Pat's Musings on Living La Dolce Vita!

SNIPPETS

2011-08-15T09:12:00.000-07:00

My friend, Lynne, is quick to point out August is "the season"...for everything. Many, many dinners with friends, bike rides (not me, other people), swimming, gardening, fishing (not me, other people), parties, festas, time to talk and become acquainted or reacquainted....Our summer has been no different....

"I thank thee moon, for shining now so bright;/

For, by thy gracious, golden, glittering gleams,/

I trust to take of truest Thisby sight."

(Midsummer)

The full moon's a-risin' over Le Marche...

there are times when my breath is literally sucked out of body when I turn around and see--

this!! August 12, 2011.

FAMILY TIME.....

2nd Cousin David, 3rd Cousin Flavio

Cousins Tina and Rino

We had the opportunity to spend time with our Roman family...fabulous food, lively conversation, multi-generational gatherings that warmed the cockles.

Cousin Clara celebrating her 80th birthday....

Oh that we all could look so good!!

ITALIAN FESTAS!!

We live in an agricultural area

and hay bales are an important industry
and art form!

we were transported to the Middle Ages for
the Quintana in Ascoli Piceno...this was
just the opening parade!!

Honestly, don't you want to take him home???

yep, he's got a lance in his hand...
for JOUSTING!

transported indeed....

FRIENDS:

Morning cappuccini
Gary, Bill, Bill, Chris, Mary

How lucky were we this summer to have visitors from all over the world?? Our days were full of exploring the area, eating local food, drinking local wine, seeing spectacular art, appreciating the phenomenal area! Mostly, it was a pleasure to share our part of the world with our friends!

Dennis and Kathy

on top of the world!

Scott, Germana,

Francesca, Filippo

breakfast on the

terrace!

John and Angela,
our cohorts in culinary experiments!

I CADUTI

2011-07-25T18:55:00.000-07:00

I Caduti means The Fallen

Here in Italy every town, every village, every burg, every city has a monument to their caduti, honoring those lost in wars. The monuments are in the center of town, well-landscaped, mostly well-cared for, and works of art. I've been taking photos of these monuments for 7 months now, and I wanted to share some of them with you.

They are a patriotic gesture that honors these young people and their families; they are a daily nudge to REMEMBER--War has a price and makes an idelible mark.

This is my paean to The Fallen of Italy.

SOPHIA, BERLUSCONI, and ME

2011-07-09T17:33:00.000-07:00

Italians love women. Italian men, especially, love women--all women. The whole world loves Italian women. I mean, when a country produces the likes of Sophia Loren and my mother...what's not to love?

         Sophia to the left,
                Mom to the right!!

And then there's Berlusconi, who really loves women---young women, women he puts into Parliament. Hmmmmm, and a nation follows him? So, do you think the men of Italy think if they vote for him they'll be able to live like him??? (Secondo me, Mr. B has set women's rights back decades.)

I read recently that men in Italy can retire at 60, but women have to wait until 65. I also heard that in our local hospital, the male doctors are called Dottore, while female doctors are called Signora.

Italian men rarely help with the housework--it is considered beneath them. So if the wife is working outside the home, she is still expected to take care of the house, the laundry, the cooking, the kids. (My cousins Stefano and David are exceptions here.) I have another cousin who, living alone and divorced, took his shirts to Mama to be washed and ironed every week.

And then there is the mammone phenomenon...grown, unmarried men who still live with Mama. This is a national phenomenon--our friend, Scott, told of a recent incident when he went into an empty store and the proprietor, rather than helping Scott, made a call, "Mama, che fai per pranzo oggi?" Mama, what are you making for lunch today? Food and Mama, both high priorities!

So, we're living in a country where la bella figura dominates public perceptions---how one looks and acts in public, the figure one cuts, the clothes one wears, the way one comports him/herself. We're living in a country where women are admired and appreciated physically--all women of all ages and sizes. We're living in a country where women are still expected to fulfill the traditional roles while holding down a job. We're living in a country where women have to fight for rights and recognition outside of the house and bedroom....

My Challenge: find a way to remain strong and independent and outspoken and untrodden-upon (I think I made up that word) while maintaining good relations with the locals.

Sometimes I want to shout and stomp my feet to make myself heard, but, Pat, not much bella figura goin' on there. So I've had to find a way to maintain my ways of thinking and advance my agendas while maintaining la bella figura and avoiding the "ugly American" label. Patience is the key--something of which I have very little--slowly, pleasantly moving forward. And, my husband/partner, who likes to do laundry and dishes, goes a long way towards ameliorating my irritation.

I offer coffee and croissants, make lists, and think really hard about how to approach the plumber or mason or painter; Gary and I clarify our goals. Then Gary makes the calls (Italian men are much better man-to-man), describes the problems to them, supervises the jobs, and delivers the money when all is said and done. I offer coffee and croissants, smile, translate when necessary, and make sure everything is what we want. I'm playin' the system...have I sold out? Sometimes I think so, but, if I can get the work done, my ideas across, save money, and maintain good relations, everybody wins.

It's hard work curbing my tongue. I have to constantly remember the goal: Access, understand, assimilate the culture...LATER, I can change it.

I wonder, did Sophia sell out? She used her beauty, magnetism, and sexuality to catapult herself into international stardom. Did my mother sell out?? She held onto her essential self her whole life---even when she sublimated herself to my dad, she never let her core dissipate. Do Berlusconi's women sell out in order to attain power?? Or are they just smart?? Ummm, yeah. So women, members of the "weaker sex," have been playing the system for eons--and winning.

Italians love women.
Women are strong.
Therefore, Italians love strong women.

I knew it all along!!!

@&)>>!!&%$#####

2011-06-22T06:39:00.000-07:00

ARRRGH...I've spent HOURS, honestly, hours, trying to upload some photos on this program and FINALLY I've got something to show ya!!

If you click on this link, you'll be taken to a slideshow of DAILY LIFE --(that's the link!)

HINT: you might want to change the time of each slide to 5 seconds.

WHERE IS HOME???

2011-06-12T22:58:00.000-07:00

I am straddling two continents. I have a house and friends and family and years and years of living well-rooted in Southern California; and I have a house and friends and family and years and years of short-term visits well-rooted in Italy. Most of my communications are with friends in SoCal, my socializing is mostly here. My banking and mortgage are in CA, my paycheck comes from across the world, my siblings and nieces and nephews are there, Gary's work is dependent upon the whim of the California Community College system, and yet....

When we speak of "home," we often have to clarify, "which home?" In the dead of winter I was cold and lonely for social interactions; I longed for a yoga class at Total Woman; I wanted to eavesdrop on the table next to me at a restaurant--and understand every word! No Contest--Home was California. Then spring came, we worked on the house, revamped the garden, completed projects, made everything more comfortable and "pretty." The competition was getting stronger.

Then we went away for 10 days--Rome, Provence to our friend, Lynne, back to Rome to visit family--and then back home...for the first time, when we got back, it was to home. To my bed, to my kitchen, to my plants, to my bugs, to my electrical problems and odd plumbing...I was home.

In Provence, Lynne greeted us with open, all-encompassing arms. It was affirming, warm, welcoming--unconditional. Anne, Gail, Sandy, Jane--also at Lynne's--met us with a giant group hug and a glass of champagne! And then...we were shown to our room, the new addition to the house, with a rock sign proclaiming "Chez Pat & Gary."

If you look carefully, you can see the rock above my head....
How welcoming is that??

Lynne gave us friendship and food and frivolity. A home away from home...but where, exactly, is home?

Our new friend, Gabriella, asked us where our hearts were...for there, she said, is home. Our other friend, Anne, said she thought home was where our "stuff" is...the things that define us, our books, our photos, our towels. Feeling free to put my feet on the couch and strew my clothes about goes a long way to establishing my comfort level--another indicator of "being home." And some sage said home is in the arms of your loved ones. I gotta say, when I am emotionally vulnerable, there is no home, no safer haven, than my husband's arms.

I am already saddened by our imminent departure from Italy--although we're here another 10 weeks!--for our commitment to the place, the house, the people, the country, is strong. And part of me can't help but feel when we leave, all the work--emotional and physical and mental--will be lost. And in losing that, negate the last 8 months and lose a vital part of me.

And yet...I am looking forward to having margaritas with Jamie and Karen, having dinner with dear, dear friends, hugging my nephews and nieces, sitting down with my brother, getting a massage with my sister-in-law, havin' a burger, eating Mexican and Thai food, barbequing, knowing the holidays, not thinking about verb conjugation before speaking!

I am firmly convinced we won't know where we belong until we go back to CA--Time....

So I continue to straddle two continents, continue to wonder where I belong, where my emotional ties are, what I want out of the next 20 years, how many challenges I want in my daily life. Knowing, always, there are a pair of arms that can salve the wounds and bring me home.

INSPIRATIONS

2011-05-30T15:53:00.000-07:00

I have had the opportunity to meet some stellar people who have touched my heart and rattled my brain...some are new acquaintances and some have been in my life for years. This is my paean to you, all who touch my life....

We met Angela and Paul about two weeks ago; they had just pedalled down to Italy from Wales. Yes, you read correctly, pedalled (the Brits call bicycling pedalling) from Wales...there were 2 ferry rides to be fair, but, mostly, they rode their bikes. From Wales to France, south through France, into Italy, to us, and, OH YEAH, they rode their bikes over the Alps. (If I could figure out a way to download a map, I'd trace their trip for ya!) AND, they thought riding the Alps was easier than manipulating the hills here in Le Marche, because, you see, the incline is more gentle, not as steep and fast as here. They had a great time, riding about 40 miles/5 hours a day, stopping for lunch along the road, quitting for the day when tired, finding a hotel, and starting all over the next day. They are delightful people with a fabulous story to tell and we were lucky enough to be a small part of that. Gary was so inspired he bought us mountain bikes---they're still in the garage in pieces, but, I am sure, they will be put to good use.

Last week we went to the museum in the nearby town of Falerone, only to discover the museum is open only during July and August or by special appointment (!!). Sooo, we explored the town with our friends, Dennis and Kathy, and came upon a small shop loaded with artwork. The man loitering in the piazza behind us knows the artist and rang his doorbell...

Adelio Marini answered his door, enveloped us 4 strangers with warmth, explained he's been making art for 80 years, and apologized for the rooms stuffed with his canvases--he's run out of space. He opened his shop, explaining his inspirations and techniques, like a kid in a giant toy box anxious to show off every toy--every drawer, every nook, every corner, filled with his work. It was a study in passion and commitment and the creative process. My soul was fed from this encounter.

Adelio Marini and one of his canvases....
www.rajzi.bme.hu/adeliomarini

I have a friend who has been diagnosed with a serious disease. He suffered for several years before the actual diagnosis came in, but come it did. I have watched him grapple with the disease, accept the impact on his life, and choose to LIVE. He doesn't dwell on the pain or the potentially horrible effects, he involves himself in life-affirming things---laughter, music, food, friends, family---he doesn't care to spend time with negative people or in negative situations, he just wants to live, relishing the joy. I have the privilege of sharing some of that joy with him.

Here in our small part of the world, I have the time to reflect on many things--my life, my husband, my priorities, my goals, my beliefs--but one overriding theme in my life is the people who populate it. I choose to surround myself with people who are strong of character, who have beliefs they defend, who appreciate thinking and speaking well, who give freely, who are sensitive to others, who love to experience new things, who are passionate....how lucky am I??

AS·SIM·I·LATE

2011-05-16T05:17:00.000-07:00

After I made my appointment for my massage with Paola (yeah, baby!!), she cheerfully wished me, "Buon Pasqua!" Happy Easter....hmmm, I can't remember the last time anyone wished me Happy Easter or Merry Christmas. Yet Paola didn't think for a moment; didn't consider I may be Hindu or Buddhist or Atheist, she just wished me, "Buona Festa," because everyone celebrates Easter and Pasquetta (Easter Monday). It's part and parcel of the Italian culture.

Which led me to one of my favorite plays, A Raisin in the Sun, when Beneatha flaunts society's norms and stops straightening her hair in deference to her African heritage, citing "anti-assimilationist beliefs!"

Which led me to the dictionary:
AS·SIM·I·LATE
–verb (used with object)

1. to take in and incorporate as one's own; absorb: He assimilated many new experiences on his European trip.

2. to bring into conformity with the customs, attitudes, etc., of a group, nation, or the like; adapt or adjust: to assimilate the new immigrants. (dictionary.com)

Which led me to my mother who lived in the US for over 50 years and assimilated quite nicely, thank you very much. She assimilated so well that we, my brother and sister and I, lost some of our Italian heritage because she didn't talk about it. Was she reticent because her new culture was our dominant culture? Was she reticent because talking about the past wouldn't change the present or influence the future?   For example, my mother talked frequently about my being born on Easter Monday...in America, Easter Monday is the day after Easter and we all go back to work. In Italy, it's a holiday. She never told me it was a holiday, a celebration of family and friends--or if she did, it is gone from my head. Christmas Eve, here in Italy, is the big Christmas celebration. A huge, multi-course fish dinner is prepared, and families play games and eat until dawn--everyone celebrates that way. In America, each family has a different tradition, but the fish dinner and games isn't usually one of them. I didn't know....soooo, was Mom reticent to share her culture because it would make her less American? Were we so uninterested (as children are wont to do) that she didn't want to impose her culture on us? Is this assimilation?

Which led me to our situation here. We work very hard not to stick out; we don't want to call attention to ourselves as Americans, even though we are obviously not Italian (once we open our mouths). My friend, Bill, asked me, "Will you ever not be outsiders?" No, we will always be outsiders, to a lesser degree the longer we're here, but we will never be mistaken for Italians. But in our quest for "Italian-ness," we try to absorb the culture, understand the belief systems, flow with the Italian concept of time--which is fluid--, value the history and the music and the local traditions, explore the habits and incorporate them, as much as possible, into our daily living. (i.e. cappuccino and brioche for breakfast, lunch at 1, dinner at 8, no shopping between 1 and 4 cuz the stores are closed.) Is that assimilation??

We have met several English couples who don't like Italian food, don't like the Italian people, can't stand the Italian bureaucracy, and won't learn Italian. My reaction is, "go home!" If you don't like being here, why stay? Go back to London or Manchester---why are you here at all??? Additionally, they tend to hang together, not make friends with the locals, creating an insidious, incestuous group. (Obviously, not all English ex-pats are like this, but there are some....) Is this assimilation?

Which led me to the immigration issues we experience in the States, and SoCal in particular. My students in any given classroom easily reflected 10-15 different cultures, constantly grappling with acceptance in school--difficult at best--, and acquiescing to parental demands of maintaining the culture of their homeland. This, in and of itself, creates a huge schism for these kids. Mom and Dad say THIS is important, but the school culture and their peers say THAT is more important. Most of them have beautifully integrated both of their cultures; they are able to satisfy Mom and Dad while making and keeping "American" friends. Is this assimilation???

Which led me to: why do people immigrate and what is their responsibility once they do?? What responsibility does the dominant culture have to immigrants? What motivates one to immigrate and what kind of expectations does he/she have??   There are as many answers as there are people.

I, for one, believe if I choose to live in a country other than the one in which I was brought up, I have a responsibility to learn about that country, its people, its customs, but, mostly, it is incumbent upon me to respect the differences, embrace them.  All of this while maintaining my identity and ties to my native land.   We walk a complicated tightrope; I can only hope we reach the other side with our humanity in tact. For me, this is assimilation.

WHINING FROM PARADISE

2011-05-03T07:12:00.000-07:00

We have designated the months of April and May as "project months!" The weather has warmed up significantly (whew!) for us to proceed with painting and floor-boarding, gardening (see "Eva and Eddie" post), patching walls-inside and out, prepping the apartment for guests, tiling the front of the fireplace.

When I see the list this way, it looks manageable, even easy. When I'm in the middle of it, I want to TEAR MY HAIR OUT!!! Nothing is easy...I wanted to rehang some pictures in the loft upstairs--no big deal, right?? Wrong. Our walls are 18" thick and made of plaster...to drive a nail, one needs a damn drill; once the hole has been drilled, the nail has to be fitted; then, hopefully, the nail will hold the picture. So a project that I would do myself in 10 minutes in CA, took two of us two hours. The pictures look great.

I understand more clearly why Italians, once they decorate, NEVER change decor--their homes have the same color pallet and wall decorations for 30 years.

TILING: we've lived with a gaping hole in our fireplace where the pellet stove was installed since December...time to revestimento or redress the front. We went through our creative process, shopping for tile, creating a look--the fun stuff. We found the glass tile we wanted at Leroy-Merlin, a chain store similar to Home Depot. We assumed---ahhhh, silly, silly us---if one L-M had the tiles, the others would, too. But, nooooooo. There passed several futile days of visiting L-M all over Italy to match the tile we wanted (seriously)....we finally found it--online. Again, thwarted....it's such a simple thing in CA, if one Home Depot has it, they all have it. But, it was clearly explained to us that each store is individually franchised and they don't all have the same stuff---duh!..

The bigger problem is the front of the fireplace had to be made in such as way that the panels could be removed for cleaning the heater...okay, imagine the complexities of figuring weight-bearing, ease of removal, maintaining the integrity of the design....that consumed about 2 weeks to solve those problems. The picture doesn't do it justice, But...

this is the result...and we're very happy!

And the apartment---has been ignored for five, yep, count 'em, five years, so there was a lot of work to do...repainting, repapering, fixing the plumbing and the electrical, changing out lighting fixtures, redressing it, and, oh yeah, a MAJOR cleaning....none of this terribly difficult, but it consumed 2 weeks of planning & shopping and 1 week of work. and the results??

Isn't it adorable???

Life here is not easy...we can't pick up a phone and order tile, we can't easily put a nail in the wall, we are constantly fighting weeds and insects--we are in the country, after all!--, we are desperate to fully understand our neighbors, mail takes 7-10 days to arrive to or from the US, stores are closed from 1-4 daily and Sundays, the electricity could go out the next time it rains and stay out for days, we don't see the sun for days/weeks on end ... and the list goes on ad infinitum. We are creatures of convenience, we've learned (and continue to learn) hard lessons about self-sufficiency and creative problem-solving.

BUT...we have a wonderful opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to pursue a dream. When the whine rises in my throat, I tell myself, "shut up, savor the moment, embrace the experience"...but sometimes it just feels good to whine.

So, I have a glass of wine, look out over the terrace, and imagine Home Depot is closed on Sundays!

A LITTLE OF THIS....

2011-04-26T06:36:00.000-07:00

AND A LITTLE OF THAT!!

MINE, MINE, MINE (actually, ours, ours, ours)...
we are the proud owners of OUR OWN Italian car...no more rentals!!

3 1/2 months of Italian bureaucracy and rental cars and we are now "legal"... we've got all the documents we need to buy a car! Whew!!

Gary, me, and our friend, Filipo Nibbi (a very famous Italian poet and
actor) in front of a blooming apricot?, plum?, cherry? tree in the hills outside of Bologna...it was a lovely spring day!

a view of the loggia in our main piazza...note the banner with the Pope's picture on it...it's an Easter greeting.

If you look to the left, seated at the table, you can see that husband of mine, drinking a compari!!

white chocolate, dark chocolate, milk chocolate...almost too beautiful to eat!

okay, I know everything grows wild somewhere,
but I was surprised to see wild irises among
the weeds on the side of the road!

Cousins Rino and Tina ooo-ing and
ahhing over this egg!!

This is my favorite pink tree...

Sooooo, nature, spring, chocolate, Tina & Rino, compari, pink trees, blue flowers, and

a car...a few of my favorite things!

EVA & EDDIE

2011-04-12T17:41:00.000-07:00

Okay, how many of you remember a television series, Green Acres, with Eva Gabor and Eddie Albert, 1965-1971?? Raise your hands. (I know you're dating yourself a little here--and I certainly am--but it gives you a frame of reference!) Here's a picture to jog your memory:

Now, insert faces of Pat and Gary---
and the saga begins...tame the land, work the machines, trim the trees, plant the flowers. (To my gardening friends, Lynne, Jamie, Angela, Pam, I don't understand your passion, but I absolutely respect it!)

With Spring springing, the weeds have run amuck--by amuck I mean knee-to-waist high. A thick mass of unkempt greenery covered our front yard. Time to get the weed wacker out. With manual in hand, we started it, Gary put on the protective gear--white suit, gloves, goggles--and began. I watched. (Those of you who know anything about gardening know that the weed wacker, henceforth called WW, can only TRIM weeds that long.) With much swearing and weeds flying and dodging of stone, the tops of the weeds came off. And we quit for the day.

Next day: we decided to use a bigger blade, not the skinny orange plastic thingies, for the WW, to get to the bottom of the weeds. Enter the neighbors: farmers, gardeners, raisers of living things, they asked, ever-so-politely, what were we planning to do with that muther of a blade??? When told of our plans, again, ever-so-politely, they told us that blade was better used for tree branches, not weeds. Would we like him, Silvano, to finish up the trimming for us? It would only take five minutes and he'd be happy to do it. Hell YES!!!

We can only imagine the conversation they had a lunch: Did you see the blade the Americans were going to use for the weeds? Don't they know they could take out a window with a flying stone from that blade? Break an ankle? Flatten a tire? Blind himself?? And it took Silvano only TEN MINUTES to finish the job.

I don't like gardening. I don't like to get dirt under my fingenails. My manicure goes to hell when I work in the garden. BUT, I love a pretty garden. I love a neatly manicured lawn, pretty flowers, colorful plants, rich, green trees. Usually we hire a gardener to do the job...this year we vowed to embrace country life and do it ourselves. (enter: Eva and Eddie)

Sidebar: I just got up to get a glass of water--2 AM here--and saw a 3" scorpion on the wall. Oh yeah, I'm embracin' country life...I only squealed once. He is no longer with us.

Also, I don't like to ask for help. I can read a manual and research when to plant a seed and how much to water a geranium. I assume I can figure out how to trim the weeds and plant the plants...not true. It is a humbling experience to be unable to do something so apparently simple.

We now have a master plan to tame the land in front of the house--our bosco, forest, will have to wait another year--we're putting gravel down and planting all trees and plants in manageable pots, thereby limiting our gardening excesses. We will have the pretty flowers and trees with minimum gardening work, we hope.

Eva and Eddie will live to face another day of uncharted life in the country!

IN THE EYE OF THE ITALIAN STORM

2011-04-05T03:20:00.000-07:00

We live in a Catholic country and are not Catholic. We live in a country greatly impacted by and angry about illegal immigration; we have California roots and embrace diversity. We are welcomed into the homes of family members who are really strangers.

I always thought Carnival was reserved for Rio and New Orleans--with wild, outlandish costumes and behavior to match. I was surprised to discover a Carnival celebration in the centro storico of every village, burg, town, city in Italy--and they range from parades to parties to feasts with costumes and floats and lots and lots of food! The feste generated by the Catholic Church are many and varied--a Saint's Day or holy season--there's an excuse for a party or a day off or a celebration every other week! Do you know there's a festa the day after Easter called Pasquetta? yep, people take the day off (not so much any more) and go out to the country and have a picnic and enjoy the fine weather.

The feste, of course, are not limited to religious celebrations. Gary and I went out for pizza on March 8 and found the pizzeria filled with women, only women, at long tables having a great time. There were the matriarchs, the Italian mamas, the working women, the young girls, all enjoying pizza and each other. I assumed (you know what that makes me) this was related to Carnival because it was the day before Lent began; but nooooooo, it was Festa delle Donne, Festival of the Women, a national day celebrating the emancipation of women. Who knew??? The women knew.

And then there was the March 17th celebration the Unification of Italy, 150 years. It was a festa day---4th of July on St. Patrick's Day---so it was an imposed day off for the laborers, they didn't get paid and were not very happy. But the celebration was on, then off, then on, then off again, then, finally on....the country was to celebrate with--hot dogs and corn-on-the-cob?--speeches and food. The North didn't participate because they are mad at the state, the rest of the country sporadically participated. Mostly, it was a day off.

Life in Italy whirls around us; everybody knows when there's a Saint's Day or a National festa, except us. We always find out by accident...we're living in a vacuum of ignorance. So we read every sign we see and scour the public announcements so as not to be taken unaware....

Lampedusa is the center of the news here in Italy. All the refugees from Tunisia are fleeing to Italy; once they get to Lampedusa, there is no water or food or sanitation, and the Senate is trying to pass a law that will outlaw their entrance into the country; a military, mandatory evacuation of 1500 refugees occured last week. There is also a proposition on the floor of the Italian Senate to pay refugees to return to their homelands...of course, what's to stop them from returning and collecting more money to return home???

The Italians are angry. They love their country and the life they've forged. They don't want desperate illegals using their resources and abusing their land. There is not enough work for the children of Italy; college graduates have to leave the country to find work--I have two cousins who fit into this category--why should native sons and daughters lose work to refugees??? The face of Italy is changing with the face of the world; the people I've spoken to are outraged and feeling helpless.

This is counter-intuitive to what we in America, and California specifically, have always believed--that the richness of many cultures enriches the one, larger culture. Different traditions, food, interactions, languages, philosophies, religions feed the larger community--or so we believe.

Political life in Italy--from dealing with the refugees to dealing with Berlusconi--whirls around us with passion and intensity. We watch, we listen, we try to understand.

Ahhh, family...an amazing phenomenon in this country. My cousins, many whom I've not seen in years, open their homes and hearts to us. Others we see once a year, and yet, that tie is iron-strong...we talk of my mom and my siblings and the nephews and nieces, their kids and work and homes---but in the middle of it all, I stop and realize these people, who I really don't know at all, share my grandfather. We're family. My Zio Gino is Cousin Rita's father--we're connected by an invisible bond. We're family, but we're strangers. Compounded by a language barrier, we deal with the superficial, but if we're fortunate, we delve beneath the surface and touch each other's essences. We're family, but we're strangers. They don't know what I read or how I think, I don't know their politics or religious bent. But we're family.

The familial bond is a sacred trust in this country. Family above all. The sacrifices and generosity related to family abound---the spirit of family whirls around us as we accept their love and kindness and try to reciprocate.

Much of our life here is spent watching and listening and learning...Italian life is vital and vivacious and generous and chaotic, but it is ever-moving about us. We sit quietly (sort of) and absorb what we can, for soon, we will move out of the eye of the storm and into the tumultousness of this Italian life.

LA-DEE-DA!!

2011-03-24T00:17:00.000-07:00

We just found out the Italian Cup, the Sailboat Regata, will be held on our lake the end of April, la-dee-da!! The place is buzzin'; trees are trimmed and cut, weeds are burned, land is cleared and leveled---and the Americans look on, astounded that so much can be done to tame the land. We pick up our jaws and go have a cappuccino!!

The official website (if you're interested) is http://www.italiancup.it/ Most of it is still under construction--how very Italian, BUT, you can get a great picture of our lake when it's full! This is our view....how lucky are we??

Yesterday they closed the dam to begin to fill up the lake--this is an agricultural lake, 6 months its a river, 6 months its a lake. Here are two pictures of the lake after one day of filling...

The lake screams "Summer" to us...ahhh, the luxury of going out without a coat, sleeping with the windows open, keeping warm without stoking the fire!! can't wait....

We have a short giro, trip, planned for the next ten days....we expect the lake will be full upon our return.

At that time, the Americans will commence the weeding and sprucing and planting the rest of the community has already completed!

LET'S GET POLITICAL, POLITICAL

2011-03-16T19:57:00.000-07:00

I can't help myself, I try, but I just can't shut up....sooooo, at 3 AM I leap out of bed and head for my computer. We are as sheltered from the world news as we want to be here in our corner of Italy, but even here, the California budget and Wisconsin politics have permeated our protected cocoon.

RE: California: In our last "special election," which, by the way, cost millions of dollars to mount, the people of California voted NOT to increase taxes, yet they are furious about losing services. In any family budget, if the money is not there, things are cut out. Don't have enough to buy a new car? Fix the old one. Can't justify dining at Ruth's Chris Steak House? Buy the steaks and eat at home. Can't afford a private school? Go to a State University. Any family evaluates income and expenses and adjusts accordingly, especially in this economic climate.

But, I am tired of people not taking responsibility for their actions. The people voted not to increase taxes; with that vote, there are consequences. I am appalled at how many Americans expect something for nothing; assuming it is an inalienable right to have EVERYTHING. We are supposedly grownups--own up, be adult, admit we are going to have to hurt a little bit to get us back on our feet. Suck it up, pay a little more in taxes--especially to protect our educational system.

Priorities?? How about our kids and their schooling? How about having less than 40 students per class? How about opening a few more sections for the vets coming back from Afghanistan and Iraq? Nothing is free in this world....we can't expect tuition to be reduced (or not raised) and not pay for it. Brown is facing an uphill battle to get his budget passed: according to yesterday's LA Times, 58% of Californians are willing to pay more taxes and suffer some cuts to get the state more fiscally secure. That's adult....we've got to give, we've got to suck it up, we've got to clearly establish priorities, pay for our services, and take care care of our students.

RE: Wisconsin: My friend, Kathy, sent these two pieces to me (one a comedic look at Scott Walker, the other a letter from a Wisconsin teacher)---these reflect my sentiments exactly while saying it much better than I. So, for your reading pleasure....

Wisconsin Wit:

The Governor of Wisconsin, Scott Walker, was seated next to a little girl on an airplane so he turned to her and said, "Do you want to talk? Flights go quicker if you strike up a conversation with your fellow passenger."
The little girl, who... had just started to read her book, replied to the total stranger, "What would you want to talk about?"
Oh, I don't know," said the governor. "How about collective bargaining rights, unemployment, or the budget repair bill" as he smiled smugly.
"OK," she said. "Those could be interesting topics, but let me ask you a question first. A horse, a cow, and a deer all eat the same stuff - grass.
Yet a deer excretes little pellets, while a cow turns out a flat patty, and a horse produces clumps. Why do you suppose that is?"
The governor, visibly surprised by the little girl's intelligence, Thinks about it and says, "Hmmm, I have no idea."
To which the little girl replies, "Do you really feel qualified to discuss collective bargaining rights, unemployment, or the budget repair bill, when you don't know shit?"
And then she went back to reading her book.

Open Letter to Governor Walker:

To the Duly-Elected Governor of Wisconsin, Scott Walker (and anyone else who gives a hoot):

It has only been a week, and I grow weary of the political struggle that your Budget Repair Bill has caused. I am tired of watching the news, though I have seen many of the faces of those I hold dear as they march on the Capitol. I am tired of defending myself to those who disagree with me, and even a bit tired of fist-bumping those who do. I am tired of having to choose a side in this issue, when both sides make a certain degree of sense. And so I offer you this desultory (aimless or rambling) philippic (angry long-winded speech), because at the end of the day I find that though this issue has been talked to death, there is more that could be said. And so, without further ado, here are my points and/or questions, in no particular order.

1. You can have my money, but…. Ask any number of my students, who have heard me publicly proclaim that a proper solution to this fiscal crisis is to raise taxes. I will pay them. I have the great good fortune to live in a nation where opportunity is nearly limitless, and I am willing to pay for the honor of calling myself an American. Incidentally, Warren Buffett, the second richest man in the nation (and a Democrat) agrees with me. Your proposed Budget Repair Bill will cost me just under $3000 per year at my current salary, with the stated goal of saving $30 million this year on the state budget. I say, take it. You can have it. It will hurt me financially, but if it will balance the budget of the state that has been my home since birth, take it with my blessing. But if I may, before you do, I have some questions.

      •According to the 2009 estimate for the U.S. Census, 5,654,774 people live in the state of Wisconsin. Of those, 23.2% are under the age of 18, and presumably are not subject to much in the way of income tax. That still leaves about 4,342,867 taxpayers in the state of Wisconsin. If you wished to trim $30 million off of the budget, that works out to about $6.91 per Wisconsin taxpayer. So I must ask: Is it fair that you ask $3000 of me, but you fail to ask $6.91 of everyone? I know that times are tough, but would it not be more equitable to ask that each taxpayer in the state contribute an extra 13 cents a week?
      •Would you please, kindly, explain exactly how collective bargaining is a fiscal issue? I fancy myself to be a fairly intelligent person. I have heard it reported in the news that unless the collective bargaining portion of this bill is passed, severe amounts of layoffs will occur in the state. I have heard that figure given as 6,000 jobs. But then again, you’ve reportedly said it was 10,000 jobs. But then again, it’s been reported to be as high as 12,000 jobs. Regardless of the figure, one thing that hasn’t been explained to my satisfaction is exactly how or why allowing a union to bargain collectively will cost so much money or so many jobs. Am I missing something? Isn’t collective bargaining essentially sitting in a room and discussing something, collectively? Is there now a price tag on conversation? How much does the average conversation cost? I feel your office has been eager to provide doomsday scenarios regarding lost jobs, but less than willing to provide actual insight as to why that is the case. I would welcome an explanation.
      •Why does your concern over collective bargaining, pensions, and healthcare costs only extend to certain unions, but not all? Why do snow plow drivers and child care providers and teachers and prison guards find themselves in “bad” unions, but firefighters and state police and local police find themselves in unions that do not need to be effected by your bill? The left wing news organizations, of course, state that this is because these are unions that supported your election bid, while you seek to punish those unions that did not; I would welcome your response to such a charge. You have stated that the state and local police are too vital to the state to be affected. Can I ask how child care, or prison guards, or nurses or teachers are not vital? Again, I would welcome a response.
      •Though you are a state employee, I have seen no provision in your bill to cut your own pension or healthcare costs. The governor’s salary in Wisconsin was about $137,000 per year, last I checked. By contrast, I make about $38,000 per year. Somewhere in that extra $99,000 that you make, are you sure you couldn’t find some money to fund the state recovery which you seem to hold so dear? As you have been duly elected by the voters of Wisconsin, you will receive that salary as a pension for the rest of your life. I don’t mean to cut too deeply into your lifestyle, but are you sure you couldn’t live off $128,000 per year so that you could have the same 7% salary reduction you are asking certain other public employees to take?

2. Regarding teachers being overpaid and underworked. I don’t really have many questions in this regard, but I do have a couple of statements. If you haven’t already figured it out, I am a teacher, so you may examine my statement for bias as you see fit. I admit I find it somewhat suspect that teachers are mentioned so prominently in your rhetoric; those protesting at the Capitol are indeed teachers. But they are also students, and nurses, and prison guards, and plumbers, and firefighters, and a variety of other professions. If you could go back to “public sector employees,” I would appreciate it. But as far as being overpaid and underworked … I grant you, I have a week’s vacation around Christmas. I have a week off for Spring Break. I have about 10 weeks off for summer. With sick days and personal days and national holidays and the like, I work about 8.5 months out of every year. So perhaps I am underworked. But before you take that as a given, a couple of points in my own defense.
     •The average full-time worker puts in 40 hours per week, 50 weeks per year, with two weeks’ vacation time. That makes for a grand total of 2000 hours per year. Part of the teachers’ arguments regarding their time is that no one sees how many hours they work at home to grade papers, or create lesson plans, or things of that nature. I am in a rare state, in that I am not one of those teachers. I work an hour from where I live, and I like to keep my work at work. I, therefore, do not bring work home with me, but rather stay at school, or come in early, so that I can grade papers or create lesson plans while at school. So I am more prepared than most to explain the hours it takes to do my job. I also supervise an extra-curricular activity (as many teachers do), in that I serve as the Drama Coach for my school. The school year, so far, has lasted for 24 weeks. I have, in that time, averaged 78 hours per week either going to school, being at school, or coming home from school. If you remove my commute, of course, I still average 68 hours per week, thus far. That means I have put in 1,632 hours of work time this year, which works out to over 80% of what your average full time worker does in a calendar year. If you include my commute, I’m over 90%. If ikeep going at my current pace, I will work 2,720 hours this school year (or 3,120 hours if you include my commute). That means I work 136% to 156% as much as your average hourly worker.
     •As to overpaid — I’m not sure I am overpaid in general, though I do believe I am underpaid in terms of the educational level expected to do my job. I have two Bachelor’s Degrees, and will be beginning work toward my Master’s this summer. By comparison, sir, you never completed college, and yet, as previously stated, you outearn me by almost $100,000 per year. Perhaps that is an argument that I made the wrong career choice. But it is perhaps an argument that we need to discuss whether you and others like you are overpaid, and not whether teachers are.

3. Regarding the notion that teachers that are protesting, or legislators currently in Illinois , are hurting the state. Very briefly, if I may:
      •Teachers have been accused of shirking their duties by protesting for what they believe to be their rights instead of being in school. The argument has been, of course, that no lessons have been taught when classes aren’t in session. I must submit that lessons in protest, in exercise of the First Amendment right to peaceable assembly, in getting involved as a citizen in political affairs, have been taught these past few days. The fact that they haven’t been taught in the classroom is irrelevant. Ultimately a very strong duty of the school system is to help students become citizens — I think that has clearly happened this week.
      •As to the legislators, it seems to me as though they feel their constituents deserve to have a length of time to examine the proposed bill on its merits, not vote it straight up or down three days after it was presented. As the current budget does not expire until June, this seems to me like the only response left them in light of your decision to fast-track the bill without discussion. Give them another option, and perhaps they will come back. I can’t say that I agree with their decision, but I can say that I understand it.

4. Regarding the notion that protestors at the Capitol are rabble-rousers and/or thugs. Such name-calling on the part of conservatives in the state and the conservative media could be severely curtailed if you would speak out against it. True, most of the people protesting, if not all, are liberals. Historically, liberals have always tended to think that they have far more support than they actually do. They also (in my opinion) have a tendency to get extremely organized about three months too late, if at all. So you can fault them for their decision-making, but I would ask you to speak out against the notion of thuggery. Again, very briefly:
      •So far, 12 arrests have been made. Estimates say there were about 25,000 people at the Capitol today, and about 20,000 yesterday. Let’s be conservative (mathematically) and say that 40,000 people protested over two days. That would mean that officers arrested .0003% of all protestors. By almost any definition, that is an extremely peaceful demonstration, and of course you are aware that the U.S. Constitution guarantees the right of peaceable assembly for a redress of grievances. So in the main, these people have done nothing wrong.

5. If I may provide you with a sense of history. You work in the largest and most magnificiently appointed state capitol in the nation, built by Bob LaFollette (a Republican). You work in the same building where Phil LaFollette (a Republican) helped guide Wisconsin
out of the Great Depression. You work in the same building where Gaylord Nelson (a Democrat) was the first in the nation to offer rights to unions of state employees, rights that you now seek to overturn. And you work in the same building where Tommy Thompson (a Republican) provided more state funding to education than any other governor before or since. Are your current actions truly how you would choose to be remembered?

6. Finally, Governor, a note of thanks. Whatever the outcome of the next several days, you deserve a certain degree of credit. As an educator, I understand how difficult it can be to get young people interested in politics. You have managed to do this in the space of one week. A number of Wisconsin’s youth support you. A number of them do not. But whatever else can be said of you, you have them paying attention, and thinking about voting, and walking around the Capitol, and turning out to be involved. You have taught your own lessons this week, Governor, and that has its own value.

Thank you for your time,
Eric Brehm

No, thank you, Eric Brehm...you've said it for all of us!! (website: http://positivelypersistentteach.tumblr.com/post/3512331803/a-letter-to-scott-walker-from-a-wisconsin-teacher )

I am sated, my 3 AM musings have scratched my political itch....thank you for reading, Pat

DRIBS AND DRABS volume #2 (people and food)

2011-03-09T08:03:00.000-08:00

Sidebar: We returned to our house and electricity(!) on Saturday and commenced warming up the house with a space heater. Sunday our pellet stove was fixed (again!) and we began to settle in...Sunday evening, 8:30ish, the lights went out, all over our neighborhood. We packed our bag to go back to the hotel. Our neighbor, Laura, came by to tell us the electric company had explained: the return of electricity was generator-induced, not a permanent fix. And the generator is run by gas. And the generator ran out of gas...RAN OUT OF GAS...someone didn't calculate correctly and the GENERATOR RAN OUT OF GAS....soooo, we went to Laura and Silvano's for a candlelight dinner, and after dinner, before leaving for the hotel, miraculously, the electricity was back on!! So far, no further problems....either the fix is permanent, or someone has learned to calculate.

THE PEOPLE OF MOROCCO (locals and visitors alike)
* Most authentic exchange with a local: We met Mohammed, a former fighter pilot with the Moroccan military, and now an air traffic controller, on the 8 hour train trip to Fez from Marrakech. Mohammed is a gentle, intelligent, outspoken, well-informed Muslim man. He weaves his religious beliefs into everything he does... he told us Muslims use prayer to control stress, deal with problems, and find peace, if they pray with focus and honesty. He candidly answered all my questions...for example: why was the Call to Prayer at different times every day? (the first Call to Prayer happens at sunrise, the last an hour and a half after sunset.) Is his 14-year-old daughter unduly influenced by Western culture-films, tv, music-and how does he handle it? (He is concerned, however, he trusts in the Muslim teachings and his daughter to adhere to them.) Does his wife wear a head scarf and how does he feel about it? (He said if she wants to wear a head scarf, she wears one, if she doesn't, she doesn't. It is her decision.) Why do I only see men go to the Mosques at Call to Prayer? Are women allowed? expected? (Women may go to the Mosque to pray, but traditionally, women take care of the home and aren't able to attend Prayer because so many things need to be done at the home. The quality of prayer is the important factor in the Muslim religion, not the place nor the frequency of prayer.) Mohammed is a lovely man and we were fortunate to meet him and exchange cultural ideas...ultimately, once again it became clear, people are people, and mostly, they're good and kind.

* Most international group: in Fez at the Dar El Menia, Graham, the proprietor is British, his assistant, Jamal, is Moroccan, and the guests were American, New Zealanders, Canadian, and Italian....a wonderfully lively, intelligent group of people---breakfast was fun!

L to R: My Gary, Julie and Ginge from New Zealand, 3 bright young women from the U of Toronto,
lovely brunette whose name is gone from my head (sooo sorry), Stacy and Patty, Federica and David, Rome

* Livliest Group: In Fez we took a cooking class at the Cafe Clock with 3 other Americans and the chef, Souad, a vital, modern, opinionated Muslim woman-married to an artist! We made couscous--the correct way, thank you very much--. with lamb and vegetables, a spicey soup, dessert of baked filo (hand-made filo!) stuffed with a date paste.

L to R, moi, Abby, studying @ U of Indiana, Chef Souad, Adele, studying in Paris her senior year, Sarah, librarian in Olympia, Washington

Chef Souad, Cafe Clock, Fez, Morocco

Which leads me, naturally, to FOOD...did you know they use no refrigeration in Morocco? Everything is right out of the ground and onto your plate, or freshly butchered and cooked, then put onto your plate.
Did you know the desire for lamb's head is a sign of pregnancy? It is said if a woman wakes up in the morning and craves lamb's head, she's pregnant. This is lovely the first few times, but, the birth rate is very high in Morocco, so the 5th or 7th or 10th time might give pause. (Our friend, Mohammed, has an uncle who has TWENTY-FIVE children and, oh yeah, 3 wives....)
Did you know that food is so strongly imbedded into the culture that if you visit a home, WHAT is being served indicates what is going on...a wedding, a funeral, a birth....

Did you know there are also no ovens in most of the homes, so women make the bread (oh yeah, by hand) and take the bread to communal ovens? To the left is one such oven...the baker knows every person and which bread belongs to which person!!

Did you know each spice, each food serves a function? i.e. the foam of snails serves to cleanse your body of toxins.

FOOD CONTINUED IN VOLUME #3....

DRIBS AND DRABS volume #1

2011-03-05T10:21:00.000-08:00

Sidebar: Our neighbor, Claudio, greeted us with, "I thought you had gone back to America. Are you going back?" as we drove up to our home from our 3 week giro, drive-around. We, of course, said no, we'd just been away and were back. "oh," he responded, "I was afraid not having electricity would send you home." NOT HAVING ELECTRICITY??? Not only were there floods and tempests and airport-closings and snow storms, there also is NO ELECTRICITY?? Our entire heating system (which is broken again) is electricity-based...it seems the storms took out our source, and we had no electricity for 4 days. We stayed in a hotel, thank you very much.

However, talking with Claudio immediately recalibrated everything--they raise free range chickens which are chicks...they have to heat 4 barns and keep 20,000 chickens warm and alive. If they lose the chickens they lose livelihood, if we lose electricity we have to spend a night in a hotel....this is not equal inconvenience. We're just bigger wussies.

Morocco: visiting Morocco profoundly impacted me; so what I'd like to do is touch on things in dribs and drabs as they come to me....

Marrakech is filthy. The Medina, or old city center, has streets that are no bigger than alleys, jammed with locals, tourists with maps and lost faces, bicycles, motorbikes, taxis, honking horns, and hawking vendors. (Think Tijuana on a hot summer day.) A sea of food, wares, sounds, smells, sights, humanity. And we stuck out...we couldn't blend in like we usually do...we obviously didn't belong there. And worse, all the media depictions of Arab men came back to haunt me as we tried to get home one evening after dinner and literally got lost in the labyrinth...it was dark, it was empty except for a few groups of men and boys, and we had no idea how to get back to the hotel--no idea, none--only those movie images to accompany our echoing footsteps. How horribly irresponsible for an entire industry to identify the villains as this ethnic group. And being media-savvy, how terribly irresponsible of me to allow the stereotypes to impact me; it's embarrassing.

The architecture is stunning...I couldn't see enough of it. The detail work, the hand-laid mosaics, the intricate carved Moorish trim, the archways, the bright colors. Every house has an open, center courtyard around which the rooms are laid out, 2, 3, 4 stories high, with a rooftop terrace from which you can see the city. In Fez, the riad, guest house, where we stayed, Dar El Menia, built (probably) in the 14th century, is beautifully renovated, and while on the rooftop, if you take a really big step, you would be on the rooftop terrace of the house next door. The houses are that close together.

Courtyard Dar Moulay Ali
in Marrakech

Courtyard Riad Kniza, Marrakech, where
we took a cooking class!

At one of the Gates of Fez

The most interesting thing to me, however, is the juxtaposition of the entrance and the house. A nondescript door. On a dirty, narrow alleyway. Down dark stairs and around dark corners. Then the door opens and, viola!, gorgeous. Amin, a lunch acquaintance, explained this epitomizes the culture. One does not show off what they have; one keeps his/her wealth private so as not to embarrass his/her neighbors. This carries over to the daily shopping. If one has the means to buy something really special (and costly), it is put at the bottom of the shopping basket, covered by bread and produce, things all the neighbors can afford. This way one does not flaunt his/her wealth. It is being respectful of one another. I couldn't help but contrast the conspicuous Western consumers...myself included...who happily and loudly show off that new tv or car or house....if we were less financially promiscuous, would we be more humane toward one another?

The Vendors. Ahhh, we had the most difficult interactions with the Vendors. There are booth after booth after booth of goods...and tourists are obviously...tourists. These men, and they are all men, are dependent upon selling their goods for their livelihood. But they are aggressive, especially in Marrakech. They will grab you, and they did, they will pull you into their shop, and they did, they will follow you out the door and down the street, and they did. Once, two men grabbed Gary's arm and were pulling him in different directions...not cool. Also, you are expected to barter for everything; and, I understand there is a heirarchy by which they name the initial price. American, British, Canadian, French, German, Italian--so Americans are quoted the highest prices and bargain down from there, then the British, etc, etc. I'm not a big bargainer, tell me how much something is and either I'll pay it or I won't...however, by the end of a week, I was a very good bargainer!

As Westerners, we are polite. I don't like to ignore people or shun someone's initial contact. Most of us don't. In Fez, we were "adopted" by a guy on the street. One minute we're walking along, minding our own business, and the next he's herding us through the labyrinthian streets....I swear I have no idea how it happened. And then we were at the tanneries---really interesting---and then we were in a leather shop buying leather jackets. (They are lovely----see? conspicuous consumers.) He was in place, ready to take us to the next place when we were finished, then to a restaurant, then....he wanted a tip. We declined, in that he was in the employ of the leather shop AND the restaurant, we are sure he is getting his.

We had a very unpleasant exchange our last night in Fez...it was my "Humanity versus Integrity" moment. A vendor got very aggressive, ugly, sniveling---I believe in mutual respect and honesty and candor in dealing with everyone---but we were beaten down, trying to maintain our humanity, being polite, giving him the benefit of every doubt, but we folded...and later I was furious with myself for not maintaining my integrity. Saying no when we meant no....we felt abused. And I was pissed off...at the vendor and at myself...we left Fez anxious to get away.

I have to believe there is a very basic cultural directive that is antithetical to ours...get what you want regardless of the price. Is that antithetical? Or do just the methods vary? If/when I visit Morocco again, I need to put my head in a very different mind space, then, I'm sure I will be able to maintain my humanity and my integrity....ahhh, so many lessons.

Up Next: the wonderful people we met....(with pictures!) and the FOOD!

"I HAVE ALWAYS DEPENDED ON THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS..."

2011-02-27T20:51:00.000-08:00

I think Tennessee got it right---sometimes, regardless of the planning and contingencies, we have to depend on strangers. And, mostly, if we're lucky, they're kind.

Sooooo, we're in Fez, Morocco, Stangers in a Strange Land (lots of lilterary references this morning), and Gary is sick as a dog. A miserable, miserable cold---the stuffy head, nose-blowing (continual nose blowing), coughing, sneezing...and it's a stubborn one, hanging on and on and on. Remember, we're travelling, in Morocco, lugging bags on and off the train, into the taxi, on the street to the hotel ----which is on a narrow street no wider than a person--down hill. Gary, all the while, hacking and blowing and sniffling and....you got the picture.

We settle into a lovely Riad, guest house, Dar El Menia, and things begin to look up. We like Fez better than Marrakech, and are beginning to feel more comfortable with the environment when it strikes....intestinal distress. Poor Gary has eaten something and he's even more miserable than before. We're in a third world country, public restrooms are...well, unpleasant, and he has visited many of them. I'm checking for fever, which he does not have----but he sure has visited a lot of restrooms---you know, the foot-pad-type, often without, um, the necessities. Have I drawn enough of a picture for ya? Things were not happy in Fez for this household.

Gary did not feel better, in fact began to feel worse---how is that possible? I'm thinkin' it might be time for a doctor---in Fez. We asked Graham, the proprietor of Dar El Menia for a pharmacy, hoping to pick up some Pepto Bismo...maybe that would work?? and he sent us up the street.

IT'S SUNDAY...all the pharmacies are CLOSED...So we asked a policeman if he knew of an open one....in French, which we don't speak, he said he could send us to an open pharmacy, by taxi, which would then return us to this very spot, if we were willing. We had nothing to lose, and hoping a restroom wouldn't be necessary in the interim, we climbed into the taxi with fingers crossed.

Here's my favorite part---when we pulled up outside the pharmacy, the pharmacist came outside to wave down the taxi driver--THE POLICEMAN HAD CALLED AHEAD TO TELL HIM TO EXPECT US--I almost wept on the spot.

In Morocco, pharmacists don't need prescriptions to sell what we call prescription drugs--he said, as a poor country, the people couldn't afford doctors, so the pharmacists acted as doctors. We received 3 medications all geared to eliminating intestinal distress and possible parasite problems. Oh boy!

Here's my second favorite part, the meds cost 91 dirham, 8 dirham to the dollar, equals ELEVEN DOLLARS....we would have spent 91 dollars in a heartbeat and not thought twice about it.

So my husband has been medicated, his trips to the restroom have diminished, he's not got a temperature, and he's sleeping and sleeping and sleeping.

It's hard to be sick away from home; all we want is our own bed and hot tea and comfort. It's scary to be sick away from home if you don't speak the language or know the medical system. We do what we know, we ask for help, and hope for the best. I am ever-thankful to the policeman on the corner (who was gone when we went back to thank him), the pharmacist who flagged down the taxi, Graham who pointed us in the right direction. We were very dependent on the kindness of strangers, and being so, became less strangers in a land less strange.

I ALWAYS WANTED TO BE A PRINCESS

2011-02-25T13:36:00.000-08:00

POUSADA PALACIO DO FREIXO, PORTO, PORTUGAL

We walk in and doors, accompanied by harp music, magically open. Vivaldi plays beneath the hushed tones of the staff (when the harps aren't harping). Waiters change forks every time I finish a bite (that's what it felt like!), people bow every time I walk by (I think it's an age thing), and the bed has a foam memory mattress. Ahhh, the luxurious life in a 5 Star Palace... with a formal garden and an infinity pool in the heart of the Duoro wine country in Porto, Portugal.

Portugal has these lovely Pousadas, palaces, monastaries, wineries, manors---beautiful buildings that have been renovated into luxury hotels---that provided us with a gorgeous respite from the difficult life we're now living. We just HAD to get away from the hustle and bustle of Italy, ya know. Sidenote: the State owns 50% of each hotel (the land and building), but the hotels are managed privately. That way the buildings are preserved and the public is served! The Pousadas are known for their restaurants and service..we ate well and all I had to do was think about wanting something and it appeared! We were truly treated like royalty.
However, this Princess had trouble communcating with her subjects...omg, Portugese is oh-so-very difficult to speak and understand--I must change the official language! Most of the businesses and museums we visited had English-speaking employees, which was a life saver. Those that didn.t speak English were willing to play Charades with me.
The Portugese people are courteous and kind, especially to me, their Princess, and to my husband, the commoner.

MY PORTUGESE-FISHERMAN-COMMONER HUSBAND

The public restrooms are spotless, all of them, even at the train station! I never pass up an opportunity to visit a public restroom, and I was pleasantly surprised!

We then got a real royal treat when we discovered a small restaurant in Règua, about 100 miles from Porto, called the Gato Preto, or Black Cat. It has been completely renovated, updated, stylish, and we had a lovely meal there, Portugese fare at very reasonable prices. We shared a rib eye steak for two with all the trimming and wine and dessert for 25€...excuse me, with prices like that, all my subjects should dine out 3 times a week! The owner and chef were gracious and welcoming....pictured below!

POUSADA SOLAR DA REDE-MESAO FRIO

OWNER AND CHEF OF THE BLACK CAT,
RèGUA, PORTUGAL

On a personal note, and Princess Pat allows me to speak for her, Portugal and the Portugese people are beautiful and infinitely kind. It was a pleasure to learn some of the culture and to meet some of the people...the next time we go, I'LL BE
QUEEN!!!

WHAT'S IMPORTANT?...or Pat's Polemic from Portugal

2011-02-19T23:24:00.000-08:00

I see them everywhere I go---teeny, tiny ones, bundled up, standing in straight lines, or not-so-teeny-ones sitting attentively in a half circle on the floor, or gaggles of girls sauntering cooly, looking very unimpressed while watchig the boys' every moves, or young women hanging on to every word uttered by the bespeckled, slightly mussed young man, or, my favorite, youngsters sprawled on the floor on their stomachs, paper in front of them, pencils clutched in their hands, seriously focused, trying to duplicate the Rembrandt on the wall.

Groups of school kids visiting museums. Groups from 5 to 20 years old. Groups no fewer than 5, no larger than 20. EVERY SINGLE MUSEUM we've visited has at least one student group--from the British Museum to the Gaudi Museum in Barcelona, to the Port Wine Museum in Porto, Portugal, yep, the PORT WINE MUSEUM....a group of kids seeing art, gleaning a part of their history, getting out of the classroom, putting culture and art in perspective (no pun intended), expanding their worlds.

And, of course, at the helm is the teacher. Mostly, they're young and energetic, mostly they're women, run a little ragged keeping track of everyone (there is always the counting of bodies; is everybody there?), they have questions and answers, worksheets and information...they love their kids and their kids love them. I think, basically, they love their jobs.

My reactions are twofold: first of all, I'm bereft. In California we don't have the money in the educational system any more to take kids on field trips, certainly not to museums, not without the kids paying for the buses. The legal ramifications of taking kids off campus, being sure all the waivers have been signed, exonerating the school district from liable, takes the primary focus--not the experience. The enrichment and vicarious learning that lie outside the classroom is largely unavailable to our kids. Sometimes this trip is the only exposure a kid will get...isn't this integral to the educational process? Isn't it incumbent upon educators to expand the experiences of our students?? To open minds with new ideas and take them out of the malls and into concert halls and and dance recitals??? All over Europe kids are doing just that....and in California??

PHEW, polemic indeed....my second reaction is pride. I am soooo proud of these teachers who bring their expertise and professionalism and dedication to their students. I wanted to join each and every student group just to bask in the love of learning with a really good teacher. It's a difficult profession...teach on!

AND ON A DIFFERENT NOTE, MY ATTEMPT AT PHOTO JOURNALISM:

A lovely bas relief on the side of a building...

that is abandoned and graffiti-laden

Is this a great face or what?? on a bus in Porto...

I never know how much or how little I have to say...I had a lot today. thank you for reading!!

FOOD AND GAUDI

2011-02-17T13:11:00.000-08:00

AND HERE WE ARE IN....BARCELONA!

LOOK AT THIS ARCHITECTURE!

CASA BATLLO HOUSE--GAUDI

YUMMMM, MUSHROOMS!

ALICIA MAKING TOMATO SORBET COCKTAIL

ALICIA, ANGELA, JOANNE PREPPING
CREMA CATALAN

JOHN AND ANGELA EATING RABBIT AND SNAIL PAELLA!

CHECK OUT PACO MAKING COCKTAILS...you have to tilt your head!

GOING VIRAL...or, my days on Facebook

2011-02-09T17:27:00.000-08:00

So, my friend, Pam, invited me to be her friend. I am her friend, so going the next step didn't take genius. Then my friend, Giovanna, invited me to be her friend. I am her friend, so commiting to facebook, opening an account, didn't seem beyond the ken. So I signed up. And ignored it for a few days. Then, like a magnet, like the tide, I was pulled in...I had to find the perfect picture for my profile! (A snapshot? a recent one? and not-so-recent one? who's going to be looking at this?)

I found a photo I like and wrestled with the computer to get it uploaded, downloaded?, and walked away. Then, back I went, what other options do I have for my profile? My home page?? What do other people have? Work? Play? Education? Favorite Books? Favorite Movies? And, of couse, Facebook referred me to Pam's page and Giovanna's page to see what they did....

and I noticed, they've got lots of friends. There's a list right there, a bunch of names I know, a bunch I don't, but a bunch of names. Then...a lot of pictures popped up of people I know...inviting me to invite them to be my friend, I just had to click a button....I couldn't control my fingers, click, click, click...and then I waited for them to confirm they were my friends. (If they weren't my friends, would I invited them to be my friends??)

There followed an intensive 4 hours whereby I ran to the computer every 10 minutes to see who had confirmed my friendship...I couldn't help myself. It was a drug. It was invigorating. It was validating. I was popular!!! By the end of 4 hours or so, I had 20 friends....wowee zowee. I was thrilled.

Then, I thought this might be a great way to keep in touch with my neice and nephews...so the hunt began. Found 'em; my neice has over 600 friends. What does one do with 600 friends? My friend, Bill, has over 200 friends. What does one do with 200 friends?...I have trouble managing relationships with 20.

Here is my dilemma: I am offended to my core having to "invite" people to be my friends. They're either my friends or they're not. My friends are people for whom I care, with whom I share something in common, with whom I want to spend time, share a meal, talk about a book, go to a movie. I don't need to "invite" them into my life, they're already there.

But those nephews and neice...I'm not in daily contact and this might be a way to keep my connections with them....hmmm...and read stuff I don't want or need to know. And acqaintances, people whom I like, but don't see often, I can connect with them briefly. Maybe that's worthwhile???

Being on the other side of the world and trying to make a life here while maintaining a semblance of a life there, maybe this is a good way to do it. Or not. I don't know. BUT, I am astounded by the speed with which a network of friends/acquaintances hooked up with me....mine is a minor, minor example, but if my experience in any way parallels Viral movements, this world is indeed shrinking at a very fast pace. My head spins!

My verdict about Facebook is still out; but can one ever have enough friends???

DARK DAYS...or, The Pity Party

2011-02-06T09:54:00.000-08:00

Thursday, 12:48: we screeched into the parking lot of the Post Office in Monte San Martino, our Commune, or County Seat, to pay our trash bill (why pay our trash bill at the County Seat??? don't know, just cuz). Our fingers are crossed because the PO has been known to close its doors early, just cuz...(Once we stood outside the locked door with our water bill to the window begging the woman to open the door--it was 1:03 on a Tuesday and they're closed Tuesday afternoon--she told us to come back tomorrow.) Luckily, this day we got in and paid our bill.

Then, the real reason for our visit was to ask if it was normal we hadn't received any mail during the last six weeks. Hmmm, she said, no, not normal, but she couldn't ask the mail carrier today because they don't deliver on Thursday....THEY DON'T DELIVER ON THURSDAY??? EVERY THURSDAY? OR JUST TODAY? (We didn't even ask why...just cuz) but, she said she'd check tomorrow.

* AND...our friend, Kathy, mailed us an envelope with some important, time-sensitive papers on January 27, Express Mail, guaranteed 3-5 days delivery. It's now been 10, count 'em, 10 days...we've tracked the envelope to the Italian customs office, where it seems to have been swallowed up. (We need to receive this envelope within the next 3 days because we will be out of Italy for 3 weeks starting Thursday!)

* AND...some nefarious being has hacked into our VISA account and made a $500 donation to an arts organization in San Antonio; I'm all for supporting the arts, but.... (Luckily, we have an arrangement with VISA to let us know if there are any unusual, questionable charges, and they have been spectacular about contacting us!) However, the best they could do is cancel the old card, issue a new one, but, because we're overseas, they can't mail it here. Sooooo, they mailed the new card to our home in CA, our dear friend, Kathy, was to mail the new card to us, hopefully arriving BEFORE we leave for Spain....given our history with the Italian Postal System, it didn't seem reasonable. So we are without a credit card 3 weeks abroad.....we can deal with that, but...

* AND...day before yesterday, the flexible tubing that funnels the exhaust out the chimney separated from the pellet stove, potentially spewing all kinds of fumes into the house and into our lungs. (we've all heard stories of or known people who have succumbed to fumes....I spent the entire night waking up to be sure I was still alive.) We've, of course, ordered new flexible tubing---but gee, not sure when it's gonna get in. Certainly not before Thursday when we leave. (In the meantime, although the weather is spectacular, the nights are close to 0 degrees C, we've pulled out the propane space heater.)

* And...my hair was looking like poop, so I got it cut, and it still looks like poop.

I am not used to feeling vulnerable...to anyone, to any situation, to my environment. We've done everything we can think of to prepare for emergencies, we've created back-up plans, we check and double check our paperwork and dictionaries, and we begin to feel comfortable, able to handle these challenges and life. Then, BOOM, the tubing breaks, the VISA is hacked, the mail gets cocked up---and I am a quivering mass, unable to function. I go into freeze mode--can't do a damn thing cuz it doesn't matter anyway. And then the questioning begins: WHAT THE HELL ARE WE DOING??? And I have a Big Bash, a Pity Party from New Orleans with floats and masks and music...then I find my bed and cover my head.

It isn't easy here, but, the flip side to my question is: WHAT THE HELL ELSE WOULD YOU RATHER BE DOING??? My answer is a resounding, "NOTHING!"

Soooo, I've allowed myself a PP, I've covered my head, I've found my bed, and I've decided there are worse ways to live. If we don't do this now, we may never do this, and on my death bed I would regret it! And...gee, Spain, Portugal, and Morocco await us, with mysteries to discover and cultures to unfold...just cuz!

WHAT WERE THEY THINKING??

2011-02-01T10:45:00.000-08:00

SEE THE SNOW?? AND THE LAUNDRY??? WHAT ARE THEY THINKING????

RHYTHMS AND RIFFS

2011-02-01T08:48:00.000-08:00

We're just back from London...Gary attended a Makeup Artist Convention and I negotiated the tube; happily self-sufficient (although, to be honest, I was a little scared at first!)   We saw four plays, delicious London theatre, and visited the National Gallery, British Museum, The Tate Modern, and The Charles Dickens Museum...I fed my soul with words and music and ideas and art and sculpture and paintings--saw a Vuillard that knocked my socks off and some Picasso pieces I hadn't seen before AND we saw THE CHILDREN'S HOUR, a 1930's Lillian Hellman piece with Keira Knightly, Elizabeth Moss, Carol Kane, and Ellen Burnstyn--can you believe??--ahhhh, I'm gorged!!

At the Tate Modern there was a photographic exhibit of the New York Subway system--I was deeply embarrassed. The subway is filthy, full of graffiti, a refuge for the homeless, unsafe for the tourist or woman alone...it also showed the vitality of life in New York. However, the London tube is pristine: it is clean, no trash, no graffiti, lots of light, safe, and always working! It was an interesting juxtaposition of something that scared me--going on the tube alone--, and something that represents my country.   Hmmmm....of what should I be afraid?

Also, it was interesting to compare the Italians in London to the Brits (is that considered a pejorative? It is certainly not intended...so "if this writer has offended,/Think but this and all is mended./That you have but slumber'd here/While these ref'ences appear." --deep apologies Mr. Shakespeare!

Anyway, the rhythm of London, and, I daresay, England, is noteably different from Italy...for example, on the street, the Brits walk quickly, with purpose, with long, definite strides. On the street, in the Underground, in museums, in restaurants. The Italians, whether in Italy or in England, saunter, always SAUNTER, even when they're in a hurry or in a group. In the pubs and bars (we just passed by, never stopped...ha!) the Brits were more frenetic, focussed, driven, while the Italians have a quick drink, but are always laid back, and, dare I say it?? COOL.  Always very, very cool...and comfortable in their environment---lost on the tube? You'll never see an Italian freaked out about it! The Brits are efficient, to-the-point, more business-like, oftentimes using the after-work drink as a quick dinner, whereas the Italians don't ever confuse a drink with dinner.

There were, of course, Americans in London also. Americans are robust...with deep, vibrant laughs that fill a tube car and voices that carry a block away. The Italians are vivace, vivacious, and cosmopolitan. The Brits are intelligent and kind and CHARMING!

So, for me, the days in London were filled with people-watching, art-gorging, theatre-going, tube-taking, Indian-Turkish-pub-food-eating, and living a different pace and rhythm...exhilarating!

CARE AND FEEDING OF THE BABY

2011-01-26T21:38:00.000-08:00

Every two hours we feed her. She's happy in the morning...she sings a little song when she wakes up. Every morning she needs a thorough cleaning. When we put her down at night, she also sings a little song. She doesn't want to be doted upon...but she hates being ignored---so we have to carefully balance how much attention to give her. If she's left alone too long, she misbehaves, badly. If she is coddled, or played with excessively, she misbehaves, badly. Our lives are ruled by Victoria, our ThermoRossi 4900 Pellet Stove, THE BABY.

When I'm at home, my other home, if I'm cold, I hit a switch and the heat goes on. If I'm hot, I hit a switch and, Viola! air conditioning! I don't think twice, or even once, about managing my environment with the touch of a switch....until now, I CAN'T DO IT THAT WAY ANY MORE!!!

We have to go to the tower and lug a 33-pound bag of pellets up the stairs, which lasts, for those of you interested, about 8 hours, replenish the pellets in the stove every two hours to maintain an even (sort of even) temperature, decide if we're going out whether to leave her on or not, vacuum the ashes out of the stove daily, in short, focus our lives around maintaining heat in the house!

OMG...it's a complete shift in thinking and perceptions. Who said Americans are spoiled and addicted to luxury and comfort and "the easy life?" Absolutely true....so, we need to decide to do this, to survive and thrive in a climate and culture that requires more hands-on manipulation of our environment. My friend Angela said it best when she said, "it's the challenge that keeps us coming back. Facing down obstacles and winning. Carving out a life for ourselves in an environment that continually tests us...." Yeah, baby!!

And then I got a sore throat and felt achey and had sinus pressure and was cold....I needed care and feeding every two hours, not too much coddling, plenty of attention, hot tea and a blankey, a hot water bottle and a good book. Sooooo, you see, there are TWO BABIES in the house....

It's an interesting situation: at home, our other home, we have a very active social life. Not so much here, not yet. That puts undue pressure on our partner to bear the burden of all/most of our social interactions. Who can do that? What one person can meet ALL the needs of another? What one partner can be the scintillating dinner guest, the giggling girlfriend, the sports commentator, the recipe tester, the voice of reason, the sounding board, the planner, the gossip, the grown up.....???? Another challenge in our new life....How DID those pioneer women survive?

On a very personal note: my Gary is devoted to our experiment here, working to make it easy and comfortable, lugging the pellets upstairs, interfacing with the electrician and the heater technico, putting weather stripping in the door, ensuring we are warm and happy, playing Yahtzee! and Scrabble. I wouldn't want to be housebound with anyone else in the world! And he, he has the challenge of TWO babies!!

MOTHER NATURE'S BEEN VERY BUSY...

2011-01-22T05:34:00.000-08:00

FROM THE TOP FLOOR OF THE HOUSE...SPECTACULAR!

GOTTA PLAY!

STAYIN OUTTA THE SNOW

DID YOU KNOW? ... or, the unspoken but understood ...

2011-01-20T10:54:00.000-08:00

Did you know it is inappropriate to order a cappuccino in Italy after 11 AM??
     It has something to do with heated milk being a breakfast food and something for children....soooo, an adult DOESN'T order cappuccino once lunch approaches. I have been the object of raucous laughter when, at the conclusion of a long lunch, I mistakenly ordered a...what? cappuccino! My friend, John, refused to buckle....so at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, despite my warnings, he ordered a c.... The waitress was kind, she just kinda smirked. **Now, if you're in a big city where there are lots of tourists, the baristas are used to this, so you won't be an object of ridicule in Rome or Milan.**

Did you know Italians celebrate the Epiphany with a holiday called Befana??
     The Befana is a witch,--full-on witch, the nose, the hat, the cape, the broom--who brings children presents (get it?). So, Christmas isn't the day of presents, it's Befana. AND...it's a Festa, so all of Italy is closed in celebration of...gift-giving! So, walk with me here: Christmas eve--everything closed, half day, Christmas day, entire country celebrates, everything closed, Day AFTER Christmas (the Brits call it Boxing Day), everyone is recuperating, so everything is closed, New Year's Eve, closed, half day, New Year's Day, closed, Befana, everything closed....does this country know how to celebrate the season, or what??? This is lovely if you live here; who doesn't love a holiday? However, if you're a tourist and planned to see the Sistine Chapel on January 6, you're outta luck!!

Did you know many/some/all Italians believe air conditioning is unhealthy?
     Now, electricity is expensive here (can't wait to get our first full month's bill!) so things like dryers and air conditioners are rarely used. Italy is sweltering during the summer, especially the bigger cities--Rome, Florence, Milan--they don't cool off at night, but many homes do not have a/c. Air conditioners are now widely sold, and many people have put small units in their homes, but oftentimes they aren't used. My cousins, Tina and Rino, bought a small unit for their home; it worked faaaabulously! Gary thought he was in the US, cool, cool, cool. However, Tina caught a cold. That a/c went off and stayed off the rest of the summer....she was convinced the forced cool air was responsible for her cold. She is not alone. **If you travel, it is not a problem to find a hotel with a/c. However, if you're staying in a pensione or a hostel, chances are you'll be sweltering with the rest of the Italians!**

     This also applies to clothes dryers...despite winter temperatures, Italians are hanging out washed clothes. It's a wonderful sight; it's 5 degrees C, the sun is out, and every terrace has clothes out, drying. When the evening comes, the clothes are moved inside to some place out of the way to wait until tomorrow to be put out again. We had a load of laundry that took FIVE DAYS to dry, and even then the socks were kinda damp.

Did you know Italy is experiencing a huge influx of immigrants which is awakening xenophobia???
     I've had a lot of conversations about this...the face of Italy, literally and figuratively, is changing, rapidly. Una razza una faccia, one race, one face, is often intoned. Many Italians are unhappy with the changes, are unaccepting of the immigrants, want their country to be what it was like "before"....it's an age-old discussion, an age-old conflict, an age-old problem that isn't going anywhere in this ever-changing global world.
     This takes me back to our visit to the immigration office---the people there, of every race and creed, --Chinese, Albanians, Pakistanis, Indians, Iranians--are the people facing discrimination because they are different, like immigrants everywhere. I need to wrap my head around this a little more to get a deeper perspective....
     AND...Italians hold grudges...the Germans, because of their role in WWII, are still not embraced or liked very much. When I asked someone if they liked the current Pope, the answer was, "No, He's German." Simple. Clear.
     It's an interesting time.....

Did you know Italians LOOOOOVE IKEA??
     IKEA was one of the first stores to be open on Sunday; Sunday is a Festa and, as you now know, on Festas, nothing is open! When we went to the IKEA in Rome the first time, on a SUNDAY, to buy furniture, 10 years ago, the place was PACKED. We couldn't walk down the aisles without bumping into people who were sauntering, window-shopping, enjoying the day. The restaurant was hoppin', people having a coffee, a piece of pie, a full-on one or two-course meal! Every relative I have here has at least one piece of furniture from IKEA in their home! I mentioned to my neighbor, Laura, we were going to IKEA, and her reaction? A guttural, eye-raising, saliva-induced, "Bello!" And then she asked me to bring back the catalogue.

How does one learn about the cultural stuff no one talks about publicly? We keep our eyes wide open, watch intently, use reflective listening, and hope to God we're not stepping on any toes or creating una brutta figura....also my family here has graciously and generously opened their homes, their hearts, their minds and given us a special pass into the unspoken Italy.

Il Mercato and Nesting

2011-01-16T05:11:00.000-08:00

Yesterday we went to the weekly Saturday mercato in Communanza...every Saturday the same vendors with the same wares in the same slots show up....and every Saturday the locals come to do their shopping; everything from shoes and coats to housewares to prosciutto to fresh produce (grown in their gardens, of course!). And every Saturday the locals takes advantage of a communal experience to wish each other "buon anno," to catch up on the gossip, to be with each other, to shop.

THIS is the Italy that charms, THIS is the Italy everyone remembers, THIS is the Italy that creates deep, heartfelt yearning for a simpler time. When the butcher HAND CUT his home-cured prosciutto for me, proudly displayed his homemade pecorino fresco--with the offer of a taste, of course--, when the woman went to the trunk of her car to get the freshest eggs for me, when the young woman pulled the "best-tasting" apples for me to try, THIS, I remembered, is why we are here. The people are proud of their work, however simple or even menial it is, they are proud to cure wonderful-tasting prosciutto, have excellent egg hens, and an orchard with great-tasting apples. Not only are they proud of their work, they want to share it. And I, for one, welcome the sharing!

There is also a bittersweet acknowledgment that we will never be an integral, accepted part of this community. We will always be stranieri, strangers, we will always be Americans; no one will ever mistake us for Italians---not once we open our mouths to speak! I am reminded of my friend, Lynne, a francophile for years and years who moved to and now lives in France--7 years now, I think. I was surprised 2 years into her time there when she said, "I am and always will be an American. I wanted so badly to be French, but I'm not and never will be." (And SHE is fluent!!!) It gave me some perspective, some understanding, some acceptance of what our role will be...we will attempt to assimilate, we will act according to the mores (as many as we understand---there's another issue: what is unspoken and understood by those who are native to a place!), we will try not to offend and not to embarrass ourselves, be the best we can be.

Living here is not easy--too many obstacles for that--BUT, to appreciate the good, to stop, to breathe, to afford each other civilities, to share a brilliant tangerine, THIS is worthwhile. It's also fun...Saturday morning at the mercato, grab a cappuccino with a brioche, watch the people, shop a little, taste a little, try on a hat---what else would you want to be doing for a couple of hours??? and it takes us back to the basics, to the essence of what we love about Italy....AND, the sun is shining and the sky is a brilliant blue--the forecast calls for clouds to roll in in the next couple of days--but in the meantime, our outlook is sunny and we are at peace with this roller coaster we're on!

INS---ITALIAN STYLE

2011-01-12T12:41:00.000-08:00

Image this: a room with muted rose-colored carpet, soft light, comfortable chairs, framed architectural drawings on the walls, faux ancient Roman sculptures artfully placed around the room, Vivaldi playing softly in the background, and the espresso bar serving cappuccini and croissants.

In my dreams....as we drove up to the Immigration Office I felt like I was in Santa Ana. The building is non-descript industrial, the room has worn, brown linoleum flooring, no heat (it was 9 degrees C today), torn "Avviso Importante" signs taped to the walls, a broken copy machine, and 6 chairs--1 with no back.

The tension was palpable....everyone there wants to be in Italy legally. They are willing to wade through the myriad paperwork, adjust to changing requirements at the drop of a hat (we were told to bring 4 pictures; the woman at the window shook her head, said, "six," and sent us to the photo machine), return again and again, all to receive legal status. We all had deer-in-headlight, shell-shocked faces. And we waited...and waited...and waited.

and we waited....

Is the message, "we don't want any stranieri, strangers, in our country; if you insist on being here, you must jump through many hoops, and we can change the rules at any time?" Is that the message all immigrants face? If so, how do people have the fortitude to do it?? It's discouraging and demoralizing. And we had it easy--we don't have to be here, we have another home, we aren't running from political abuse, we don't need asylum....it gives pause. It was a humbling and eye-opening experience.

The good news: the people who work there are professional and quite pleasant, no animosity or derision. And...we'll hear about our permesso di soggiorno within 4-6 weeks. So, our paperwork is complete---all we have to do is wait!

E' UN MIRACOLO!

2011-01-11T13:11:00.000-08:00

THE PELLET STOVE IS NOW WORKING!!!

THE TIES THAT BIND

2011-01-09T22:28:00.000-08:00

Cousin Dario asked me, in English (cuz he's been living in England for the past nine years), "do you consider your mother an Italian or an American? I always thought of her as an American."
My initial reaction was American, for when she came to the States, after the war with a really handsome American Army guy, it was appropriate to assimilate into the culture. To eschew one's native country in order to more easily "fit in." However, Mom was guided by innate Italian mores and beliefs...she didn't talk about it, she lived it.

La Bella Figura is one of those innate, driving forces....Italians NEVER go out in their sweat pants; one dresses to go out, one looks his/her best when they go out, one doesn't want to embarrass him/herself. The beautiful figure. In clothes, behavior, relationships, behavior, cars, behavior...always la bella figura.

Mom lived la bella figure, every day she carefully, meticulously put on her makeup and dressed, even if she wasn't going anywhere. She kept her clothes well-cared for-- "if you take care of your clothes, they'll take care of you," she'd say as she carefully folded one of 20 cashmere sweaters. She always "behaved" in public, expecting us to do the same. (ahhh, the consternation I caused her!)

It seems this began from the day she was born...when she was 16, she wanted to go to a dance and didn't have a new dress or money to buy one (my Nonno was a caretaker for a school and they lived in the basement). So, Mom took curtains off one of the windows in the school (image large, picture windows in an old palazzo) and made herself a new dress. Off she went, had a great time, but came home to a fuming father who smacked her (it was common practice back then) and ripped the dress to shreds. Mom was sobbing...not because of the smacking, but because the beautiful dress was ruined. La Bella Figura....

When she met my Dad, it was very important for her to impress this handsome guy in uniform. She was embarrassed to have him come to the basement of the school, (LBF) so she asked a friend of hers if he could pick her at their large, lovely villa. So, Dad picked her up and dropped her off there...when he dropped her off, she'd go to the second floor terrace, wave goodbye, wait until he left, then scuttle back to the basement. One night, for some unapparent reason, he hid behind a tree after saying goodbye, and saw her slip out of the villa into the school. The school was brightly lit and music poured from the windows (I can't tell ya why, but it did), so Dad thought Mom was going dancing after their date. He confronted her at the end of their next date (why did he wait until the end of the date???) and my mother, ever mindful of la bella figura, more interested in saving face than in explaining, told him to "vai via," go away! The next week Tom brought flowers and apologies; Mom threw shoes and told him to stay away....eventually this all got worked out, obviously, and Mom maintained her bella figura.

I am reminded oh-so-often how we absorb our parents' ideas and beliefs, through modelling and lecturing and demanding, our parents instill their primal forces in us. Many times they are so deeply held, we can't even access them, they're just there.

Soooo, my Italian, American, Italian-American mother brought her curtain-dress, her basement life, her handsome guy with her to Texas (there's another story!) where she lived what she believed, shared her life and her ideas with me, my brother, Scott, and sister, Sandy, guiding us with love and honesty, and overlaid everything with La Bella Figura.

IT'S FRIGGIN' COLD...

2011-01-09T21:29:00.000-08:00

As I lie under the down comforter, on top of the mattress warmer, on flannel sheets, in my heavy-duty flannel nightgown, with slippers and socks at the ready by the side of the bed (cuz the marble floor is too damn cold to walk barefoot on)....I wonder, what the heck were we thinking? More, with all the planning and researching and organizing that went into the heating system, WHAT THE HELL WERE WE THINKING????

Soooo, Nicola, the specially-trained pellet stove technician, after 3 hours, pulled his head out of the fireplace from behind the BRAND NEW pellet stove, shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, tssked and said, "E' rotto; non funzione. Devo ordinare un nuovo pezzo." Of course, the new piece he has to order is the MOTHER BOARD of the heating system, the computer that controls EVERYTHING, like the heat. It'll only be a week and then, he said, "speriamo e' va bene." WE HOPE IT WILL BE OKAY??????

Cousin Clara, when she heard the story, tsssked, drew her mouth down, shook her head, did the queen wave with her hand and said, "E' cosi in italia...una settemana, un mese, un anno...piano, piano, eventualment c'e riscalda. C'e vuole pazienza." It's just this way in Italy, a week, a month, a YEAR...slowly, slowly, eventually it'll heat. It needs PATIENCE?????

I told her I'd need to speak with her weekly to remind me of the guiding philosophy of this country....to breath deeply, to stop and smell...the snow, to taste the food, and live each moment. That's why we're here, these people relish each other and the richness of life. IF ONLY I COULD GET WARM, I'd breath more deeply.

Actually, we do have space heaters and they make one corner of the living room toasty, the bathroom bearable, and the bedroom not-so-bad. We are perfecting the art of layering...and look damn good while doing it!

Fingers crossed for the "nuovo pezzo."

from the terrace....

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see the roof of the tower?? the flat area is the River Tenna and Monti Sibillini are in the background

Our house is a very, very, very fine house....

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our house is directly above my finger...
in the summer that dry area is a lake!!

2 HEROES, THE HEAT, and the TIES THAT BIND--week two

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The acquisition of the permesso di soggiorno—or the process thereby—continues….

Hero #1: An expansive, heart-warming “Ciao!” greeted us as we lumbered out of the car, our arms laden with valuable, valuable Xerox copies. Claudio, our next door neighbor, was in Monte San Martino (the county seat) for some business and happened to be coming up the hill as we drove in---can anyone say kismet???

Claudio (insert picture here---) is a contadino, a 70-year-old farmer, and has been in Le Marche his entire life. He owns/runs the chicken farm next door (17,000 free range chickens) and he may be one of the kindest people I know…he is robust (‘cause he’s worked outside his entire life), gregarious, curious, sheltered (he once asked me what the dining room was like on airplanes), bigger than life, well-versed in country ways, and lonely (his wife died about 10 years ago and he has an empty place in his heart and in his life).

Claudio has adopted us: every time we see him, he offers a coffee, a glass of wine, his garage to park our car, advice. So today, when we told him we were off to the Ufficio di Anagrafe, he offered to take us there, after coffee. Paolo was working, and Claudio introduced us as his vicini Americani, American neighbors, who need help. Wowee zowee, Paolo stepped up….he was kind, helpful, and encouraging. He said he didn’t see a problem, however, he needed to study the paperwork con calme, to be sure everything was in order. He’d call when we needed to sign the paperwork….however, he didn’t say when that might be….a week, a month, two months? Yeah, maybe.

Claudio offered his help without any reservations—I think that is the heart of our interactions, people helping without thinking….Claudio, Hero #1.

Hero #2: Obviously, with no Italian ID, we couldn’t continue with the buying of the car….so there ensued several conversations with Mario, the car salesman….he ever-trying to find a solution. I finally said we needed to ferma tutto, stop everything, and il mio marito ed io, my husband and I (because in this country, man-to-man still speaks more strongly than woman-to-man-----I need to address this cultural anomaly in a future blog, for it requires me to actively be passive and let “the man” handle things…..hmmmm, I’ve managed pretty well handling things, so to consciously choose to be less-than-active goes against my grain. But, if I keep the goal firmly in mind, it helps….more, much more on this later) will be back on Wednesday to collect a check for the full amount. You’ve never seen/heard such dancing, he’s put so much time into our sale, he got the tags for the car, he’s committed to us getting it…..I held firm… and then called Tina.

I wanted to be sure he understood everything I had said—so I asked Tina to call and reiterate. She called Cousin Stefano (Hero #2) to make that call for us (the man-to-man thang again). Stefano is a salesman, and a good one; he’s calm, smooth, sophisticated, empathetic (picture here). Mario finally agreed when Stefano mentioned we had spoken with the American Embassy and were working on their advice. We were able to pick up the check with nary-a-problem! Phew…problem averted.

The heat and the ties need to wait until tomorrow….we’ve been partying in Rome for 5 days….geez, someone has to do it!!!

we were 6 hours into an 8 hour meal....phew!!!

AT FIRST BLUSH....week one

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We were armed, well-armed, with information, research, back up documentation---we were ready to take on the Italian bureaucracy and win!!

Soooo, we arrive on Christmas day, exhausted after a 24-hour trip (US Airways, by the way, doesn’t have individual screens or name films; AND, they charge for WINE for heaven’s sake, and for EARPHONES on a transcontinental flight---I’ve never heard of such a thing! BUT, the flight was 1/3 full, so we were able to stretch out---luxury! NOTE TO SELF: travel on Christmas Eve does have its advantages.) And, of course, the family has a big meal planned, hooray, so, comatose as we were, we did manage to eat some fabulous food. The conversation, however, was in Italian….which normally isn’t a huuuuuge problem, but when we’re sleep-deprived, it presented some miscommunications.

So the plan was simple: pick up the application for the Permesso di Soggiorno, the permit to stay in Italy for an extended period of time on Monday, fill it out, turn it in the same day, begin shopping for a car on Tuesday, and drive it off the lot the next day. Simple, huh?

The Perfect Permesso: Monday we went to the post office, uh, that would be 4 post offices, to get the application form. The first one didn’t carry them, the second and third post offices carried them, but, hmmmm, they were out, (A GOVERNMENT AGENCY, WAS JUST OUT….!!) the fourth, success!! 4 hours to pick up the paperwork….we dragged home to cousin Tina’s like beaten dogs with jet lag. Nothing a good meal and a 3 hour nap couldn’t fix!

Filled out the apps that night and bright and early Tuesday morning off we go to get copies of the documentation before turning in the completed apps……looked for a 24-hour Kinko’s in Italy recently?? Non c’e…. Sooooo, we ended up at a bookstore, a lovely “Store around the Corner”-type place where each page was fed into the machine individually and we collated 70 pages by hand….but it was warm and the proprietor made us coffee! Armed with copies and apps and spirits high, off to the Lavinio Post Office we went…to wait for our number to come up. Out we were sent, to copy our ENTIRE passport, not just page one----nowhere was this mentioned! Back again, spirits still high--nope, got to get the Marche di Bollo-- a stamp of sorts-at the Tobacco shop—who knew? Back again for a third time, fingers crossed….SUCCESS!! we walked out with the receipt for our permesso which, we’d read and been told, was our key to buying a car!

The Macchina Madness: We easily found the car we wanted, a Hyundai i10 for 7796 euro, new---end of year sale, ya know! Simple! We needed to get a Cashier’s check, not so simple, but in 3 hours we can accomplish anything. So, paperwork was filled out, money delivered, and we needed to wait 2 days for the tags, etc….Simple! Then insurance…Italian law requires evidence of insurance before any car will be released to a new owner…Cousin Stefano turned us on to an online Insurance company….it was magic! No visits needed to be made, no miscommunications, easy as pie! Things were moving right along…Then came the call….Mario, the car salesman said they can’t sell us a car without an Italian identity card…wouldn’t you think he would know that before having all of us spend a lot of time and money??? BUT, he had a plan to work it out which required us coming back home to Le Marche, our Province, getting an id card from the Ufficio di Anagrafe, the census office, which has a record of us being homeowners. Everything is on hold until tomorrow when we visit the County Seat in Monte San Martino to see what the Anagrafe has to say….

If we can’t get the id card, we’ll need to make arrangements to rent a car until we do; hmmm, not in our budget. Not to mention cousins Rino, David, Antonella, Santino, and Victoria are all worried we may have trouble getting our money back from Mario, the car dealer---but, they are quick to assure us, they know a good lawyer!

Home again, home again: we were so excited to be coming home; January first, symbolically beginning our new lives….and our brand new heater doesn’t work….the house was colder inside than outside. AND…it was Festa…nothing is open on a Festa day, AND, the next day is Sunday, AND, nothing is open on Sundays. So we took ourselves off to a heated hotel where we are awaiting Monday for shops to open, Anagrafe to help us, the heating system to be fixed and work…and our new life.