WWRD

I've been struggling a little lately, as I always seem to do this time of year.  I find myself looking at throngs of happy people, wondering, "Are they really that happy?  Or are a lot of them pretending?"

I spent a whole four bucks yesterday to indulge myself in a new shower gel, and as I was spending a bit of extra time in the shower this morning to enjoy the hot water and a new scent, I flashed back to late afternoons spent, as a child, watching Mike Douglas and Merv Griffin (the two original daytime chat shows) with my dad after he got home from work.  He would come home, pour himself a drink, make me a "highball" of a lot of 7-up and a splash of bourbon, and we'd go downstairs to sit and watch television, he in his chair and I on the couch.

OK, for those of you who are already judging the fact that I was drinking when I was 9, cut it the hell out.  It was one splash of bourbon.  I grew up in a house where drinking was not taboo.  My parents encouraged us (and were sad that we did not want) to drink wine with dinner.  I will also fast-forward to today and say that none of the three children in my family has a drinking problem, so you can stop thinking that it ruined me.  Other than an occasional glass of wine with dinner, I probably have two or three drinks a MONTH.  Why would I drink?  My dad is gone now, and so are Mike and Merv.

But, I digress...

There in my island cotton-scented reverie this morning, I thought, "Wow...what I wouldn't give to have one of those weekday afternoons back, watching tv with Dad.  I never really appreciated it."

Of course I didn't; I was NINE, for heaven's sake!  Nine-year-olds don't appreciate anything, nor are they really supposed to.  But 52-year-olds should.  I think that, possibly, the difference between my good days and my not-so-good days is my appreciation level.  On my good days, I revel in the small pleasures that come my way: seeing a cute post from an old friend on Facebook, writing a snippet of really good code for my client, laughing with abandon at something one of my kids says, or smelling island cotton shower gel.  Not so good days?  I recall the good things I did or had in the past, and wish I had them back.

WWRD?  

There are two camps of people in my life: those who are so glad that I will always have the wisdom and memories of Roy in my heart, and those who think I am "not over him."  To the former, I say thank you.  To the latter, I say that being "over" someone you still love dearly doesn't happen.  You see, when you break up with someone, you gradually stop loving him/her.  When someone you love dies, you never have to stop loving him.  It's AWESOME that you can love him forever!  And that doesn't mean I cannot love anyone else; who ever said that I have some sort of gas-tank-like heart that has a maximum capacity of 15.7 gallons of love?

But, I digress again...

Roy would tell me to get a clue.  He'd tell me to accept the memories as another thing to cherish, and not to let them become a sadness, but to inspire an additional happiness.  And then, he'd say, "Lighten up, Francis!" (And, if you have never seen the movie Stripes, go watch it.  NOW.  I can wait.)

My goal, then, will be to try to appreciate the little things now, instead of having to think about them twenty years from now in the shower and regret not appreciating them.  In fact, I think I should start by appreciating that I CAN take a shower; twenty years from now, I might have to be in one of those crazy walk-in baths that I see advertised on television.  Egads...

So, maybe those Christmas crowd people are simply smiling because it feels good to smile.  Maybe smiling and feeling good makes you a little happier, which encourages you to smile more.

And maybe this will be a happy holiday season, after all.

Perfection and Memories

Yesterday (Thursday), we went to the Gallerie with the sole purpose of seeing Michelangelo's David.  The statue was carved from fifteen feet of marble in the very beginning of the 16th century, and Michelangelo was actually the third artist to be contracted to do the creation.  David became the symbol for Florence, symbolizing the victory of the individual against corrupt leadership.

Regardless of the history, the statue is awe-inspiring and just plain beautiful.  I challenge anyone to stand in front of this chunk of marble perfection and not feel something (or a lot of somethings).  I don't know how Michelangelo accomplished it but he captured the smooth, muscled limbs and innocent  beauty that is so specific to a young man who has not really yet lost the look of youth.  I can't possibly explain it, but I know that it took my breath away. 

This morning, after going to have a cappuccino and pastry, we decided to go into the church in Santa Croce.  And there, the suprise.  Inside the church, first of all, was my favorite of all the ceilings I have seen.  Then, I realized that around the walls were various memorials, some including the actual graves (Enrico Fermi, Gallileo, et al).  But there, in front of me, was a huge memorial to Dante.  Now, I have never read Dante, but my dad was something of an expert on the subject, having earned a Master's degree in Italian from Berkeley.  Suddenly, I wondered: did my dad stand in this spot at some point in his life and look at this memorial?  And I found myself telling Sara that, because of Dante and Petrarc and Boccaccio (all great Italian writers of the early Renaissance and all Tuscan), it was the tuscan dialect that was adopted as the official Italian language.  As it turns out, Tuscan was also the dialect that had remained closest to the mother Latin.  My dad's lesson, learned at some point in my childhood while eating dinner, got passed along to the next generation, and in the most appropriate of all places.  Thanks, Babbo, for the lessons.

And the other goal for today?  Sara has officially decreed this the "Day of Gluttony."  Our last chance to have these pastries, that coffee, fresh mozarella and prosciutto pannini for 2.50... Tomorrow, it's onto a plane and back to reality.  

What I Know vs How I Feel

We've seen quite a bit of art in the last two days.  I know very, very little about art, so I can rarely look upon it with an educated eye, but I do love the feelings it evokes in me (sometimes).

Yesterday, we visited the museum at Il Duomo.  The quote of the day came from Sara who, when I marveled at the fact that there are so many 13th and 14th century busts and statues just out in the open, where everyone can touch them, retorted, "Bah.  Those things are a dime a dozen here."  Oh, how quickly we become spoiled by the multitude of centuries-old art around us!

Today, we went to the Uffizi and a couple science museums (which were awesome, but science isn't the subject of this posting).  The art at the Uffizi is astounding, and one of my favorite artists has numerous paintings there.  Botticelli was alive in the late 15th and early 16th century, and I have always loved his paintings.  I don't know exactly why, and I certainly cannot put it into words (because, as I admitted, I know little of art), but I do know that I want to climb into those paintings.  In the absence of being able to do that, I can say that Botticelli is one of the few artists who inspires me to sit and just stare.  Perhaps forever. 

I don't think I had ever put my finger on it, but I realize now that it's the softness , the roundness with which he paints women.  The muscled bodies of women in other paintings (heck, one in the Vatican was modeled after a man) are just not nearly as appealing.  Or, perhaps it reminds me of my dad telling me as a teenager that I was "bella grossa," and not fat, or how all of my Italian relatives always fed us to show how much they loved us.  Whatever the reason, those beautiful, soft women make me want to have coffee with them, and ask them whether they have any issues with their mothers-in-law, or if they have a really great recipe for chicken cacciatore.  And then, standing there, Sara once again put words to it.  She stared at a lovely Botticelli and said, "I like his ladies..."  Yep, Sara, I like his ladies, too.

The kids went to two more museums after lunch, but I wandered back towards the apartment.  On the way, I made a side trip back through the piazza near Santa Croce and found a gift for a girlfriend back home that was perfect.  Sometimes, the "aw heck, why go straight home?" moves are the best.  Home for lunch (which included prosciutto, of course - how will I live without having prosciutto every day after I get home?), then some time to sit out in the back garden, read a book, and watch the storm clouds gather.  By the time the lightning was flashing and the thunder booming, the kids came home and walked into the garden with a cup of gelato for me.  Then, a nap.

I could so get used to this....

Adventures in Siena?

Well, perhaps I should say adventures getting to and from Siena...

We got up a bit early yesterday and caught the bus to Siena.  It's only about 70 minutes away, and the bus was a double-decker (enclosed), so I trotted up to the top level because hey, I wanted to see it all!  The bus wound through the streets of Florence, then into the Tuscan countryside and through vineyards and trees.  So serene, so beautiful...but a bit of a winding road and I didn't even realize that, to varying degrees, everyone was getting a bit queasy except for two of us (Alec and me).

About 5 minutes from our destination, I noticed Andreas (Carina's son) getting really, really quiet....and then...  Poor Andreas.  Luckily, we were almost there, and when we got off the bus, Carina had to buy new clothes fo Andreas and for Per (who was sitting next to him).  While she shopped for the boys, Alec and Zeph and I had a slice of pizza.  Yum.  

Siena is a small, sleepy little town in the hills that is consistently about 10 degrees cooler than Florence in the summer and boasts a really cool little town square, churches (go figure), some really hilly streets, and twice a year the Palio.  The palio is a horse race that pits neighborhood against neighborhood (each of which has a flag with a different animal on it) for bragging rights.  The race takes place around the town square, with people standing around the edges, hanging out of windows, and watching from restaurant balconies, cheering on their homies.  We weren't there on a palio day, which was just fine for us.

I have to put a plug in here for Rick Steves.  That man's books have given us some really good tips, for places to eat, things to do, and time allotments for certain attractions.  Of course, it would still be nothing without Sara, tha amazing tour guide and Rick Steves apprentice.

We saw a church (of course) but this one had a twist.  As apparently is common here, the church was completely buried in a flood some centuries ago, and the resulting dirt that filled the church preserved it wonderfully.  A new church was built, and it was only in recent times that the old "underneath" church was discovered.  The wall frescos were preserved, and now are being slowly uncovered for all to see.  There is just nothing like this in the states, especially in the west, and I still find it completely fascinating.  

So, a trip to some hole-in-the-wall restaurant that boasts a menu with 50 different types of sandwiches (and the most awesome neon-lit bathroom that even had neon lights IN the toilet bowl, making the water an irridescent green), and a little stroll around the piazza, then back to the bus.  Confident that the bus ride back would be less eventful (since we would sit on the bottom deck AND had equipped ourselves with multiple plastic bags just in case), we trotted onto the bus.  Ten minutes into the ride, the bus stopped and we were told to disembark, and we then got onto another bus (apparently, ours was broken).  This would have been less uncomfortable if it wasn't in the middle of a drenching thunderstorm.  So, a little damp, we settled into bus number two.  Five minutes later, the driver pulled over to wipe the inside of the windshield because the defroster was apparently not working.  After two more such stops, he pulled over under an overpass and got on his phone.  Sara said, "Wo, that was the most angry 'pronto' I have heard..." as he got in touch with the bus depot and then yelled for a few minutes and hung up.  We sta for about twenty inutes, and then bus number THREE showed up.  More musical buses, and then luckily an uneventful trip the rest of the way back to Florence.

Sara went into the bus station (bless her heart) to see if we could get a refund, but apparently the policy only allows for a refund for missing a scheduled arrival by an hour or more, and we were only 50 minutes late.  Ah well, no worries.  We were home, and stopped for doner kebob on the way back to the apartment.  Life is good.

Another evening of cracking up and catching up with Carina's family, and now here it is Tuesday morning.  My three kids are cooking American breakfast for our Swedish guests before they go home to Sweden this afternoon, and then we might go to a museum this afternoon.  It's really up to Tour Guide Sara.  I love, love, love not being in charge.  LOVE it.

I am still plotting how I could come live here for a few months, maybe a few years from now.  Life's short.

But I would need air conditioning and mosquito netting...

Climbing and Playing and Walks (Oh, My!)

What the heck day is it again?  Oh yes, Sunday.

Yesterday, Sara and Zeph and Alec went to Cinque Terre and so Carina and her family and I slept in, and then walked across the river and up to the Piazzale Michelangelo, where there are amazing views of all of Florence.  Then we walked up, up, up even higher to the church of San Miniato.  I am still astounded every time I walk into a church here, to see paintings on the walls that are clearly centuries old.  It was a warm day and a good walk.  Then, we went back across the river at Ponte Vecchio.  That was a MOB scene!!  I think the fact that it was the weekend probably added to the crowds.  The kids had gelato, so they were happy.  Not much else to tell.  Oh wait, maybe there is.  On the way back, since I had my backpack with me, I stopped in to my new favorite leather store to see my new favorite Italian, Stefano.  I ended up buying the laptop bag that I have been coveting, so now I have my cool Italian leather bag to take home with me.  (And, my wallet is significantly lighter).

After the kids got back, we all spent some time with Emma's homework and got an hilarious lesson in Swedish.  My apologies to everyone Swedish who has ever lived, because I think we found new ways to mispronounce every word.  However, it created multiple opportunities for raucous laughter.  

Today (Sunday), I got up early enough to get respectably dressed and go to Mass.  Since there is a church about every two and a half blocks, I didn't ahve far to walk.  I sat in the back of the church, and actually understood some of the sermon.  I took it as a Sunday miracle.  

I do have one thing to say about the Catholic church, and I don't think it's specific to any continent: the few times I have been inside a church in recent years, the average age of the people there is pretty dang high.  Today, I think I may have been the youngest person there.  It's absolutely none of my business, because I am not a practicing Catholic, but they need to figure out how to bring younger people back into the fold, or in abut fifteen years there are going to be a whole lot of empty churches on a whole lot of Sundays.  (And even though I am not a practicing Catholic, something about the ritual of knowing what to say and when, when to stand or sit or kneel, even when everyone there is speaking a foreign language, makes me calmer.  Perhaps I should go more than once a year...)

Came home, ate amazing pastries for breakfast, and then we all (well, except Sara and Zeph, who decided to have a little day to themselves in Lucca) went to the da Vinci Museum.  This place is very small, but it has prototypes od all kinds of daVinci inventions, and many of them are hands-on.  It's set up very well, with a dosplay for each invention that has a replica of the original drawing, and then an explanation (in five languages!) of what the machine was meant to do, etc.  There was also a room with da Vinci's art (well, reproductions) and stories around each piece.  This guy was amazing.

Quote of the day from Emma (age 8), Carina's daughter.  "I am sad.  He was really smart, and it's too bad he is dead."  Well put, Emma.  If Leonardo were alive today, his head would probably explode with ideas.

And the end of the day??  Swedish pancake happiness.  Per made them for all of us, and we had pancakes, jam, and ice cream for dinner.  Now, we are all sitting around the table drinking, which is a very nice Sunday evening activity, while the two little ones are playing in the garden with the tortoise.

Life is good, indeed.

Ciao!
Giannina

When in Rome...and a Blast From the Past

I haven't blogged in a couple days, so I am going to play catch-up.

Thursday, the kids and I went to Rome.  The day began at 4:30 am, since we had to be out of the apartment at 5:00 am to catch the train.  Walking through the streets at 5:00 was the quietest I have seen things since we got here.  I have to admit that I slept much of the train ride to Rome, and then the whirlwind tour began.

Sara had arranged (thanks, Sara!  you are truly the best travel agent/fun arranger/tour goddess ever!) for an all-day walking tour to cover the things we thought were "must see" and walk and see we surely did!  We started at the Colosseum, took in Palatine Hill, the forum, the Pantheon and points between in the morning.

I think the most impressive of the morning sights was the Pantheon.  The domed roof really does defy gravity, as far as imagining how they ever contructed it.  And, since it raned, thundered, and hailed on our way there, we were abole to witness firsthand the efficiency of the drainage system in the floor.  The domed roof, you see, has an enormous hole in the center to let light in.  But then, when it rains, it also lets rain in.  So, drain holes were cut into the marble floors to deal with the water.  Having stepped from outside, where rain was puddling up and street drains were already backing up, into this amazing place where there was already almost no water on the floor at all, it was clear that the engineering of this place was brilliant.

Another interesting tidbit of information: there are water drinking fountains all over Rome, and all of the water is potable.  It has a high lime concentrate, because they use limestone to naturally purify their water (and have for millenia), so you may get kidney stones if you drink it for years, but it is drinkable and really good.  Take one water bottle with you, and fill it up wherever you like.  Water ain't cheap here in bottles, so it was good to take advantage of the free stuff.  

After a quick lunch (in a really cool little restaurant that had a turntable playing music, which we have seen more than once here, and also had a huge poster of a naked woman right over our table, which I think made the boys happy), we met up with the afternoon portion of the tour.

The afternoon had us in the Vatican Museum, the Sistine Chapel, and St Peter's Basilica.  The Sistine chapel allows no photography nor talking (clearly an effort for me) but St. Peter's allows photography, with flash.  Hmmm, that's odd.  All of the museumes say no flash photography, in order to preserve the paintings.  The guide asked me to zoom in on one of the paintings and tell him what I saw. And there was the best part of my afternoon.  Ever single painting in St. Peter's in not a painting at all; they are ALL mosaics done by Venetians.  Holy cannoli!  The Sistine Chapel was astounding, thinking of Michelangelo doing all of that ceiling painting, but then thinking of men painstakingly creating the ceiling art in St, Peter's, tile by tile, in pieces so small the they actually appeared to BE paintings?  The totally won the amazement prize for me.

So, tours over, we had dinner, then waiting for our train and it was back to Florence (more sleeping on the train).  We got home around 11 pm.  Loooong day, but packed with amazing stuff.  I think I could probably spend a month in Rome (or perhaps a year?)  Our morning tour guide told us that she came to Rome for a five-day visit, four years ago.  So, I'm not the only person to ever threaten to not go home...

On to Friday, then....

Friday morning was a wander-around close, not do much morning, and then Sara and I strolled over to the Santa Croce leather market to check out the shops.  There were tons of little kids in the piazza, and Sara and I talked about the fact that epople don't seem to WORRY so much about their kids here.  They are allowed to ru around and be children!  There aren't two parents on top of every child making sure that they are only a foot away, in case the kid gets kidnapped, or falls down, or needs his nose wiped.  It's lovely.  (And I told Sara that I still here crap from some people when I tell them that I let Alec go to the park near our home by himself when he was 8 or 9, but those are the same parents who drove their kids two blocks to middle school at the age of 13).  Yes, I know we are responsible for our kids' safety, but jeesh, at some point they have to be individuals.  OK, 'nuff said.

Best compliment of the day: A middle-aged man named Stefano in a shop wanted to sell me a laptop bag (and I may well go back and get it for myself).  He asked me where I was from, i said California, he asked if I was staying close, I said yes, on Ciompi.  He said, "Oh, you're from the US but you are Italian?" so I guess that even though I can't speak Italian, my pronunciation is decent. (And yeah, listening to the tourists, especially the Brits for some reason, trying to pronouce Italian makes my teeth grind).

So, Sara and I wander home, walk in the door, and our guests have arrived!!!  Carina was my kids' au pair for a year when we first moved to Roseville in 1989, but just as importantly, she was my first friend in Roseville and we have remained in touch for 24 years.  I stayed with her and her family when I went to Sweden in 2008, and now she and her husband, Per, and chilren Andreas (11) and Emma (8) have come to stay with us here in Florence for a few days.  She hasn't seen the kids for about 20 years, since she made a quick second visit to the states, so we had lunch, walked around, got some groceries, and then just made dinner and visited.

I know I shouldn't be quite so excited about food, but this also means that we get Swedish pancakes for dinner tomorrow night!!  :-)

And now?  It is Saturday morning, I sit at the huge dining table blogging, I can hear Carina and her family getting up in the next room.  My kids have gone off ona  day trip to Cinque Terre, and today will be mostly a relaxing, walk around and do not a lot of things day.

I may well go back and get that laptop bag, though.  It was beautiful. 

Happy weekend, my friends!!

Cappuccio, Per Favore!

Sometimes, I forget to listen.  Well, lots of times.  Today, we started at a local caffeteria to get some breakfast.  I almost walked out, because it was wicked crowded and noisy, but then I decided to just stand and see and hear what everyone else was doing.  Here's what I learned:

• You can get all your food, coffee, etc, and then pay for it as you leave.  No need to wait in all those lines right away.
• When faced with imminent disappointment that the cappuccino seems awfully little (they are about 3 or 4 ounces here), just hang tight and listen.  The guy next you just ordered a "cappuccio," and it was lots bigger.  Ah, remember how your daddy called you "carina" when you were little instead of "cara," or called your daughter "nipotina" instead of "nipote?"  Adding the "ina" or "ino" makes it diminutive, so the "cappuccio" is the bigger form of cappuccino!  AHA!
• even if you cannot figure out exactly what each of those pastries are, there isn't a bad one among them - seriously.  Just point at one and you will be a happy girl!
• as packed as the caffeterias are in the morning, and as empty as the shops are (devoid of shopkeepers, that is, for two or three hours) in the afternoon, Italians don't seem to work very much; I may want to move here!

And so, buzzing along on my caffeine-induced high, I hit the streets.  The word for today was LEATHER.  I shopped the leather market stalls, saw the leather school (way overpriced), and then bought a really cute pair of shoes.  Now, maybe, just maybe, my feet can be as cutely covered as the rest of the Florentines.  

I also did a lot of nothing today, walked around a bit, relaxed some more, went shopping with Sara (thus, the shoes), did some "homework" so I could tell Sara my top choices for museums to see next week during our three-day museum blitz, and relaxed some more.  We decided to have a little glass of wine before deciding where to eat, but ended up eating at the wine bar (where we ate the first night), and are hitting the sack early to get up at 4:30 am to head to Rome for the day.

Oh yeah, and I did a load of laundry.  I feel soooooo productive.

Nothing else to report, except that Zeph has stopped saying, "Buongiorno," and replaced it with, "Cinque Terre."  He really needs to be a voiceover on the next Mario Brothers game.

OK, off to bed.  Buona notte!!

Buon giorno!

Florence, day whatever.  If I cannot remember what day it is, that means that vacation mode has been reached successfully!

Last night, Zeph went in to take a shower.  After we heard the water shut off, we suddenly heard his Mario-like voice crack the silence, "Buon giorno!"  (Apparently he was shaving, saw himself in the mirror, and felt a need to practice his greeting).

We all slept poorly last night, but still got up at 6, off walking to the train station at 6:30, on the train at 7, went to Pisa, saw the leaning tower and all that jazz. The phenomenal thing is that, while looking at sculptures in a museum, I saw a placard that claimed the statue I was looking at was from the late 15th century and thought, "Oh, that's almost new..."  Come on, Janine!!  I had already gotten used to mid-12th century stuff.  AND it was not even behind ropes or glass or any protective system.  We could walk right up and really get a gander at it all.  This kind of history just doesn't exist in our country, except in sterile, hands-off places.

Done with Pisa, back on the train, stopped this time in San Miniato, off the train, on to a bus and spent a 45-minute ride careening around tiny streets in tinier Tuscan towns to end up in Staffoli, the birthplace of my nonno.  When the bus driver stopped at the main town square (very small town square), I asked him where Via Bocciardi was.  Somehow, I explained to him in really horrific Italian that my grandfather was born in Staffoli, but died in the states, that my name is Bocciardi, and that I want to see Via Bocciardi.  OH, he says, and waves us back into our seats.  Now, this bus was supposed to stop at the town square and go back towards San Miniato; in fact, there were two young ladies at the stop waiting to jump on the bus to go to San Miniato.  But the driver closed the door, yelled out his window, "Cinque minuti!!" while holding up five fingers, and then zipped up the hill (as much as a bus can zip) and dropped us right at Via Bocciardi.  He then told me that a bus would be by in about an hour from Galleno, and could take us back down the hill and all the way back to San Miniato.  Well, okay then, and grazie!

To travel for a couple hours extra to see it was worth every step (and even the kids agreed).  Standing there in the hills, listening to birds and crickets and chickens, smelling the grass and the warmth (which has a smell), I could almost imagine my grandparents growing up here over a hundred years ago, my grandmother waiting until her father went off on anotherr business trip so that she could run free and bring her cousins over to the villa and eat salami and focaccia in bed and get away with it all (my cousin Adelina, who was my dad's age, used to tell me the stories that her father, my nonna's brother, told her about growing up with my adventurous, wild nonna).  It made all those stories so much more real.  The book in my head now has illustrations!!

(Later, my nonna came to America at the age of 17 with $25 in her pocket, no English, and only her brother Davide, who was 15 or 16, to accompany her....and my mom wonders why I saw one documentary about southeast Asia and decided to go to Cambodia?  Someone has to carry on the tradition!)

So, a few pictures and some time later, we got back on a bus, back to San Miniato, then had a drink in San Miniato before hopping back on the train and coming back to Florence.  Quite the whirlwind day!  Alec and I had a little nap while Sara and Zeph went for a walk, and then we went to dinner.  

Although it is possible to spend large sums of money on meals, we managed to have really awesome pizza, and wine, for about 7 euro each.  Including the wine.  And, once again, this was less than a block from our apartment.  We have had a couple converrsations already about food.  Every single meal we have had has been great, including the inexpensive ones.  We all wonder: Is there any BAD food here?  In the states, it's easy to get crappy food for not much money, and sometimes it's pretty easy to get not-great food for a lot of money, but here it seems that no place would stoop so low as to serve food that isn't amazing.  I am willing to admit that this theory is made more plausible due to the fact that I already have a very loving relationship with cheese, cold cuts, and olive oil.  But it is absolutely possible to eat satisfyingly here for not much money.

All that being said, in a round-robin rotation where the kids and I are kind of taking turns paying for dinners, I somwhow paid 120 euro my night and Alec got to pay 35 euro his night.  Hmmm.....

And, finally, the evening ended with gelato.  I still have the word singing inside my head, to the tune of West Side Story's "Maria."  Grab a cup, walk to the little piazza around the corner from the apartment, and watch the people gather.  Nothing really starts hopping here until 9 pm or so, and eating dinner any time much before 8:30 means you are going to miss all the good action.  I need to start sleeping in later and staying out late at night.  

Tomorrow is a "relax" day (relatively).  Whew!

So, happy day, and I hope that you now have the "gelato" earworm.  My gift to you today!  Enjoy....

Of Food and Feet

There are so many noticeable things in this amazing city, but I feel the need to expound on two this evening, as I sit in our apartment with the kids, recovering from more food and alcohol.

Let me begin with food.  I was up pretty early, but the kids slept late (amateurs), and so we found ourselves heading out around 11 am and stopping at a caffeteria and pasticceria to grab a cappuccino and something for breakfast.  Ohhhhhh.  So, for a total of 10 euros for all 4 of us, we got three coffee drinks and four amazing pastries.  I chose a "torta della nonna," just because of the name, and ended up ecstatically enjoying a custard-filled delicacy with toasted almonds on top.  Even the cappuccino was gorgeous, with the foamy milk poured into an artful swirl of dairy goodness.  Full of Florentine morning happiness, we then set off to find the train station (which will be in tomorrow's activities), see the Duomo, and generally walk about.

As we walked, we all noticied that Italians just wear way nicer shoes than we do.  At one point, a bum passed us on the street (and yes, I mean it; he had long, unwashed hair, shuffled along, smelled awful)...and he had nicer shoes than we did!  I swear.  The women here don't wear high heels, mostly; they would really be impossible on these cobble streets.  But, their flats and sneakers are all fashionable and amazing and expensive-looking.  If I lived here, I would definitely need to buy some more shoes.  In fact, I may just have to snag a pair before I go home, just 'cause.  :-)  Kids?  Nicer shoes than us.  Babies?  Nicer shoes than us.  Horses?  Nicer shoes than us!!

We did see the Duomo today, and bought our museum passes for next week, and bought our train tickets to Pisa for tomorrow, and did a lot of walking and saw a lot of nice shoes.  We went into the Basilica of Santa Maria Novella, and maybe it is the Catholic in me, but if churches in Roseville looked like that, I'd go to church a little more often.  Just standing inside that church made me feel, well, closer to God.  The fact that much of it was built in the 14th century is even more amazing. I lit a candle for my mom, which I do in the first church I go into in ANY foreign city.  

After church touring, we decided to walk back toward the apartment and get something to eat along he way.  We popped into a pizza place, which consisted mostly of focaccia sandwiches.  I had a frittata sandwich of eggs, onions, and spinach.  The focaccia was exactly as I remembered from my childhood: crunchy outside, oily inside, yummy all over.  Zeph had sopressata, which is like salami but with bigger chunks of fat in it (or, as Sara said, "I don't know what this is, but it's really fatty and completely wonderful!")  Alec had fontina and prosciutto speck (which is more like ham), and Sara had mortadella.  Each sandwich was only 2.50 euros - again, really affordable.  

The kids went to the grocery store to get some breakfast foods and staples, and then we sat at the apartment and made plans for tomorrow's trip and read and chatted.  Then, it was time for dinner!!  Egads, the food is ruling us!  We went to another local (less than a block away) place and had more great food, ending with two crepes (one orange and grandmarnier, the other nutella and banana) and we each got a shot of limoncello for free from the bartender.  We waddled home to recover and finish our plans for tomorrow, which include seeing the tiny town where my grandfather grew up.    

Quote of the trip so far was from Zeph (my adorable son-in-law, who keeps talking in an Italian accent that makes him sound like one of the Mario Brothers): "After a bottle of wine, everything here makes sense."  Well put, my son, well put.  Let's endeavor to make sure that every day here makes sense!!

Ciao, my friends...

Hey! No Lagging!

It is morning in Florence.  I have been up since about six a.m., after going to bed a little before eight last night.  All three kids are still sleeping.

We had a long trip getting here.  Five minutes after pulling away from the gate at SFO, the pilot came on to say that the trim mechanism for the wings was not working properly, so we went back to the gate to get some necessary part replaced.  Takeoff was two hours late, and then a ten and a half hour flight to Frankfurt, being advised to "please hurry" to our connection, another hour long wait on the tarmac, a short hop to Florence, and there we were in the tiny Florence airport.  Now, all we had to do was call the apartment manager so he could meet us there to give us keys, etc.  hmmm...none of us had a phone.  No worries!  We will ask the information people where we can make a phone call. Hmmm...it is Sunday and the information desk is closed.  No worries!  There is a pay phone!  But how in the heck do we use it, and how many of the digits in this huge, long number I was given do we actually have to dial?  No worries!  We will just ask the taxi driver to make the call for us.  Out to the taxi line, and when our cab rolls up, I ask, "per favore, parla inglese?" and the driver says of course he speaks English, and all is well.  When we get close to the apartment, he calls the number and the meeting is arranged.  Then, we are dropped somewhere near the apartment, because there is a street fair going on and the cab cannot get to the address, and thank god the street names are posted on corner buildings, so we find our apartment and stand outside in the warm Tuscan sun waiting.

Half an hour later, a man rides up on a bicycle, cheerful as heck, parks his bike and shows us the apartment, tells us to keep windows closed because of Mosquitos, that we should feed the turtle in the garden if we have leftovers, not to feed the fish, gives us his card, and then tells the boys where the good bars with lots of women are.  I suspect he did not realize that Zeph is married to my daughter.  Then again, perhaps he did!

So, we walk around the nearby few blocks, and decide to go into a wine bar.  The proprietor asks us what we want, we tell him we have been traveling for almost an entire day, and he asks if we would like him to make us up an antipasti tray with some prosciutto, salami, cheese... He had me at "prosciutto".  With our bread comes a basket containing olive oil, balsamico, salt and pepper grinders.  Two bottles of wine later, we have managed to consume cold cuts, cheese, bread, some roast beef, green beans, and OHMYGAWD a sformata zucchini (like a zucchini mousse) with a Gorgonzola walnut cream sauce.  Oh yeah, and some sort of amazing chocolate cake with carmelized hazelnuts and a pavlova.  At this point, we have all been mostly awake for what seems like a week, we are full of Montepulciano wine, and we have a lovely apartment waiting for us.  A quick walk around the block to a grocer to buy water, and then home. To sleep.

This morning at 8:45, the bells on the church around the corner rang to call people to mass.  I was so tempted to go, but I have time.  For now, I will get dressed, wander outside, and see if I can find a cappuccino to take to the back garden.

Now...I wonder if I should wake these lazy kids up??

What a Year!

A year ago, on New Year’s Eve, I was sitting alone at my desk chatting on line with my friend, Kati, and I asked her suddenly if I could stay with her in Rocklin if I had to move away from San Francisco.  Kati replied that I needed to give her an hour’s notice, so she could have a key made; I stared at my computer and cried, thinking of what a great friend she was, and that I was just way too wimpy to ever change my situation, no matter how it chipped away at my happiness day by day.

 

Today, it’s a year later.  I have moved from San Francisco to Rocklin (yep, in with Kati while I got my feet under me), bought a townhouse in Roseville, have an amazing young man (who also happens to be my son) living with me, have a good job (but am always looking, since I do have career ADD), and have reconnected with the best batch of friends any woman would be lucky to have.  I feel as though I have slowly climbed out of a deep, dark pit and feel a light on me for the first time in years.  It feels really good.

 

Looking forward to 2013, and coming from a year of total life transition, I wish for just a few things: 

 

Peace.  Thankfulness.  And maybe just a teensy bit of magic.

 

Things I have learned for myself in the past year (some had been told to me years before):

·         To ever get anything better, you have to be willing to give up everything you currently have (thanks, Roy, you were so right!)

·         The movie in your head never plays; don’t let your own spinning mind focus you so much on the “what if” that you lose touch with the awesome reality that’s happening in front of you (thanks, Suzie)

·         Be as tolerant as you can, but NEVER tolerate deceit, lies, or discrimination.  Ever.

·         Perseverance actually works.  Having OCD adds to perseverance.  Therefore, sometimes having OCD is a good thing.

·         Thank God every day for the people who are in your life voluntarily.  Family is important, vitally important.  But I have survived this last year because of my friends, almost exclusively because of my friends.  I love every last damn one of them.  They don’t have to love me, but somehow, miraculously, they do.  That kind of glorious mystery surely has to be a gift from God.

·         Your children keep growing.  Forever and continually.  Keep your eye on them, and take pride in their accomplishments and revel in every new thing in their lives.  Try as hard as you can to give them some space, and be really happy when they want to share some of it with you.  I love every shopping day I spend with my daughter, any moment (like smoking his new pipe on the front porch on Christmas Eve) I can get with my son-in-law, and every hour of watching stupid TV like Project Runway while my son plays computer games on the other couch, and then suddenly he says, “Yeah, that dress is hideous..” and goes back to his game.  They are all paying attention, even in the midst of their own lives, and that’s pretty cool.

·         Lastly, and most importantly, if something feels wrong, it probably is.  Whether you have invested a day or a 6 ½ years, a dime, a dollar, or a grand, you can ALWAYS start a new story. 

 

Good luck and happiness to ALL of you while you begin to write the next chapter of your lives.