If not now, when?

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

06 September 2005

NAME CHANGE NOTIFICATION

Aaaaah, since this tiny corner of the web has become a (totally dysfunctional of course) community of sorts, it's fair to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming for an important announcement.

People change. Times change. Lives change. and, therefore, blog nicknames change.

Our dear friend formerly (and TOTALLY justifiably!) known as 'Chickie' will now henceforth be referred to as 'UBlend'.

This rare nick-changing is taking place after a week-plus long joint roadtrip in France & Italy, during which at many points he wore: a Superman logo baseball cap, white running shoes, a bright red TAB t-shirt, a plaid CocaCola pullover jacket, and (GASP!) pleated khaki pants, a backpack, (I think at *least* once all at the same time?!?), and did everything except sing the star spangled banner in restaurants. Prompting, of course, my recollection of that scene from My Cousin Vinny (one of my favorite movies of all time):

Joe Pesci as Vinny Gambini: "You stick out like a sore thumb around here."
Marisa Tomei as Mona Lisa Vito: "Me? What about you?"
Vinny : "I fit in better than you. At least I'm wearin' cowboy boots."
Lisa (with all the New Yawker sarcasm she can muster): "Oh yeah, you blend."
(Would that I could embed video here.)

And now back to your regularly scheduled programming.

10 things I've learned in 24 hours

10) That no matter what country I'm living in, I have a mental block with taking things to the drycleaners. It sits in a bag by the door for DAYS, and I slap myself on the forehead every time I drive by the cleaners. It must be a missing gene.

9) That trying to talk, by phone, to anyone from the post office who knows ANYTHING about a lost (returned?) package is an colossally international exercise in frustration, regardless of your native tongue.

8) Sometimes it's easier just to give up and let the chips fall where they may then spend another ounce of energy on a discussion going nowhere.

7) That two nights in a row of restless sleep due to bats flying around are enough to make me close my windows tonight. (Though The Diplomat tells me in the 4 years they lived here, they had bats only once or twice. Hmmmmm. I will not take this as a bad omen, I will not take this as a bad omen.)

6) That you don't hang the wash out on the line during a horsefly swarm.

5) Horsefly bites hurt like hell.

4) That ANYTHING tastes better when it is being served to you by someone genuinely proud of his craft. "Mouth Melting Goodness" describes last night's meal at the 'other' local restaurant (2kms in the other direction from Paolo), which is run by -- in my opinion -- one of the great undiscovered chefs of the world. Proscuitto with melon mousse. Pasta made of chestnut flour. Amazing symphonies of food dancing around in my mouth.

3) That I have a huge crush on the darling guy who works at the deli counter. (I know, I can hear the jokes now ... "he has great salami!") Clearly, I need more of a social life.

2) I don't know the word for 'bikini wax' in Italian.

1) I'm not entirely sure who is best to ask to get that nugget of information without turning bright red with mortification.

All I want for Christmas...

... is a swimming pool full of RoundUp and a giant firehose with which to apply it.

Okay, it's been a week, and the weeds are threatening to overthrow my little fiefdom. Amazing how fast those things grow, if it were bottleable it would certainly be illegal in most major sporting events (not that THAT stops anyone). Those among you who really know me will find it hysterically funny that while I am in theory gainfully employed by lots of people who are certifiably plant-brilliant, I am basically useless in a garden. Yes, I have heard for many years the word 'invasive' used in professional contexts, but it wasn't until today - when I tried to pull out with my bare hands god-only-knows-what-kind of vicious grass that I swear grew overnight in a gravel path - that I truly appreciated the meaning. 30 minutes later I had barely made a dent, except in the rocks in the path!

Oh, my. It is a good stress reliever, though - yanking out weeds with bare hands. At least I think they're weeds. Oh, my. A bit of good gardening advice probably in order; thankfully the masses of friends-who-know-green-things are about to descend.

And for those of you "who know sumthin' 'bout plants" coming still to visit this fall, or - more importantly in Spring -- remember that I am nothing if not a gracious hostess; please be so kind as to forward your glove size in advance so I can purchase appropriate gardening accoutrements for you ... !

04 September 2005

The blackberry ladies

Suffice it to say, I've got a LOT of catching up to do on posting, but while I'm thinking about it... I've spent the better part of my weekend unpacking boxes. Music blaring, hauling stuff up and down stairs. The house did not look 'empty' by any stretch.

Mid-afternoon, I heard voices. And they weren't just passing by, they were kind of 'here' (somewhere on the property ... it's big property, and if I'm hearing voices, they're somewhere HERE.)

After a while, I put on the Big Hat (since I look SCARY from a day of moving in the sunshine), and went to investigate. The house is on one side of the road, but the property extends to the other side also (where the blackberry bushes & the fig and olive trees are.)

So I walk down from the house - in flippy shoes and a big hat - to see a car parked in my driveway. (Huh?) And two women (I'd guess mid-60's) on the other side of the road, both in bluejeans and wading boots, picking my blackberries.

(HUH?!?!)

So I call out to them ... in Italian ... "Do you need help?"
Answer: "no, no, lady, everything is good!"(as she pops another blackberry into her mouth).

Hmmmm. Yeah, for YOU! Okay, stronger this time: "That's my property".
At which point, she shows a bit of respect, asking me if The Diplomat has already left. Which he obviously has. We exchange a bit of pleasantry about Egypt and The Diplomat. I say that when I heard voices and saw the car, I thought perhaps they needed help.

Okay, I'm in a predicament. I know that I'm not going to harvest the blackberries, but I don't want people just wandering willy nilly around my property, either. It sets a bad precedent if nothing else. And they didn't even ASK! I'm at a distinct disadvantage with the language, but still feel the need somehow to assert myself. and walk over to introduce myself properly and at the very least appear GRACIOUS to be letting them pick. And so I meet Doriana and Silvana: The Little Old Berry Thieves.

So, long story short, they neither wanted or needed or cared about my presence: they still took the blackberries (smaller and less juicy than last season, they tell me; something comforting about the fact that they're repeat offenders), but I'm hoping I at least get a jar of blackberry jam (marmalata di more) out of the deal.

Lesson to self: pick the figs early. Or hope the gals make Fig Newtons??

02 September 2005

File under: oh, no, he didn't ...

(AP) "Oklahoma City offered to become the home of the New Orleans Hornets this season following the devastation by Hurricane Katrina. Mayor Mick Cornett acknowledged Friday that a Louisiana site would be the obvious choice for the Hornets. But he suggested Oklahoma City's Ford Center, which does not have a major league tenant, as an option. "We could be the temporary home for the team and we're available if that makes sense to the city of New Orleans," Cornett said. Hornets general manager Allan Bristow said no decision had been made on where the team would play. Baton Rouge, La., could be a possibility. The city is home to LSU's Pete Maravich Assembly Center, which seats more than 14,000. The Hornets open their preseason schedule Oct. 13 at Denver's Pepsi Center against the Nuggets. The Hornets will hold at least the first two weeks of training camp at the Air Force Academy in Colorado."

Oh, please ... tell me he didn't. Hundreds of thousands of people without water, toilets, food, or shelter ... dead bodies still in the streets, countless businesses and lives devastated, and this guy is worried ABOUT WHERE THE BASKETBALL TEAM WILL PLAY IN SIX WEEKS?!?!? (While all the fans of the Hornets are still trying to rebuild their LIVES?!?!)

Really, I'd like to find a way to put a positive spin on this. But it just seems so --- wrong. I'm hoping that some Oklahoman demands an audit of his charitable gifts this year, to see if his personal sense of giving generously matches his gross and inappropriately timed opportunism. This is why politicians need handlers (and muzzles, if you ask me: Ditto Bush and Trent Lott's new front porch ...)

Okay. I've gotta stop, this rehash of Katrina coverage is eating me alive. Though the upside is that it makes me feel a little less sorry for myself about my current seeming grasshopper infestation (I know, they're harmless. But they scare the shit out of me when they randomly jump at me.) Speaking of which, tune in after the Labor Day weekend for the first edition of "Do Something Every Day that Scares You" (hopefully with pics!). 'Til then: Be safe and be generous.

10,000 kilometers

... is what my odometer read tonight, on the button, when I pulled into my driveway. 3 1/2 weeks on the road, and it hit me: I have 'lived' out of a suitcase for nearly 5 full months. I leased that poor little car with just 3 km on it, and I have put on 10,000 km in 4 1/2 months, and 6000 of that was in the last 3 weeks. Whew!

Now, don't get me wrong, that was part of the deal, and I knew it going in. HOWEVER, being 'temporary' for so long simply does something not-so-good to your psyche, not to mention all your other life routines (gym, eating habits, massage/pedicure routines, you name it ... ALL out of whack!) I'm a shadow of my normal self: Edgy. Tired. Stressed. Less fun. I care less than I normally do about things that used to really matter to me, or at least that I used to have the energy to fight over. I'm easily 40 lbs heavier than I should be; which, it's fair to say, is at least 15 lbs heavier than I NORMALLY am ('cuz really, I'm not one of those waify chippies who is always at my 'fighting weight', and that's usually just perfectly fine with me --- thought getting this far beyond my own normal comfortably curvy self, now THAT's an issue.) I chalk THAT up to the five months without routine.

But that has all changed, thankfully, yesterday. I returned and The Diplomat & Renaissance Artist have FINALLY left for Cairo, leaving the (admittedly heavy!) mantle of Covivole on my shoulders to carry forward. I did do a little dance around the empty house singing 'it's mine, all mine'!!!! yesterday when I got back.

Yes, I've missed you all, out there, in blogville. Have a gazillion stories to share, of travels hither and yon with some delightful companions and other not-so-delightful ones --- and I'll do just that, when I'm not so completely knackered (to borrow a phrase from my British friends). I promise I'll be perky and witty and quippy and entertaining ... tomorrow. Tonight, I just need a good night's sleep in what appears to be my own bed. With borrowed sheets on it, but THAT's a story for the next edition.

01 September 2005

The disaster of our own making: the race & class divide in America

Despite an occasional jab at The-Powers-That-Be, I do, really, try pretty hard to leave political commentary out of this here little corner of the web. To quote my dear friend the Sensitive Rebel (aka Sean of The Sean Show), "There are a ton of other bloggers who cover politics, and while some are great, the majority rehash news stories by adding on a snarky comment. I’d rather be silent and be thought a fool than reveal how much of a hack I am by blogging it." I couldn't have said it better myself.

I do, however, feel powerfully motivated every now and again to just offer up some random social observation. I have been mesmerized as I watch - totally helpless and ridiculously far removed - the aftermath of Katrina through the tiny 10" screen of my laptop. I have been moved to tears more than once, and anguished at how much like a third world country the gulf coast looks. My heart and thoughts go out to all those down there who survived and are trying to maintain order and salvage homes, businesses, and lives as I type this. I fervently hope that a stronger spirit and unified American community will arise from this vicious adversity.

Though the apparently devolving situation does beg a few questions about our socio-economic structure: the ever-increasing gap between the haves and have nots. I feel woefully inadequate to comment or to offer solutions (and know I'm too likely to devolve into snarky comment-dom), here instead I offer snippets of others' commentary that resonated with me, lo these 6,000+ miles away, as I was able to do nothing but "click here to donate" and hope that what little I can send will somehow help.

From my buddy Joe at "JoeSentMe.com":
Where are we going to house a million displaced residents of Louisiana for months, maybe years? What about the victims in Mississippi and Alabama? It seems there is an opportunity to repopulate our rust-belt, Midwestern and Southern mill towns. A new Homestead Act is in order. Anyone made homeless by this nightmare can have any empty old house if they agree to fix the place and live there for a number of years. I read a few years ago that Ralph, Iowa, was paying people a bounty to move to the dying town. America is full of Ralph, Iowas. We need to utilize this resource. .... You'll forgive me for saying so, but President Bush came up awfully small yesterday in his rose-garden address. Where was the call for national sacrifice? Where was the call for a day of national prayer and reflection? Regardless of what you think of any president's politics, we look to him and his bully pulpit in times of crisis. The last thing I wanted from my president yesterday was to be the front man for his Cabinet and a speech full of meaningless and incomprehensible statistics. I fervently hope he does better tomorrow. .... I live about 1,200 miles from the Gulf Coast, but I have two guest rooms in my house that victims of this storm can use for as long as they need it. Newburgh/Stewart International Airport is just a few miles away. What group will step forward to mobilize the American people to open up their doors? How can we compensate the airlines so they can fly these people to where rooms and food are available? I'm no logistics expert, but why aren't we air-dropping food, water and supplies into New Orleans and Mississippi? And why weren't we doing it yesterday? Now is not the time, but soon we'll have to discuss why New Orleans didn't stock the Superdome and its Convention Center with huge supplies of food, rations and portable toilets. Demanding an evacuation before a storm is one thing. Realizing that tens of thousands of people can't or won't go is another. There was time, days, to prepare. It's clear New Orleans didn't do it. The saddest thing I have heard in five days: Some people in Mississippi died because they couldn't evacuate. Why? It was the end of the month, they lived paycheck to paycheck and they didn't have the ready cash to gas up the car. I understand the natural reflex to shake our fists at the wind and pledge to rebuild New Orleans bigger and better than ever. But someone explain to me why we should rebuild a town that is located in the geographic equivalent of a soup bowl surrounded by water? This will happen again. Maybe not in our generation, but some time. Wouldn't it be better to leave what's left of New Orleans as a huge monument to man's folly in taking on nature?'


From Jack Shafer at www.Slate.com:
"I can't say I saw everything that the TV newscasters pumped out about Katrina, but I viewed enough repeated segments to say with 90 percent confidence that broadcasters covering the New Orleans end of the disaster demurred from mentioning two topics that must have occurred to every sentient viewer: race and class. Nearly every rescued person, temporary resident of the Superdome, looter, or loiterer on the high ground of the freeway I saw on TV was African-American. And from the look of it, they weren't wealthy residents of the Garden District. This storm appears to have hurt blacks more directly than whites, but the broadcasters scarcely mentioned that fact... In the their frenzy to beat freshness into the endless loops of disaster footage that have been running all day, broadcasters might have mentioned that nearly all the visible people left behind in New Orleans are of the black persuasion, and mostly poor.

'To be sure, some reporters sidled up to the race and class issue. I heard them ask the storm's New Orleans victims why they hadn't left town when the evacuation call came. Many said they were broke—"I live from paycheck to paycheck," explained one woman. Others said they didn't own a car with which to escape and that they hadn't understood the importance of evacuation. But I don't recall any reporter exploring the class issue directly by getting a paycheck-to-paycheck victim to explain that he couldn't risk leaving because if he lost his furniture and appliances, his pots and pans, his bedding and clothes, to Katrina or looters, he'd have no way to replace them. No insurance, no stable, large extended family that could lend him cash to get back on his feet, no middle-class job to return to after the storm. ....

...'When disaster strikes, Americans—especially journalists—like to pretend that no matter who gets hit, no matter what race, color, creed, or socioeconomic level they hail from, we're all in it together. This spirit informs the 1997 disaster flick Volcano, in which a "can't we all just get along" moment arrives at the film's end: Volcanic ash covers every face in the big crowd scene, and everybody realizes that we're all members of one united race.

But we aren't one united race, we aren't one united class, and Katrina didn't hit all folks equally. By failing to acknowledge upfront that black New Orleanians—and perhaps black Mississippians—suffered more from Katrina than whites, the TV talkers may escape potential accusations that they're racist. But by ignoring race and class, they boot the journalistic opportunity to bring attention to the disenfranchisement of a whole definable segment of the population. What I wouldn't pay to hear a Fox anchor ask, "Say, Bob, why are these African-Americans so poor to begin with?"


AND, finally, and most importantly ...excerpts from the message that I wish I was articulate enough to write myself: from she-who-I-want-to-be-when-I-grow-up, Patti at 37 Days:

...It’s just bloody overwhelming; I feel so ill prepared, so inept, so inadequate to solve the gaping aches around me. And I feel so selfish sometimes when I simply walk away from need, when I close my door, when I say no or turn the channel. And now, the hell that was New Orleans and Biloxi and their neighbors: unimaginable dislocation, death, destruction, drowning, all that people had in the world floating in an oily brew of stagnant water, including the bodies of loved ones. This is not an inconvenience or a rise in gas prices. No, these are people’s wild and precious lives.

What happens when our infrastructure collapses? Most of us will never know, not in this country, no. But some in the Gulf Coast of the United States know it harshly right now, up close and personal. While I’m brushing my teeth and using too much water in the shower, they know. While I’m talking on my cell phone and emailing this to you, they know. When I’m eating dinner cooked in my own kitchen and watching the waters rise in New Orleans on the evening news, they know. And they will know for a long time to come. And of course, the hardest hit are always those who were already the hardest hit, those who are always the hardest hit: the poor. How can they possibly rebuild their lives when their livelihood has been destroyed, just like their homes? Where on earth will they go when they leave the Superdome, that last safety net before the free fall?

The wave of horror I feel at the world’s pain has been revealed to me as a peculiar form of privilege; there is a sense of horror and a terrible sense of relief at the same time, if I am honest. I am not there, which allows me the luxury to have an intellectual response to this event. I must dig deeper into what it means to be connected to these people who are so affected; it is that intellectual response to tragedy that keeps us immune, that makes these tragedies all the more possible in the world. I manage my reaction to them by keeping them small tragedies, the size of my TV screen—I cannot allow that to happen and I must all at the same time. What am I doing about what’s happening in the Congo? Nothing. What am I doing about what’s happening in the Middle East? Nothing. What am I doing about starving children in the world, about starving children in my town, about the man with no shoes downtown? Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

What can we do? It’s not enough to watch the news and feel empathy for those we see on rooftops waiting to be saved, or those we see desperate for water and food to give their children. It’s not enough to sit in the dryness of our own homes and criticize the relief efforts and wonder when on earth Mr. Bush might wrap up his happy vacation to take a look-see at the devastation. It’s not enough to wish you could help. You can and we must.

I urge you to contribute as much money as you can to the American Red Cross to help with this relief effort—not a comfortable amount, but a slightly uncomfortable amount, a dollar figure that will be different for each one of us.... "

Yes, as I read through the commentary -- removed, literally, on my hilltop 6000 miles away, my heart swells with pride thinking of those who are DOING, not just watching and praying. Those who are called to be aidworkers are the truly saintly among us. Please, it's not enough to sit on our couches watching CNN and shaking our heads in sadness - at Katrina, or the Sudan, or the Typhoon, and ... and... and...

If you are a "Have" that hasn't, I beg you to donate now: www.redcross.org Because it is the only thing we CAN do right now. Ultimately the voluntary flow of money and aid from the haves to the havenots in times of crisis, while woefully inadequate and not sustainable as a long-term social system, it is the best we can do today.