am a part of all that I have met,” (Tennyson’s Ulysses, if you’re too lazy to Google…) – restlessly setting out on this next path (in ‘the untravelled world’): alone but rarely lonely; or perhaps lonely but rarely alone? A classic double edged sword. Wherever your life is today, I invite you also to read this gift of reflection with new eyes:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth

Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet, knowing how way leads onto way
I doubted if I should ever come back

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference

Robert Frost

A Sunny Saturday of Sales and Stories

Oh, thank goodness it’s over! I couldn’t wash my hands or soak my feet long enough after the yardsaleorama yesterday.

First and foremost, gargantuan heartfelt thankyous go out to Pollyanna Buckeye, Sartorial Sockman, Baby Makes Three & Boris, and the The Diva di Giardina for being there: For fending off the masses, for bargaining with the freaks, for merchandising my random crap, for helping suck down copious amounts of bloody marys and mimosas, and especially for giving the leftover stuff away at the end with abandon (when I would have become too attached!).

Special nods also to New Ageist (who was dear enough to ask for ‘something that I wanted him to have’ – so he could look at it and remember me: what a nice guy. I’m sad that timing has been so off that we are only just now getting to know each other as I’m leaving.) Sensitive Rebel and Chemistry Lad also swung by, and have each adopted some of my very favorite things: my ceramic Italian ‘vino, acqua, and olio’ jugs – Italian jugs from the Italian Housesitter - and the Apothecaire sign, which makes me really happy.

Since I’m laundry listing the ‘above and beyond’ crowd, it can’t go without mention that something like this really DOES teach you who your friends really are. Those who called and offered help, those who came by for moral support, those who checked in that day – thank you for knowing how hard it would be to do alone. (Since I’m on the topic, just a quick rant thrown in ... what’s up with ND/BT who was off all day and apparently ‘drove by’ but never stopped to say hello, even for five minutes?!?! Ohhhh, I’m sooooo over it. Thank goodness I’m moving, that avoids the messy ‘um, this relationship isn’t working because you’re totally insensitive’ conversation. DONE!)

So as for the sale itself, other than the SERIOUS number of folks who came by while they were waiting for the next bus to Crazytown, it was a gorgeous day full of wonderful stories:

The Lesbian Baker: Mid-morning a VERY masculine woman and her dog came by and sort of wandered through, chatting us all up, hemming and hawing over things for a while. She probably stood there for about a half hour (we were all kinda wondering if she was just lonely?), debating over Grandma’s KitchenAid mixer ($40) and the microwave ($15). After I assured her that indeed the motor was more than strong enough to make bread, and Pollyanna Buckeye did her best salesgirl job showing off the attachments, she took it and walked it over to her house (a block away.) Two hours later, she came back with mexican sweetbread (her mother’s recipe) for everyone working the sale. I *love* it when life surprises you! It was a total ‘neighborhood’ experience, and Gram would be thrilled to know that someone is actually using KitchenAid (since it’s been in my house for 2 years now and I haven’t touched it!)

WannaBeBride: this tiny little woman who ran from a car to come try on the wedding dress (which fit her perfectly) and then proceeded to run into the neighbors’ house to look at herself in the full length mirror, proclaiming “I love it! But I don’t even have a boyfriend! Are you supposed to have so many boobs on your wedding day?!” When we suggested it would be a great Halloween costume if nothing else, she said – “but it’s not slutty enough” (oh, my. Perhaps this is the ‘no boyfriend’ issue?!? But she looked great in the dress -- her friends took pictures of her. I’m sure it was a story for everyone.)

The Drag Queen and the Midwestern Girl: preciously ridiculous was the image of my neighbor (who had earlier adopted my Marilyn Monroe wig) trying on my floor length red sequin dress (which I was trying to hook over his very broad back) … with Pollyanna Buckeye making tailoring suggestions for the perfect fit and offering a “skirt that would fit just ‘perfectly’!” as she tossed it on over the dress. In her words: ”retelling *this* story at the family dinner table would stop conversation in its tracks!” Aaaah, the Midwesterners in the big city… expanding their worlds one life at a time!

Doctors & Shakespeare: one of the early visitors was a woman and her boyfriend with somewhat Spanish accents. She kept telling him that ‘if he really wanted it, she would buy it for him’ (referring to a hardcover ‘Complete Works of Shakespeare’ (1934, I think!) for $2 – not a significantly pricey purchase and probably a GREAT deal.) She ended up taking it (and only that, but a bit forlornly inquiring as she turned over her two bills:
“But why are you selling Shakespeare?”
“I just can’t take it all with me.”
“We will take very good care of it.”

Many hours later, they returned with two other women to look at clothes & shoes – since we were basically closed up by then, those had been packed up and returned to the living room for donation. Diva di Giardina took them inside and they explained they were young doctors from Paraguay who were here in DC for an exam series (residency?), their parents were paying for their trip, but they were very poor – and they were being invited to all sorts of events for doctors, but didn’t have the right things to wear. DdG insisted that they take whatever they wanted, and they tore through the bags with glee, having a wonderful time. She asked many times if they could give us money for the items, DdG insisting we were happy that they would be used, they were slated for donation anyway.

Five minutes later, she ran back over and asked whose things they were, and she took a white scarf tied in knots out of her backpack. As she unknotted it, revealing a red scarf, she explained that she also makes jewelry and she has been working on perfecting a silver filigree technique; unfurling the scarf to reveal a series of earrings pinned to the scarf. She asked me to select a pair in appreciation for the gift of the clothes. I couldn’t accept, she insisted … I could see she would be insulted with my answer; I asked her to select a pair that she would like me to have. She presented me the most beautiful silver hoops, just the size I normally wear, with beautiful filigree drops. I put them in immediately and felt like a princess. On a day where all of the ‘stuff’ representing the accumulated 30something years of a life was just gone – some to sale, some to giveaways, some inevitably to theft – the one thing I got emotional about was not a loss, but rather a simple gift from a truly genuine woman: a stranger who couldn’t let a kindness go unpaid. Each time I wear them, I will be reminded of the value of ‘paying it forward’ to the world.

Color me really touched

I am OVERWHELMED with the amazing responses that I’ve gotten to the ‘Ciao, America’ message that I sent out last night. 24 hours, and an incredible spectrum of friends – old and new, some that I’ve fallen out of touch with and those who have been daily fixtures in my life. Other than “Bitter, Party of One” who sent a ‘please remove me from the address book’ message -- don't act surprised, kids, there’s always one … move on, spend energy with people who don’t suck you dry.--- … You have all been AMAZING! I know Blog technology is new for many of you, so for the most part people sent personal emails back to me (other than Techy P., bold enough to be first commentor online – he always WAS dragging all his friends into the next new gadget!)

Because I want this to serve as a journal of this whole experience, I feel obligated to put just a few memorable snippets of responses here – for me, if not for you all:

“OH MY GAWWWD! Congratulations on living life to the fullest! (Clem)

“Feel like such an idiot...I am sitting here reading your blog and crying. DORK! I am such a dork. I am so happy for you. What a "once in a lifetime" experience. But I guess, knowing you, you will always create amazing opportunities in your life. It is what we make it. Love you,” (The Unassuming Princess)

I gotta make this quick since I just got home after much time away and have a gazillion emails and ice and other critical foodstuffs melting that need to be put in the freezer, but just wanted to send you a quick note to say how FREAKIN AWESOME !!!!!!!!!!!!! it is that you are moving to bella toscana fro poco tempo. You are my idol. No wait, let me restate that. YOU ARE MY IDOL !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I think this is just fantastic and wish I could be there to congratulate you person. (Timmo-San)

“Oh my god...you are my hero and such an inspiration! I need to get even an inkling of your "leap" abilities instead of just talking about it” and “okay lady- I'm jealous and have to share that first and foremost. I'm also very impressed that you were presented with an awesome and I'm sure daunting opportunity and figured out a way to make it work for you! Bravo!!!!” (The Aussie Coincidences)

It seems that good news begets good news – Baby Makes Three wrote back to say she’s pregnant… oh, my! – I’ll drink a giant glass of Pinot FIN to that! – good vibes *definitely* heading in her direction! (I remain as always convinced I’m meant to be a kick-ass aunt but that somehow was born without a maternal instinct.) And, of course, LastMinuteCancellation (honey, it’s said in love…) wants a ‘cast list’ for the blog so she knows who’s who. StylishDi has a scarf that will go a looooong way in Italy. Tiny TM, who has done a few stints in Italy herself, is ‘sooooooooooooooo excited’ and assures me I’m doing an amazing thing. Virgin Blogreader (but never a virgin drink!) says she’ll check back frequently, so I’m happy to give her a nick in the hopes she’ll become a regular. Speaking of regulars, I’m hoping that N.Winkust (who keeps her childhood nick, of course) the stay-at-home mom and brilliant writer will become a regular contributor once she has three minutes of quiet to digest it all (after 25 years of friendship, we may actually keep in better touch!)

For the journal, Timmo-San and Tiny TM deserve special recognition here: long before I ever set foot in Italy for the first time in 1998, they both gave me crash-course Italian lessons. Tiny TM in good ole’ AH at Egg Harbor, and Timmo-San here in DC at famous Luigis. I haven’t heard from either of them in quite some time … life has taken us all in such different directions (tiny TM to Italy and back again and Timmo-San to … you guessed it, folks … Japan for the moment), but true friends can always pick up just like no time has passed no matter how many miles separate them. Bless you both for being real, true, wonderful people.

I am blessed, touched, awed, and inspired by the friendship and support of ALL of you who sent messages. Words like inspiration * courage * excited * envious * vicariously * amazing * opportunity * life is what you make it * were all peppered through as common themes in the messages I received. I am so amazingly fortunate that my life circumstances have allowed me to take this adventure – and I welcome all vicarious traveling companions!

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again -- you only get one life to live… and if you do it right, once should be enough.

Typical nights in the 'hood...

Had dinner last night with the Neighborhood Vigilante, at Café Luna - a wonderful little place tucked into a totally unassuming storefront on P Street, around the corner from the CVS. It never fails to amaze me how many wonderful places like this are scattered through this Dupont Circle neighborhood. I’ve lived 5 blocks away from here for 2 years and still haven’t done even *half* of the worthy things in the area (mostly because I tend to be a creature of habit when I’m home…) Luna should absolutely be commended – the atmosphere is genuine, welcoming, and uncomplicated, and (I'm not kidding!), they have the closest thing to a truly authentic Italian calzone that I’ve had here in DC (my favorite: sausage and artichoke hearts!) Delicious! I would add it to the list of things I'll miss when I'm in Italy, but ... well ... I'd bet that's where the original recipe came from. It's a damn good import: it's all in the dough. Whoever the chef is knows what they're doing!

While we were there, however, there was an almost-ugly incident with one of our ‘housing-challenged’ city residents who was also sobriety-challenged and wandering around the restaurant, pulling bottles of liquor out of his pockets. The gentleman who was hosting was amazingly patient with him (MUCH more than I would have been, but I suspect that's a strategy -- no reason to rile anyone up with patrons packed in tightly ...), but it was still touch-and-go for a minute. I don’t pretend to think that the US (DC specifically) is the only place with a homeless problem, but it is a major challenge here. I wish there was more people could DO, but it's one of those challenges that seems to be left to "the other people," and sadly, those programs go desperately underfunded. I know - you're sitting there nodding your head ... Don't just think about it, click here and do something: www.breadforthecity.org


Was invited for farewell drinks last night at the house of Sparky & Tortola Artista. Should preface this with the fact that Sparky and I serve on a board together, we met a year or so ago, and we just hit it off instantly. He’s got amazing energy and a brilliant smile – just one of those people who makes you feel good when you’re around him. Funny, isn’t it, how some people you just click with instantly, and others are so … much … hard … work... no matter how many years you’ve know them? At any rate, their eagerness for my adventure and their powerful positive vibe was a huge boost to the spirit. And of course, the Veuve didn’t hurt either. Sparky and I are both avowed champagne snobs: the particular belief that Champagne is, indeed, the most perfect drink (GOOD champagne, particularly). Morning, noon, night – you can’t go wrong! Thanks, guys, for the genuine friendship and the hospitality.

Welcome to Sunset at Covivole... (aka, my 'Casa Nuova'!) This is a bigger and better photo than the tiny one above, so I wanted this to be at the top of the page when I finally had the guts to send the link to all you friends out there. Many of you are hearing the 'moving to Italy' news for the first time ... others heard it but didn't believe it, and still others have known for a while what was brewing but haven't seen the pictures.

At any rate -- credit goes to my techno friends (and cousins!) who convinced me that a Blog was an easy, inexpensive way to keep in touch with people. You can click on here at any time and see what I'm up to. The stories here already (posted with the most recent here at the top -- go all the way to the bottom and read in reverse if you want to absorb them in order!) are the saga of what's taken place and how this has all happened so far - some will bore you to tears, others I hope will make you giggle. Think of it as an online journal that you get to peek inside whenever you wonder what I'm up to over there. I'll be updating it regularly with observations, pics, and general 'musings' about the move to Italy as it all happens over the next few months. (Part of the reason that it took so long for me to send this link to everyone is that I just finally learned how to get pictures uploaded!)

One thing you'll notice as you read this -- everyone here (myself included!) is referred to by a nickname of some sort (names have been changed to protect the innocent, guilty, or terminally boring among us.) Viaggiatore, for anyone who is wondering, means "Traveler" in Italian. That's because even though this isn't a publically published blog, it still gets "crawled" by search engines. Hence, if you got to this link randomly, you don't really know who I am or who all my friends are without a bit of pretty good detective work (and I can't imagine why on earth it would be worth the energy?! -- but if I've learned anything from living in DC its that one never can be too cautious.) And if you see yourself referred to here but hate your nickname either suck it up or make a new suggestion that's worthy. But I digress. Enjoy reading. Comment if you wish, or email me directly (you've got the address - that won't change) if you want to chat. This is my attempt at staying in touch with all of you when we can't get together for a glass of wine and chat. Would love for you to return the favor -- bookmark me here, and check back whenever you feel like it to see how the "la Vita Bella" is going...! Ciao!

Me and Gandhi, we're tight.

THREE HOURS. Count 'em. At the Italian Embassy today. Standing waiting for someone to deal with me. So here's the deal -- they give you numbers (I was # 97, they were serving #43 when I went in), but they give anyone coming in to pick up a visa preference (which I'm sure I will appreciate when it's me. But for the moment, it was a looooong morning.)

The Upshot: At the present time, I seem to fall through a crack in the system (meaning there isn't a law that says I CAN'T do what I'm asking to do, just that there isn't one explicitly written that says I CAN, so it relys on the ever-hard-to-come-by-in-front-line-employees INTERPRETATION and JUDGEMENT. Sigh. You can get a work visa to be paid by a company outside Italy, but only if your company already has Italian offices (huh?!?!). Soooooo, they don't know what to do with me. Instinct (and years of dealing with bureaucracies) says that I just need to find someone enabled with judgement. I can't register our company in Italy because it would be 3 years before they could get work authorizations for anyone not Italian. I could go through Guido, but I hate to have to drag someone else into the mix: I have a house, health insurance, and a company willing to support me full time...! The immigration system commentary that could be made on this point is multitudinous (broken systems, etc etc.,), but will go unspoken for the moment; subject of a later rant.

There are other options to work around the system, and I'm confident I can make it work, but this means I have to go to the provincial labor office and obtain an authorization from them then bring that back here to the consulate ... (INSERT GIANT TIME SUCKING SOUND HERE).

Got back to the office - deflated but not defeated - and my horoscope was:
"Many people will be competing for the same result, and only a small number will be able to attain it. Such odds don't scare you though. Gandhi said, "There would be nothing to frighten you if you refused to be afraid." Yeah. You go, Gandhi! Italywon't know what hit 'em.

na-na-na-na-na....

I'm more Republican than Chickie. Who knew??!?!? 57% vs. 54% -- this from an avowed Dem vs. an avowed Republican.

I am: 57% Republican.

"Congratulations, you're a swing voter. When they say 'Soccer Mom', they mean you. Every Democratic ad on the TV set was made just for your viewing enjoyment. Don't you feel special?"

Are You A Republican?

19 boxes and a honkin' yard sale

Listen .... Tick, tick, tick goes the clock on the FIFTEEN DAYS I have left here in DC.

The last week has been totally and completely consumed with the purging of the house (only 625 square feet, to be fair), which sorted itself into 13 boxes, suitcases, and storage tubs worthy of export. I've barely eaten, haven't slept much, and haven't really seen a soul. Notable and humorous on the 'taking it with me' list:

• My olive oil dispenser and the hand cheese grating wheel. Ridiculous. This is the olive oil bottle I bought in France when I was there celebrating Almost Legal's 40th bday a few years back. I'll have 70 of my own olive trees yet I'm dragging a french oil dispenser by way of the U.S. (but I LOVE it!) Ridiculous. It's the little things. And this is key to my becoming the renowned Italian chef that I know I will be ...
• The 2-sizes ago jeans. (I know, I know.) But I'm SOOOO sure that the hearty farmgirl lifestyle hiking on my 20 acres will slim me down those nagging 20 lbs and I do look really cute in those (or so I remember?!)
• the artistic photo of the American flag in front of the Capitol that was hanging in my office. Debated about this one -- I don't really have any emotional attachment to the pic itself; it was a gift from a hotel wanting my business (and the hotel where the Ex used to work, no less...) BUT, it's a striking image. And I know I will be homesick and want a daily reminder somewhere of not only my country, but my 'hometown' -- however f***ed up it may be on occasion (*okay, almost always. was trying to be nice.).
• The cast. For those of you playing along at home, this is the now-yellowed version of the cast that was put on my left arm when I broke it in Italy in 1999 when I was there on the last tour. 11 months later, my arm was finally healed. A fascinating saga in and of itself - which I'm convinced was supposed to teach me patience with imperfection (see how well THAT's worked?!?!) I nearly tossed it out, and as I was throwing it into the trash, I read a message written by one of our Italian hosts: La prossima volta, sarai buona fortunata. (Next time, may you have good fortune.) It was a sign (godwink?). I took the cast.

So I've gotta admit, as I'm typing this, I honestly can't think of a whole bunch of other stuff that's in those 19 boxes - 13 from home and 6 from the office. Geez! Admittedly, I got sucked into the 'if I'm already spending $1100 to ship it... why not add this...?' mentality. Did stock up on my favorite products from the CVS, of course.

Notable on the not-taking-it list:

No lamps, no tv, no stereo. Nothing electrical, really (even without the Hz / Volt conversion, I'm already enough of a disaster with red wires/black wires/ yellow wires... Would have been a miserable bomb technician.) Will hopefully get the very few CDs that I own (I say this compared to Blossom who has something in the 'hood of 2000?!?!? -- my lonely 150 or so pale by comparison) -- loaded into the new IPOD this week (if Sartorial SockMan ever brings it in?!?!) Speaking of him, thank goodness someone around here has some international techno-savvy -- got my new Skype account today and it is truly waaaaaaay beyond cool. No kidding. Free computer-to-computer phone (VOIP?!) calling. If you're not a user, sign up now. Bound to be the next hot thing to avoid those obscene $1.00 per minute charges internationally. www.skype.com (I'm a Skyper, he's a Skyper, wouldn't ya like to be a Skyper, too?!?! - playing to the 70's crowd here.) I think I can even buy a subscription to have my office calls forwarded to a skype number for basically nothing, reducing our out of pocket expenses SIGNIFICANTLY. Yup, I'm gettin' the Mom hooked up ASAP. (Chickie is soon to follow, fair warning.) I'm starting a revolution.

But I digress. So my 19 boxes have set sail (on a fateful trip?!?!) across the Atlantic. as of 3 pm this afternoon. Consolidated into a container, 4-6 weeks 'til arrival (if the import gods are in my favor). The rest of the 30 + years of accumulated life detritus are being auctioned off (okay, that's way glam for 'PUT INTO THE FRONT YARD AND SOLD TO ANYONE WHO'S WILLING TO CARRY THEM AWAY'. ) this Saturday. People think I'm nuts for getting rid of it all, but I'm so .... over it. That's okay. Nuts looks good on me.

Life for Sale.