lamenting lately

Lately I've been lamenting the fact that we live "so far out" in the country, so far removed from the life of the city, from the cradle of civilization that is the centro storico. In reality we are only about 15 kilometers away from the historic city center, but it has just recently seemed so.very.far.away. Intolerably distant. Really, unless you reside in the thick of it, inside the ancient walls where pedestrians and bikes are the norm, then you are too far away from it.

 

I suspect the thoughts stem partly from the fact that we've kept up a frenzied pace since the start of August. And then Wednesday after school, I had a revelation, of sorts, or perhaps just a reminder. It was the first evening in a long time that all of the kids were out back together.

It was in the moment that I walked out to check on Young One and found eight children and one leash-free dog in and around the sand pit that I was reminded of exactly why we chose our house in our paese, our house so.very.far.away, our house with our gaggle of neighborhood children, the one located in the remote hills of the province. (You know, 15 km away from civilization.) Exactly. At this time, the paese works best for our family. So sorry I forgot that for a bit . . . I have been officially snapped back into reality.

corner view

:: music ::

 

One day these dirty little hands will make beautiful music, just like her father's.  For now they are simply strumming a dusty child-sized guitar that gets picked up less frequently than I had hoped. Yesterday she did tell me that she is "all about the melody" and that she has big plans to "create beautiful melodies" some day. It's genetic, and in our family it's entirely paternal. Already, at seven, she speaks, unsolicitedly and dramatically, about how important music is in her life. I like that, and I hope and pray for her sake that her one true passion in life is indeed for something I know nothing about, like music. . . it'll be better that way, I'm certain.

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For more Corner Views or to participate in the weekly project, visit Francesca and link up in her comments.

a road trip & a swag bag

Took a road trip with a couple of girlfriends this weekend --

The kind of girlfriends I can spend a night in a triple hotel room with without hesitation or awkwardness --

That takes a lot, for me.

We went to Bologna to participate in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure.

 

Sunday morning we gathered in the park with hundreds of others.

 

 

We even received the race shirt and the swag bag.

It included tampons, anti-aging cream, a fiber bar and weight loss powders.

I kid you not.
Male participants received the same bag, btw.
I know because I saw a young man inadvertently drop his box of OB as he fumbled with the bag.
Poor fella.

 

It was a beautiful day for a 5k through the streets of Bologna.

This lady walked ahead of us for part of the race.

She didn't get the memo about this being an

anti-cancer kind of event.

Or maybe she did . . . 

breast cancer, lung cancer . . . obviously not the same, right?
Geees, lady!

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It's amazing what 36 hours away with the girls can do

for my psyche.

Thank you, man-o-mine, for supporting our trip AND 

babysitting someone else's kid for the weekend.

You rock.

Race participant, smoker lady does not rock.
(I mean, smoke if you want to . . . but not during the Race for the Cure.)

Girlfriends rock, too.

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Love,

D

Smoke-free for 3 years and 6 months

dimmi in italiano

"Dimmi in Italiano. Dimmi in Italiano. Per favore," I pleaded once again with her as I tried desperately to work my way through understanding her needs.  Of course. OfCourseOfCourseOfCourse, she absolutely refused to switch to Italian and explain herself.  Instead, she continued in English, in a sing-song, whining voice which was quickly turning to Mamma!-You-are-the-mamma-why-can't-you-just-help-me-please? Just as always seems to be the case, the Italian eyes in the tiny shop on Via Nicolò Vicentino were piercing my very being. Have you ever had them on you? Real or imagined, they are never a good thing, these piercing eyes . . . trust me.

It started with an innocent stop after school at a local sporting goods store to pick up an extra physical education t-shirt and possibly a pair of shorts. I prepared in advance by locating the shop with my smart phone app and ensuring that I had small bills in my wallet, a must for a visit to a small store in this country. Small bills and small shops belong together. This task brought about no big flag on my radar screen, no Oh-my-goodness-can-I-figure-this-out? fears. I can navigate myself well enough in this foreign culture, this foreign land to be able to pick up a t-shirt without coincidence.

Or can I?

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I'll let you know soon. Right now I'm headed out to pick her up from a play date with a classmate. I should be able to navigate this too . . . we'll see.

(Dimmi in Italiano. = Tell me in Italian.)

corner view

:: silly ::

After enduring four hours of Italian Sunday lunch at 

Antica Trattoria Moreieta,

these four were ready for the silly shot.

September 11, 2011

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For more silliness, see Francesca.

back to school

 




Folks, we have a second grader.
She's been at it for a week already.
All is good in the kingdom of Young One.

Let the learning commence!

saturday photo & an interview

'Tis the Season

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My friend OxeyeDaisey over at Creative Compulsive did me the honor of an interview on her blog --

an interview in which I wax philosophical about (my) creative process.

Can you stand it?

Go. Read. She makes me shine.

 Check out her burgeoning Etsy shop, where you will find

 fantastic, user-friendly original patterns 

by this

bonafide costume designer.

{this moment}

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by SouleMama.

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on being fancy

As we exited the school today, we ran into Stefan's mom. Stefan's mom is a genuinely warm and lovely lady who always takes the time to chat, to ask how things are going. We stood on the sidewalk for some time discussing the comings and goings of our summers. Then we did the obligatory muh-muh, right-left and parted ways, agreeing to get our families together soon.

I turned to Young One, "Isn't she just a nice lady? I really like her."

She looked up at me, and excitedly replied, "Oh, yes! And she is beautiful too, Mamma.  Did you see her pearls? She is so fancy, Mamma. Did you see her shoes? Her shoes were the best. Even they had pearls. Did you see? Did you see?" Then she continued at length to describe her shoes in great detail. She would love to have those shoes.

Of course I didn't notice her shoes or her pearls or her dress or her bag. (It's difficult not to notice that she is a beautiful, elegant woman.)

Of course I was dressed in worn summer sandals, chinos, and a polo shirt. Not an ounce of fancy. I even had a canvas bag.

Oh.
The irony.
My girl loves fancy.
I am many things. Fancy is not one of them.
At least she thinks I'm beautiful, too. Though, she has requested that I become more fancy a time or two.
Not happening, Baby Girl.

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The back-to-school rush is slowing a bit, at least for Young One and me. I hope to catch up on blog reading and post some back-to-school pics this weekend. I was also featured in an interview on another blog and hope to share a bit about that.  For now. . . time to make dinner because the man (who usually runs the kitchen in my house) is away for work, again.

corner view / italy

:: iconic ::

Adorned with an electric light halo, she stands in the hallway leading to my daughter's classroom.

School finally started again here on Monday.

So far, so good.

Whew.

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For more iconic corner views, visit Francesca, and share your link in the comment section.

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searching for focus

Working really hard on finding focus, direction, and clarity in this back-to-school frenzy that has overtaken our lives . . .

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{ this moment }

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by SouleMama.

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corner view

:: indispensable ::

I found a card in my mailbox at school yesterday:

Dear Ms. K,

Thank you so much for all you've done for me these past few years. I have really enjoyed working with you as well as getting to know you as a friend. I also want to thank you so much for your recommendation letter. I know it is because of your letter that I'm going to Berkeley on scholarship.  Aside from that, you've taught me a lot of life lessons that I will always remember. You've helped prepare me for this next part of my life and I cannot thank you enough for that. Our high school is far from being perfect but you are one of the better things about it, as well as one of the best teachers that I have ever had. I'm going to do my best to stay in touch and I will stop by and see you anytime that I am in town. Thank you again for everything!

Very Respectfully,
A Recent Graduate

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For a high school teacher, this kind of note is indispensable (absolutely necessary). It validates in a way that test scores and performance appraisals can't.

PS. My letter of recommendation did not gain him admission to Berkley. He is an amazing kid young man with a bright future. We are in good hands with kids like him in the next generation.

PSS. We are not friends, but he knows that I care about him, for him . . . that is indispensable for young people. When a student has the feeling that I care, I can get him/her to do almost anything :)

PSSS. We treasure these notes from parents, too. When is the last time you wrote one?

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For more Indispensable Corner Views . . . see Francesca.



making connections, 7-year-old style

We often have the best conversations in the car or while she is in the tub, with me held captive in her presence, free of other distractions. Today, it went down like this in the car. . . .

Young One: Ewww, that is gross. Did you see that picture of the lady with the boobies?

This is Italy. There are often pictures of ladies and their breasts here and there. Usually, they go unnoticed, unmentioned. No big deal. Part of every day. Naked bodies here and there are part of the norm. At times the image is appropriate and beautiful, other times not. No Puritan hangups in the locker rooms at the pool either. This day she saw an ad for an art exhibit with a painting of a naked upper body of a voluptuous woman.

Me: Breasts. They are called breasts. Breasts are an incredible and beautiful part of a woman's body. No matter the size or shape or color, always lovely, Baby Girl, and breasts are normal and natural and should never be called gross. They are a wonderful thing, breasts. And you know what. . .they are for women only. . . one day you'll have breasts . . .

yadda. yadda. yadda.

And so I continued, likely for much longer than my 7-year-old girl was willing to listen. We've named body parts correctly since she was a toddler, so it just irks me when she uses a word like "boobies" and then refers to them as "gross." I also already worry about body image issues with her. Feeling defeated, I expound the virtue of the breast for quite some time. Meanwhile, her little friend is in the car and is likely getting quite an unwanted earful. I notice the awkwardness in her blind stare through the car window and wrap up my little lesson.

I stop.
I breathe.
There is a pregnant pause, followed by an honest inquiry:

Young One: Mamma, is Sophia adopted?

I feel annoyed that she has completely changed the subject without comment or acknowledgement of my virtuous, fact-filled lecture.

Me: No. Don't you remember when Luciana was pregnant with Sophia? Her tummy growing from month to month?

Young One: I just remember you once told me that breasts get bigger when mommies have babies. Luciana has the smallest breasts I have ever seen, Mamma. That's why I want to know if Sophia is adopted.

.................................

So.
She does listen.
Mostly.
Or at least she is good at making observations and connections.
Heaven help us.

(True story . . . but names changed to protect the small-chested friend, or, maybe, Young One ;)

La Zucca

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Ghizzole Festa della Zucca

Pretty & Delish
What else do you need on a Friday night in the nearby paese?

I suppose this means Fall is upon us.
 I wish that Mother Nature would turn down the thermostat a bit.
Can we say "Heat Wave"?

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Summer Camp (with Italians)

Centro Estivo // Summer Camp

When I picked them up Friday afternoon, they excitedly proclaimed:  "We are Indians! We are Indians!"

I noticed the rest of the tribe and a couple of chiefs flitting about -- painted faces, feathers and headbands, bows and arrows;  I mumbled something in Italian about Native Americans, Indigenous Peoples, First Nations People.

They just screamed louder: "Siamo Indiani! Siamo Indiani! Siamo Indiani!"

Sometimes, you just have to go with the flow in the moment and save the lesson for later.  Political correctness is an American phenomenon, at least as it pertains to old school cowboys and Indians in Italy.

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{ this moment }

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. Inspired by SouleMama.