Spaghetti Al Pomodoro

Rupture.

2011-10-05T13:57:00.000-07:00

I was silent, busy, content. No turmoil meant that I puttered about taking care of Peanut, feathering my nest and settling in. The calmness that came before the storm, I suppose. We have come back to the insecurity of a relationship built on wishes. He wanted to escape and everything I thought I knew came crashing down. But it was one time too many, because when he bounced back and decided things were okay again, I didn't. I haven't. It was a few months ago. And I haven't been able to find anything to save since then. Maybe we've just changed. I don't feel love here. And I feel blank.

I'm not breaking down. I'm not weeping uncontrollably. I'm not begging him to reconsider. I'm just watching and listening and making plans. It's all spun a little too far out of control. The thoughts that were brought on keep making web upon web until an entirely new home has been created in mid-air. What if this was over? What if I had to make a new home, a new life with Peanut? What would that look like? They haunt me. They tempt and delight me. These thoughts of starting new, of someday finding a love that went both ways. I have stayed and searched for anything worth holding on to. I did it for Peanut. I did it for us. But the chasm of empty feelings and loaded words has driven us to opposite sides. He's going to play the part of The Good Man. I'm left with the part of Destroyer of Families. It doesn't matter who wrote it. The only thing that matters anymore is to find a happy little piece of world to thrive in. Love, smiles, laughter-maybe not all the time, but at least when it got bad I could rest assured that it began in love.

Maybe it's time to let go of my castle of sand. When I opened my eyes I saw it was crumbling. I just don't know how to get out. It's a big, beautiful, scary world out there if I could wipe the last grains from my eyes and see it.

Humpty Dumpty

2011-02-21T13:41:00.000-08:00

The problem with leaving home, breaking out, traveling slow is that you can't go back. Not in the same way, at least. You can move your geographical location anywhere on the planet, including your starting point, but you will never be in that place again. It's different. And now pieces of the heart, mind and soul beg to once again eat a plate of spicy spaghetti in the piazza, or take a walk with a friend by the lighthouse, or meet up for beers in the pub, on the beach or in the backyard. Missing friends, family and the easiness of another life can drive a person crazy. So how can we go anywhere?

We've been talking about California. I've been daydreaming about California the way I used to daydream about Italy. The lush desire for possibility is what pulls us in one direction or another, constantly back and forth. My heart is in Italy. My heart is in California. Both sides of a wall and I'm torn. Because I cannot choose one home over another. There is no clear answer because it's all shades of gray. It does not even really matter which side I'm on, because there will always be another side that I loved, and someone else I love to miss. I'm always saying goodbye. With one foot out of the door, I'd really like to pull my leg back in, sit down and stay awhile. But on which side should we stay? Pieces are everywhere and it isn't clear which are most vital.

I left home but that doesn't mean it ceased existing. Instead it split and divided and I made more homes, fell in love with people and places around the world and still left bits behind. I am not the me I was when I left; that me will never go back. So I scatter parts and love blindly and eat sublimely and the price I pay is paid in changing currencies. We don't ever stay where we're put. Ever. The most difficult thing about leaving home is depositing your pieces elsewhere (and with all the world's men) knowing that we'll never stay all together again.

The New Year.

2011-01-01T05:38:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year from the boot! This past year has been a crazy one, filled with ups and downs and all-arounds. From a tumultuous beginning with Cazz, to the unexpected arrival of Peanut, I have had my share of adventures. I have accomplished getting a long-term permesso di soggiorno thanks to Peanut, and have a life and friends here that I could only dream of when I first arrived. Of course, it isn't what I thought it would look like, but what ever is? I am content, but I will not be giving up on an adventure-filled life, brimming with travel and learning and beauty.

For the year 2011 I resolve to squeeze every last bit of sweetness out of the passing days, even when they bring a shot of bitterness with them. I will not take for granted the passing hours, seeing Peanut grow and thrive and the loveliness that fills each day. I will strive to be a more positive person, let go of things in the past that do not make me feel worthwhile and seek out opportunities of the future that will. I will travel lightly, making space for things that uplift me, while leaving behind those that weigh me down. I will travel more. I will make gratitude a part of my daily routine. These are resolutions of the spirit.

Of course I have resolutions that can be measured as well. Learning to drive a stick-shift, saving up money for a baking and pastry-arts course, eating more nutritiously and learning to cook something other than eggs and spaghetti are those that take up the top spaces on my list. As for the rest, I will have to make them up as I go. 2011 is upon us, so hold on tight. We're going for a ride.

The Ghosts of Thanksgivings Past.

2010-11-24T13:42:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving has come again, and instead of focusing on what I am grateful for, I am feeling intense guilt. Having spent much of the evening (and too much of my life) on the internet seeking out ex-flames, I conclude the search by crashing and burning. I am burning because I have never really released my ghosts, and holding onto all of this energy prevents me from moving forward. From being thankful for what I have. I have to let go so that I may hold on.

The wave of remorse hit me as I found my ex-loves/partners/friends in wedding attire, or holding onto children or smiling with the new most important people in their lives. Being loved so fiercely by these men who I ended up unintentionally hurting so, and then seeing them so happy with someone else (having moved on completely) has caused my own uncomfortable realization that I haven't let go though I am the one who ended things. I haven't let go of them, or forgiven myself for the pain I caused. I couldn't love them the way they deserved, though I wanted to with every fiber of my being. I wanted to be with them. I wanted to be free. And I could not reconcile the two, so I broke away in the worst ways and left them reeling. And I never felt that it was completely over. I could not make myself let go of them, even after I pushed them away. I have held onto pictures, letters and memories, stuffing them into secret pockets of my soul because I wanted to be loved. I still want to be loved. And I want to be forgiven.

I am ashamed of my actions. I am ashamed that I couldn't make it work and that I hurt people. And I have to forgive myself. I am an imperfect person and I am still learning. I have not always acted in the best way, but I have never been malicious. I feel sad that they moved on because I have a tremendous need to be loved the most, but I have to forgive myself for this as well. I want to wish them well. I want to be so happy for them and not feel the sting of rejection, or regret. And so I am letting them go. One by one.

M- I loved you fiercely. You were living with someone and we fell for each other. You left her (to her: I am sorry for this) and we began a strong romance. But I didn't know how to be with someone. I was selfish because I was young and it was new to me, and I was just getting to know myself. I wanted to be the brightest, most carefree person in the world. In your world. I wanted to shine and laugh forever. I blinded you with my light, but I couldn't keep it up. I was not the brightest, most carefree person and I couldn't laugh forever because I could be bitter and sad and boring. I didn't want to be boring. And so I strained against my own boredom, and my unhappiness that I was not what I wanted most to be. And so it ended. I broke a bit of your heart, and a bit of mine. I am happy for you and your beautiful wife. I forgive myself for my imperfection.

R- I met you on the tail-end (and perhaps overlapping the unclear end) of that other relationship. I was looking for distraction. I found you. It was a country I was unfamiliar with and you were my life-raft. You were amazingly handsome and blew a new energy into my soul. It was an intense relationship. I was head over heels for you and amazed at my luck. I was the brightest with the loudest laugh. I thought this was it. This was the love that we wait a lifetime for. That lasts a lifetime. We lived, we laughed, we made forever-plans. And yet something was nagging. I was afraid. Deathly afraid of what this commitment meant. A beautiful country, but a country I was not entirely familiar with. I was unable to give up so much. My country, my family, my home. To be a new person. I relied entirely (too much) on you. My insecurity was comforted by your strong arms. And you loved me so, so much. But I couldn't see a way to make it work. To give up everything I knew, everything I was before and move there to become a shadow afraid of its shadow. And so I went back and forth, not wanting to give you up and not wanting to give me up. I hurt you so much by this indecision. You deserved better. You told me I was "the woman of [your] life". I still sometimes wish I could have been. But I would have broken down if I had come to you with anything less than positivity about my course of action. And so I let you go. And in moments I regret it. It was a great love. And now you have another great love, whose picture I have seen. Another American girl a bit like me. But she is always smiling in those photos. She is adventurous and she is making her own life there, with you. She is wearing her wedding dress. And you deserve this great happiness from someone who is sure she is where she should be. You both do. I am so happy that you can be happy because you have such a pure heart. I still feel such a love for you that it is going to sting. But it will pass, and I wish you happiness always. And I forgive myself for being afraid and unsure. For being human.

And now, having met Cazz at the tail and broken end of that relationship, I have moved into a new space. There are times when I am not sure. There are times when I feel sad, or dejected or angry. When I feel that I am boring, or bored. There are times when I don't know how to live with another person and I get it wrong. I can be bitter and bossy and needy. But I can be brave. I can step forward never knowing where this road will lead. I can be bright, shine and laugh. I can make my own life here in a country that didn't start as my own, but begins to be more and more as each day passes. I can love with all my heart and protect fiercely. I can be intriguing and honest and good. I can laugh and cause laughter. I can be positive and trust that I am where I should be. And so I forgive myself, and let go of these ghosts because I have my future here before my eyes, waiting for me to live it. I am thankful for second (and third, and fourth) chances. I am thankful for my beautiful baby and for getting the opportunity to meet such challenges head on. I am thankful for my past loves for teaching me to love better and stronger. And I am thankful for all of you who stick with me when I seem absent or unreliable, because it is you who help pull me through to the other side where there is light.

Sweet Dreams

2010-08-20T02:01:00.000-07:00

My recent thoughts have been sweet, because I'm thinking about getting an education in the art of baking and pastry. I was scouring the internet recently, looking at photos of wedding cakes, etc. when it hit me...I should do this! I've already taken a course in cake decorating, which I loved, and upon watching so many hours of Top Chef in which I lament the fact that I could not become a chef due to my intense dislike (okay, that's a nice way of putting it) of onions, bell peppers, and looking at bloody things, I realized that cooking does not only mean savory. So I decided that sweets are the way to go, having never met a pastry I didn't like. Now I just have to find an affordable program and put my dreams into action.

In the meantime, babysitting 24 hours a day can be exhausting, but also rewarding. Some days I am at the end of my rope, but then a sweet smile from Peanut will pick me right back up. Some days I would give my left foot for an hour by myself. I'm very ready for our vacation by the sea this upcoming week with Cazz's mom and brother-which mean loving babysitters while I take a quick dip. Of course having a sweet, needing little baby, while at times frustrating, will be something I miss when he gets bigger and can voice his own opinions and run around on his own legs pursuing dreams of his own.

Scene Changes.

2010-07-28T05:52:00.000-07:00

When Life enters, Life changes. Every ray of sun is brighter and still doesn't outshine that perfect smile. Every shadow is darker and still not as dark as a single tear. Every moment is shorter, but worth more. And the fear of mortality mixed with the joy of living creates the background upon which each element is enhanced. Never before have I been able to imagine with such clarity what despair would look like as I can when I think of how I would feel if something happened to Peanut. Love changes everything for better or worse. For better and worse. Love changes.

Each day is marked by something trivial. The monumental minutiae. His first smile, or coo, or when he lifts his head or cocks a tiny eyebrow when mamma tries to make a joke. When he winks at a girl or sticks out his lower lip and melts every heart in the room. His lacrime di cocodrillo, crocodile tears. Sweet cunning.

Is there anything more terrifying or beautiful than absolute love? Is there any more contradictory feeling than the mother who feels at once connected and absolutely alone? The curtain has been pulled and the third act revealed with life naked center stage. I'm so excited to see where it is going and how the scene changes.

Peanut Gallery.

2010-06-21T13:11:00.000-07:00

The days have taken on a steady rhythm: feed the small creature, change him, pick him up, put him down, try to nap/shower/eat and repeat. He's very good and even sleeps most of the night, making me a very lucky new mother. In the evenings he gets a little fussy and wants to be attached to his food source (me) for hours on end, which can be quite exhausting. But I still think he is the most adorable little person in the world, even if my hands are rarely free to do anything that doesn't involve him. Cazz is thrilled and I am content. And Peanut is tranquilo.

Unfortunately the lack of free hands leaves me little time to blog, as I've noticed that almost a month has gone by since the last post. My technological time is spent uploading pictures of the little man and sending them to family and friends, creating a gallery of this creature that is now such a big part of my world. But in moments like these, where Peanut is napping peacefully on Cazz's chest, I'm here and I'm yours. Thanks for sticking with me.

And Away We Go.

2010-05-30T02:52:00.000-07:00

May 27, 2010 at 11:05 am, Peanut made his appearance this side of the uterus. We were in a natural birth center next to the hospital and while the process of giving birth is something I wouldn't mind putting out of my mind for the time being, we have a beautiful baby boy in our little nest, and are adjusting to the new responsibilities of keeping something so tiny alive and well.

Great adventures to come.

The Waiting Game.

2010-05-17T06:01:00.000-07:00

As I round out the last day of the 39th week of pregnancy with no action as of yet, I am beginning to get nervous. Not for labor, or the birth, but because baby means forever. This is the biggest commitment of my life, and as a recovering commitment-phobe, the realization that Peanut is almost here has hit me like a ton of bricks. We have been running around to get things ready, and I have even used my new sewing machine to make stuffed birds for my bird-mobile, and a tiny comforter. I know that labor could start at any moment, but on the eve of the estimated day of arrival, I'm beginning to wonder if it will happen at all.

We have been accepted into a lovely natural birth center right next to the big hospital (attached by a corridor, actually), and I envision a problem-free birth, but if it doesn't happen naturally and labor has to be induced, I will not be able to go there and will have to move across to the chaotic maternity ward of the hospital. I am trying to think positive thoughts, and coax Peanut out, but he seems to be pretty happy right where he is. So now we just wait. Wait, and receive tons of calls asking if he's out yet. For some reason, people think I'm going to give birth and not let them know. Kind of a hard secret to keep, if you ask me. I've stopped responding to messages at this point, because otherwise I might snap.

In the meantime, I distract myself with laundry and movies and tv shows that are on my laptop, and avoid calling Cazz when he's at work for fear that he will have a panic attack every time the phone rings. What else to do while waiting for that life-changing moment when you meet the little person you've created? Fingers crossed it's sooner rather than later. What better way to confront a phobia than jumping in (or out) head first?

Fantastic Reality.

2010-04-21T05:40:00.000-07:00

Two weekends ago, Cazz and I went to Venice. I had never been there before and we decided that we needed some relaxation after all of the rushing around and stress of apartment/job/baby preparation, so we packed a bag and made our way to the watery streets of a city in the sea. The morning we left was sunny and beautiful and we managed to get up early enough to avoid the throngs of people usually gathered at the train station. We bought tickets for the regional trains which saved us a lot of money, picked up some reading material and left the routine behind for a few days so that we could unwind and take in some beauty. I had a thousand ideas of what Venice would be like, and look like. And yet I never could have imagined what that city would mean to me.

As we got off the water taxi to go to our hotel, the wind was chilly, but the sun put up a fierce battle and managed to keep us warm. We left our things in the room and decided to go find some food and see the city. Of course, Cazz had been there many times before, being from Verona, but it was a new experience for me. All of the pictures I had in my mind of how it would be were nothing compared to the reality of it, as few things do. Of course, without the soft-focus elements present in my thoughts, it was bound to be different. But it was beautiful, of course. The tiny winding pathways of stone, the bridges, the gondolas. On our way to lunch we walked through a small tunnel where a lone man sat and played the violin, taking advantage of the acoustics in semi-light. Lovely, romantic, dreamy Venice.

We ate in a small shop, a crowded shop where so many different types of crostini lined the display cases, and wine bottles made up a library on the surrounding walls. We ordered several different crostini and ate standing, savoring the flavors of fish, tomato, cheese and pumpkin toppings. Then we made our way back into the sunshine and strolled happily along the pathways. We looked at several piazzas before deciding to make our way to Piazza San Marco, one of the most famous piazzas in Venice, I had been told. We discussed taking a gondola, but decided that it would be easier to walk and we could take that ride later.

The piazza was semi-crowded. Beautiful buildings all around and live music playing from several of the surrounding cafes. We looked out on the water and delighted in the breeze, the sounds and the moment. Then we decided that a coffee in the square would be just the thing. We selected a cafe with outdoor seating, live music and a great view of the church. I almost choked looking at the menu prices, but Cazz had never had a coffee in Piazza San Marco, and we decided it was worth doing, even just once. So we placed our order, coffee for him and water for me and listened to the music. I'm not going to lie though- I was giving him a hard time about spending 6 euro on a bottle of water. I may even have been berating him a little. Then he pulled out a little present for me in a gold, shiny bag. The reflection of my bad attitude looked entirely different in the glint of the late afternoon sun coming off of that bag. I was spoiling such a nice time and he brought me a gift! How romantic. Besides, my mouth was salivating due to the candy-like contours of his gift. So I untied the bag, and took out what could only be a chocolate truffle wrapped in gold paper. After tearing off the wrapping, I froze. Time froze. Only thoughts raced on..

"What is this?" I asked, though the little blue velvet box and the glinting diamond on white gold couldn't have been more clear. "Where does this go?" I asked, tears now spilling down my face. He took the ring out and slid it onto that very significant finger and said, "Mi vuoi sposare?".

...

The reality of the moment tumbled down on me. I found my voice, my words. "Are you sure?" I asked him. It is Cazz, after all. A girl can never lose her reason. But of course I said yes. And then the fantasy was completed with a gondola ride at sunset. Venice may be sinking, but our hopes float high.

Balancing Without the Net.

2010-03-27T00:33:00.000-07:00

Our new apartment is coming together slowly but surely and the belly is really getting heavy now with two months to go. We still don't have the internet/phone line set up which is why I haven't posted (thank you Italian customer service). The weather is, however, getting much warmer and thanks to my increased blood flow I find myself shedding layers like a reptile. But I do often get seats on the bus, which is a nice bonus.

Things are going really well here, and I am pretty busy these days with all of my courses. Drawing/painting, aqua fitness for expecting mothers, lecture series for parents-to-be and courses for only the mother-to-be. When I get home and collapse on the couch for a little rest I like to use my time watching tv shows that my friend has so kindly put onto my external hard-drive, instead of cleaning and organizing. I'm pretty exhausted after all of the running around, so the apartment is still in its early stages, even though we've been here about a month. This weekend is dedicated to getting things in order while Cazz is home.

Peanut is more active than ever and getting stronger. The kicks and punches often leave me wincing and I am very entertained by looking at the belly and seeing the rolling motions of a moving baby. Yet, as entertaining as it is, I can't wait for the due date-otherwise known as the day I get to breathe freely again and stop waddling down the street. For now, I must waddle away from the computer and help Cazz make our nest more comfortable.

Homemade.

2010-03-04T05:30:00.000-08:00

Things have settled down here on the emotional front, though there is more to do than ever. We have successfully moved into our new apartment (which I LOVE) and are trying to get things organized. Cazz has been busy busy at work and therefore the unpacking, cleaning and organizing falls to me. Exhaustion overtakes us. Once again Cazz is "really happy" to be with me, and excited to have our own place. So, day by day it goes.

My schedule is filling up fast with courses to complement the gestational period, as well as a painting and drawing course that I start on Monday. In the meantime, I have plenty of other things to keep me occupied between the new place and trying to tidy up the old place (where I am currently using the internet, since we don't have it yet). The "friends"/landlords left us a lovely note when they took off without a goodbye to remind us to clean the apartment, the refrigerator and wash the blankets, sheets and pillows so that they wouldn't have to do it when one of them returns. As if we wouldn't clean up after ourselves! However, these people left food in the refrigerator (which I will not touch, because I'm not cleaning up after them as well), and even went to the trouble of locking the room that we are paying rent for. And since we are renting a room and not an entire apartment, I will not go to any great lengths to scrub and clean to the bone. I have had enough of them. We are almost through with this, except the note that the guy left saying he'll be back to collect money for the bills (though he failed to mention returning Cazz's deposit). I cannot wait to cut him out of my life like a piece of rotten something or another.

Aside from the residual stress and anger accompanying the old place, I am quite content in our new apartment and so happy that I can put it together how I want. For now we are eating off of boxes and living out of suitcases, but that can all be overlooked. The first dinner we had there was Spaghetti Al Pomodoro, and I think that's a pretty good way to go. Perhaps I found the best recipe after all. None of the spaghetti so far can compare to that first meal in a new home with the one I love, while little Peanut dances inside.

Tropical Storm.

2010-02-22T23:33:00.000-08:00

We've returned home to our boot after 10 days of beach-time and delightful food in Florianopolis, Brazil. When we arrived I was sick for the first 4 days or so and didn't do much besides crawl miserably into bed. Luckily, the temperature which had been around 40 degrees Celsius right before we arrived had dropped and most of the trip there was a nice cloud cover and even a couple of crazy storms, complete with thunder and lightning. This suited me just fine, as I was really worried about extreme heat. We still managed to spend most of our time at the beach, sipping fresh juices and coconut water and bathing in the refreshing sea. I managed to burn a little while fully doused in 40 sunscreen and sitting under an umbrella and I now resemble a reptile shedding its skin.

Most of the trip went smoothly, although Cazz had a few of his freak out moments that I hadn't seen since the beginning of the pregnancy and our past rocky relationship. I was stunned and I realized that perhaps I was too secure in his complete change of behavior. It was really depressing and although he begs me to forget it and says he will make it up to me, I am frankly left reeling. Of course, one of his freak outs happened on the 13th and following into the 14th of February, as I should have suspected because we have a way of ruining "romantic holidays" such as anniversary dinners, Valentine's day, etc. I guess the pressure is too great. Then the second freak out happens in the airport of Sao Paulo right before boarding a flight to Milan that would last about 12 hours. Great timing.

So here I am at 28 weeks, the size of an island and the characteristics of one too, left out alone in the middle of an ocean, wondering what the crashing waves will bring. He's back to being good, but now the seed is there in the back of my mind and the words that can never be taken back echo softly in my head. Maybe we were never meant to be. Then again, maybe it was just the stress and the silence that came before this storm will return. In any case, I am reminded that Life does not always happen as expected and things can change at any moment. For now I will just pay attention, wait and hope that there is a way to move forward, in some direction.

Contest!

2010-01-31T23:21:00.000-08:00

I just received and email saying that one of my blog posts has been chosen as a finalist in the Blogging from the Boot: The Best of 2009 contest! Wow, I wasn't even aware of the contest! But, it's exciting yes? So, I am going to include the details here. If you would like to vote (for any of the finalists, of course) just follow the directions. So cool!

Your post Thoughts on Love was selected as a finalist in the Blogging from the Boot: The Best of 2009 contest in the That's Amore category.

Auguri!

The contest will be open for anonymous voting from Monday, February 1-Friday, February 5, 2010 - or in other words, all this week at this site. (Will be live in the early morning hours of Monday, Feb 5). Winners will be announced on the same website on Monday, February 8.

Thanks!

POST NOTE: Thanks to everyone for reading and voting! I didn't win, but it is very gratifying to be nominated and to have so many people show an interest in my blog. My sincere thanks to all of you!!

Just the Day to Day.

2010-01-27T23:55:00.000-08:00

Last night Cazz and I headed to our first maternity class for couples. It's just a lecture series, but I was excited to get going, even though I felt like I showed up for class nude like in those crazy dreams because I was worried that the lecturer might call on me to participate and I would be struggling with the language under pressure. However, it turns out that the lecturer had some sort of emergency to deal with and wasn't able to make it. The lady that was there to help him was very apologetic saying that this has never happened before. So we packed right back up and went home.

Things are going well enough, what with the rapidly growing pancia and baby practicing to be a ballwomb dancer. He's an active little guy, which is reassuring and quite funny. When he kicks around and my belly jiggles from the inside, I can't help but laugh. At least I have something to keep me entertained while Cazz is at work all day. Between watching belly, packing our things and eating, the hours fly by and I find myself wondering if we will have time to get things organized before the arrival of our little Peanut. But at the same time, even though I now we can use these extra months, I find myself wishing it was time already. I am the type of person who gets anxious and nervous easily, but would rather just hurry up and get the scary part out of the way. I always volunteer to go first if I have some sort of public presentation. The sooner I begin, the sooner it's over. And birth just happens to be one of those nerve-wracking events that I am in a hurry to put behind me.

In other news, my package finally arrived late yesterday. It was a whole tray of meat and cheese and sweet products. I guess my mom knows what I like :). Something to enjoy, but not something that we will have to move at then end of February. It's really too bad that it costs so much to send things from there to here. I'm running low on Doritos... but actually, I have a lot of things back home that would be helpful for our new place. And speaking of, I'd love to have any input on things that I should have for a new (really first) apartment, especially with baby on the way. I'm trying to make a list of things we need to pick up. I have a few basics, but if there are any ideas...feel free to make suggestions.

Petty, Petty Princess.

2010-01-27T00:15:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I know that I'm being petty, but I need to vent. Our housemates (the owners) were irritated that we are moving and so are making us pay rent for two rooms for January. However, they have put this guest of theirs from Iraq into the other room, so basically we are paying rent for his room. To top it all off, they left him here and he seems like a lost puppy. I can't blame him, because it's his first time out of Iraq and he is a nice guy, but he doesn't buy his own food and has been eating and drinking our stuff. Now, I know I should be more generous, but it drives me crazy when someone gets into my food without asking, because A: I just lost my job due to baby and therefore can't afford to go shopping every day, and B: I hate having to go shopping because I want a bowl of cereal but someone has finished off our milk. Or juice, or bread, or fruit. I don't want to bring it up with him because it is very petty.

The real problem here is that the housemates left him here to fend for himself without either leaving food for him, or telling him how to get his own groceries. So now we're paying rent for and feeding their guest. He's here for a month, so I don't know if it's worth it to mention it to them or not. But it drives me crazy. Along with the lake of water he leaves on the bathroom floor every time he uses it. I guess it's an opportunity to practice patience. But like I said, it's not his fault. They are just very bad mannered.

For example, I have been waiting for a package to arrive from my mom. She sent two, and they each cost her $50.00 to send. One was junk food that I wanted, and the other is a surprise gift for baby. The first one arrived on Saturday. She sent them simultaneously so I was hoping to get the other one on Monday. I waited in the house as long as I could on Monday, and finally had to leave to meet my friend for lunch. As I was leaving the apartment, I noticed that the one housemate had changed the name plates on the outside doorbell and the mailbox. Without mentioning it. So I'm hoping my package didn't come and go back, because our names were no longer on the door. Now it is Wednesday, and I'm still waiting for my package to arrive. We're paying rent for two rooms, supporting their friend and they couldn't wait until we moved out to change the names? Or even gave us a heads up so I could have put a sticker on the nameplate? I am so frustrated, and so happy that I will be getting out of here soon. Just a week and a half and we're off to Brazil, and not so much longer after that and we will be free. I know the stress is bad for me and baby, but it's just one thing after another and I carry this irritation around inside of me! ARGHH!

Okay, so now I've vented and I must try to let it go. Breathing, breathing...I think I will use this time to do happier things, like pack so I can GET OUTTA HERE! Thanks for listening.

Nest Fever.

2010-01-19T04:22:00.000-08:00

I am in full-on nesting mode and I feel so inspired. Cazz and I went with some friends to I Gigli mall on Saturday, and while I was really in the mood to go to Ikea and grab some cheap pieces that I could paint and dismember, I happened upon the one thing that I really wanted. Yes, I have bought my first sewing machine. I am so excited, but I really need to find a fabric store around here. In the states, it is so easy to find craft stores, fabric stores and art stores, but I am having so much trouble here. On the off chance that I do find one of the above, it is so expensive! I had thought that here in Florence, where Renaissance is as common a word as "the" in the states, that I would have no problem finding fabrics and paints and things of the sort. I am forced to get more creative in my "hunting trips" for supplies.

I did manage to find some acrylic paints at one store, so I have been searching my belongings for things that beg to be painted. I have found an ugly orange tiny jewelry box that I promptly set to work on, and a black plastic index card file. I am really into springy and feminine colors, including floral patterns and I am obsessed with anything that features birds. Perhaps it is a reflection of my subconscious and the need to nest, and also get out of this cage of an apartment and tiny room. Only a few more weeks until we set out for Brazil to the beautiful Florianopolis, and then when we return we are almost ready to move into our new place. Thank goodness.

I ventured into packing territory in my hurry to escape this place, but then I realized that I have no space to put the packed items. The bags and suitcases started to clutter the already small space that we call a bedroom and put a stop to my efforts. I just want to organize and prepare for the move, so that I can pull my sewing machine out of the box-prison it resides in and put it to good use. If I can't find fabric soon I may start taking apart Cazz's clothes so that I can make a pillow or something. Hmm...I really need to get out.

The Whole Enchilada.

2010-01-08T09:26:00.000-08:00

Today was a fairly dreary and rainy day. I looked out of the window and immediately snuggled deeper into the blankets. I had a good book and groceries enough. I may have never gotten out of bed if it weren't for the siren call of a hot dog. Once in awhile, I start craving a hot dog and even though I know I should probably avoid that tubular mix of meat, sometimes the pull of familiar things from our childhood is stronger than all of the warnings we hear. So I dragged myself out into the rain, and down to the supermarket to fulfill my craving.

My food desires at this point have not been too terrible, and the doctor said I have gained a perfect amount of weight, so I don't feel too badly if once in awhile I need a little guilty pleasure. Sweet things have been pulling me, but also fruit and fruit juices. I was never much of a fruits and vegetables kind of gal, but now when I see those overflowing piles of tangerines, bananas and apples, my mouth starts watering and I must fight the urge to sink my teeth into a ripe pear in the middle of the store. So chocolates, fruit and hot dogs. Could be worse.

As far as our housing situation is concerned, we move at the end of February. I couldn't be more pleased. As shown before, our current living situation is less than desirable and was highlighted as such when the current owners ("friends") told us that we would have to pay for two bedrooms for January and February, even though we were using one. I was enraged, and demanded to know why, since we gave so much notice, would we be responsible for paying for two rooms. Oh, because they are too busy with their stuff that they can't find another person. Because back in October, Cazz told them that we would take the two rooms (because they were supposed to be gone by November, December, etc). We did tell them before the holidays however that we were waiting to see this other apartment and would give them a final answer around the new year. They were pissed at us. I was pissed at them, and I spent the day trying to remain calm, if not for me, than for Peanut.

In any case, ridiculousness aside, we will be moving. We are excited to set up our own place and I am excited to build my little "nest" and start the process of living like a grown-up. It's a scary thought, but change is good and I figure since things are destined to change with the arrival of a child, I might as well embrace the whole enchilada. Speaking of enchiladas, I have also been craving spicy food and Mexican food, which I was never very attracted to. Perhaps a chili dog with a side of chicken taco? Time to go hunt for dinner I guess.

By the way: I received an email from a woman who owns property in the Piemonte region, Langhe valley in the town of Barolo (fantastic wines). Read details below to enter her drawing for 3 nights at her property TorreBarolo:

Rules found here: http://www.torrebarolo.com/property.htm

Enjoy!

"Yesterday I kicked off a drawing to win 3 nights at my property TorreBarolo. In order to be entered into the drawing, the only thing someone has to do is become a Fan on the TorreBarolo Fan's page on Facebook. That is it. I will draw a name at the end of the month and post the winner on Feb 1.

I post all sorts of things on the Fan's page but always try to ensure that it is value-added or at least pretty to look at. I highlight regional food events like the Annual Alba White Truffle Fair, wine events such as the Wine Show in Turin this past October and I post recipes on regional food that are less well known outside of Piemonte. Recently I have included a photo series of typical Langhe cuisine so those people unfamiliar with the local cooking can see images of how super tasty it is. "

New Year.

2010-01-06T09:47:00.000-08:00

Life has been good in these parts. Enjoyed a lovely holiday season which included our first Christmas tree and snow! We spent Christmas in Verona with Cazz's family and had a lovely dinner for friends here in Florence for New Year's Eve. My energy level has been high as I urge to nest, and as of tomorrow we find out if we will be moving into a new apartment! This one is nice, but as it belongs to a friend of Cazz (couple actually), it has been difficult. The owner and his girlfriend take advantage of the friendship asking us to pay rent without a contract and allowing them to keep a room for their stuff. They are still here and have been in the process of finding a house to buy for months (they don't have definite plans when to leave here-just before May aka the birth of Peanut). They rent another house a little farther in the country, but spend much of their time here, moving anything I leave outside of our room back into our room as soon as I turn around. I do not feel welcome here and I feel bad for Cazz, as they always chastise him if he leaves a dish in the sink for even an hour, and comments about him taking out the trash. And he is extraordinarily clean! He cleans regularly and keep everything neat, but as they are a little bit uptight, it is never enough. I personally cannot wait to get out of "their" apartment. At almost 6 months pregnant, it is time to start building our own nest.

Peanut, meanwhile is building his own nest in my uterus (yes, it's a boy) and from the feel of it, using it as an acrobatic studio most of the time. It's a very interesting feeling to know that there is a living being causing all that ruckus in there. I started feeling movement a while ago, although for the longest time I wasn't sure if those little flutters were just gas or baby. Turns out that both options would work, for even though the movements can be attributed to my little inhabitant, I can sure clear a room. I sometimes feel bad about it, but then I think of all of the torture Cazz put me through and figure this is payback. Of course, things are smooth sailing now- he having professed his love and settled nicely into the commitment thing have helped that.

So we go about our daily routines and actually make plans and lists (I love this). Mid-January will find us in the Tuscan countryside at a spa, funded by Cazz, since he lost the gender bet. Then for two weeks in February we will be headed to Brazil (funny how things work out) to bask in the sun-drenched glory of Florianopolis. Things are looking up even if I can't eat and drink everything I would like to. I'm sure life will bring many other delights this year and am thankful to be here, now.

Beautiful Things.

2009-12-16T01:57:00.000-08:00

I am feeling very crafty and creative lately. I want to start a million products and make beautiful little handmade gifts for all the loves of my life. When I get into this mood however, I often end up doing nothing because I can't focus. I'm an idea girl and not as good at following through. But there are so many great and beautiful things that I want to make and learn. And yet I'm having a hard time of it here in Florence because there are no craft supply stores that I'm aware of, and I'm often stuck inside because of new (and delightful) symptoms such as migraines, or cramps or other wonderful and seemingly common issues in pregnancy.

In the meantime, I am on the computer browsing websites based on crafts and organizing and baking. I would like to take classes in every type of design and learning that I can find. I pine for a sewing machine, glass jars and abundant fabrics. I want to make jewelry, cakes, boxes and books. So inspired, and yet so frustrated. I guess while I figure out how to make my creative dreams come true, I will content myself to look at the beautiful things made by others.

http://www.etsy.com/shop/mamaslittlebabies

http://www.countryliving.com/homes/quick-makeover-projects-0909?link=rel&dom=msn&src=syn&con=slide&mag=clg

http://www.etsy.com/shop/oladesign

http://allthingslovely.typepad.com/all_things_lovely/

http://www.amybutlerdesign.com/products/rugs.php

A few inspirations for now...if only I were so talented....Sigh...love...

California Dreamin'.

2009-12-13T07:29:00.000-08:00

Our whirlwind trip to California was a success. The entire family met Cazz, and LOVED him. I stuffed myself with Thanksgiving turkey, ham and other goodies, while casually demanding other American delicacies, such as the breakfast sandwich (which C.R. dubs "hunky muffins"), and bbq tri-tip. During my tyrant reign over all things culinary, Cazz delighted himself in being a real Italian cowboy and going for a ride on one of my mom's horses. He also played guitar by the fire-pit and giggled like a schoolchild upon receiving a CD of one of his favorite country singers. This was the portion of the trip titled "Mer-Cuh".

Arriving back in Santa Cruz, we promptly discovered that it was actually summer. Hot sun, beautiful beach and blue-blue sky. We didn't have much time to bask in the glory however, because we had to rush around and see about a million people in a couple of days. That is the problem with having so many wonderful friends that don't live next door...time. But we did what we could, including a big group dinner at C.R.'s that actually made me miss my Golden State.

When our plane finally landed in Florence- two travelers plus one guitar and a suitcase full of good wishes and happy memories, we collapsed into bed exhausted and yet satisfied. Cazz went to work in the morning, and I awoke in the late-afternoon wondering if it had all been a dream. The soreness of my throat and stuffiness in my sinuses however, were proof of the trip, and an excellent reminder of the wonderful man coughing and sneezing all over me from behind, on the plane.

Last Train Home.

2009-11-02T06:55:00.000-08:00

I feel as if I'm moving around in a dream. Friday was rather eventful as we rushed out the door of the apartment to make a last-minute doctor's appointment before heading off to Verona. This special machine at the doc's office showed us little Peanut kicking around and hiccuping in its little fluid-sac. The lady doing the ultrasound kept rapidly pushing in to try to get Peanut to move. That made me laugh because it was a funny idea, and she was tickling me. After the doc gave me my odds of having a genetically normal child (good) we left and headed straight to the train station to catch the last train to Verona, the land of Cazz's childhood.

Italians love the idea of babies. Ever since I gave the news, I have been met with nothing but excitement and tears of joy from the Italians all around me. And in Cazz's hometown, among the relatives and friends, I have become a minor celebrity. All of a sudden everyone wants to meet me, the girl carrying the next generation of Cazzatori. Of course the fact that nobody gave a hoot when I was going out with Cazz for so long before is a little disheartening, but I have to assume that most of the family at least, didn't know about me due to Cazz's ability to appear uncommitted even while dating someone exclusively. If I don't keep that in mind I just end up feeling like fancy packaging for a gift- packaging that will be torn apart and tossed in the bin once the big day arrives. At least everyone seemed to approve of me, so maybe I'll be recycled and reused.

Other than the excitement (stress) of finally meeting all of the relatives and attempting to carry on a conversation in Italian while trying to decipher their cunning dialect, I enjoyed the beauty of the area. The center was especially lovely, the low foot traffic in direct contrast to Florence's bustling streets. It was so clean and organized with the standard beautiful fountains and historical gems that overflow in Italy. There were plenty of tree-lined streets which I love and the colors were changing for Fall. It was like a post-card.

The outside of the center reminded me a lot of a standard Central-Californian city. Farmland, industrial buildings and highway, and a lot of concrete. Needless to say, it was nothing like I imagined, but I spent a lovely few days hanging out with Cazz and Co. We arrived back in Florence around 8:00pm and waited for a half hour to forty five minutes for a bus. We shoved in and a short time later found ourselves back in the comfort of a warm apartment, with congratulatory egg sandwiches in hand. Next step: California so Cazz can meet my relatives and friends. Hope it goes as well.

Food for Thought.

2009-10-20T02:43:00.000-07:00

I got home from work last night to a softly lit room and a snuggly Cazz. After only a few mild pleadings, he went to the kitchen and made me a turkey sandwich and poured a glass of juice. Served with a little kiss, it was the perfect midnight snack (though it was closer to 1am). This is one of the few meals that I have been craving lately. For some strange reason, American-style food sounds really good and I find myself wanting some of those home-cooked meals that only the family can do. BBQ ribs, mashed potatoes, BLT's, pies, sandwiches, french toast. The list goes on...

In the meantime, there is a decent substitute for some of these treasures. When C.R. was here recently, we discovered an American Brunch Diner with real bacon! Canadian bacon! French toast! English muffins! All forms of delightful breakfast and several lunch options as well. All served in the "that's too much food for a human body" portion, though with Italian service (read: waiting half an hour and jumping up and down in front of the waitress to get a juice refill). It was however, worth the wait and the calories to douse my taste buds in the sweet syrupy goodness of the French toast and side of bacon. Unfortunately, I was unable to do too much damage due to my easily affected nausea-reflex. I am hoping this unfortunate side effect of housing little Peanut will fade quickly.

My diet mostly consists of bland foods. Fruits like apples, bananas and grapes. White meats. Sandwiches (I've consumed at least six turkey sandwiches in a week) and soup and lots of crackers. There is not a whole lot that I am able to eat currently, but I am hopeful that when Cazz and I travel to California for Thanksgiving, I will be able to do a fair amount of damage to the List of Food Demands that I have yet to submit to the Fam. Currently my dreams are bathed in a mashed potato-gravy glow, and I hope that dreams really do come true.

I miss some things already however, and wine, prosciutto and bistecca fiorentina top the list right off. I do not like being restricted in what I can consume, especially when nobody could utter a peep that I had just demolished an entire bistecca between breaths. But alas, my glory days must be put on pause while I try to do more good than harm to my body. At least I can look forward to May, when I will be asking Cazz for a midnight prosciutto and mozzarella panino. In the meantime, I will content myself with visions of sugarplums (and cherry pie) dancing in my head.

All Worked Up.

2009-10-17T02:40:00.000-07:00

The sun is streaming through the window, deceptively masking the frigid air outside. Overnight (mind you this was a few nights ago) the temperature dropped and went from warm to freezing. Maybe not freezing in the conventional sense, but as I do not do too well with the cold, it is like I am living on an iceberg. My hands and feet have already started to lose feeling, and I imagine this will last right up until summer starts again. And since I have moved in with Cazz, I have farther to travel for work, which makes me want to curl up in the blankets with hot chocolate and just forget the whole thing.

Of course, the treatment of my "situation" at work was not admirable, and that also makes me want to forget the whole thing. They (the managers/owners/accountant) told me not to worry, that I didn't need to stress over the job (since my contract expires in January), and that there wouldn't be any problem with work. The next day, however, they informed me that they would not be renewing my contract and made sure to tell me that they were not legally obligated to do so. They also mentioned that they hadn't "planned on renewing it anyway", although it leaves one to wonder about the timing of it all. If they hadn't planned on renewing it, why did they need to tell me the day after I broke the news? It is actually more customary to wait until closer to the renewal date to make that decision. Of course they did say that they would be willing to hire me back afterwards (read: when I didn't need any financial support). And then they said that if I needed 'help' with anything that I "shouldn't hesitate to ask". Um, how about a job?

The thing that really burns me about this whole situation is that it would be the government that paid me the percentage of my contracted salary (which is contracted only 20 hours a week). The company (and I mean family that owns these hostels) led me to believe I could trust them and then screwed me the minute I turned my back, because of money they wouldn't even have to pay. But since they want me back after "the problem" is sorted out, I guess they do value me right? Ha.

These things make it very difficult for me to bear the icy air to wait for buses to and from work. However, I still do like the job, and I love my coworkers. And the mandatory departure from the house guarantees that I won't be a shut-in, since my energy and nausea levels work against any inclination to go out and get some fresh air. So I put on layers of sweaters and coats and scarves, board the bus and head down to work to smile and nod at the same people who kicked me while I was down, and wait to see how it all pans out.

Cazz Outta the Bag.

2009-10-14T03:41:00.000-07:00

Since Rome there have been a lot of ups and downs in my life. I have spent a lot of time thinking about what I'm doing and how I want to live, and things I can change in my life. I was starting to think about making different plans. And then the universe intervened and made some plans for me. After a few days of crying and feeling crappy, I finally started to feel okay about the new direction that my life has decided to take me. I'm afraid and maybe just a little excited. Because when life gives you what may look like lemons, sometimes you need to look a little further and see that it is just one more ingredient to make something sweet.

And so now there are three. Cazz, myself and the tiny little Italian-American growing in my belly that will hopefully be the best of us. So now we all live together, the doctor having told me that I could absolutely not stay in my moldy, humid, sans-heat apartment with smokers any longer, and Cazz persisting that I move in with him. He has turned an almost complete 180, since I tearfully gave the news. I met his mom the very same day (as she happened to be in town visiting), and he arrived with my favorite flower (phalaenopsis orchid) and a huge grin. He has been very supportive almost 100 percent of the time, and has made huge efforts to be a good partner in this. His mom was very kind, and smart, saying that of course it was my decision to make the choice that left me most serene and he should wait for that before dancing off and announcing it to the world.

I had to look deep in my heart and find out if I truly believe what I always say, that everything happens for a reason, though we may not see it right away. And I found that I have enough faith in that, and in myself that I can take what I am given and make the best of it. It was not my plan, or our plan (and I fully believe in a woman's right to choose), but for me, at this point in my life, it seems like it will be okay. It happened against all odds, and at the very moment that I might have walked away from everything. The timing was so particular that I have to believe that the universe was conspiring. Cazz's dad passed away recently and he told me that his mom had said: "Death brings Life". And I guess Life brings...lemonade.

Eternal City, Temporary Love.

2009-09-18T00:33:00.001-07:00

I went to Rome for the weekend a few weeks ago, but I didn’t go alone. I went with Cazz. We have big problems trying to keep apart. The magnetism that pulls us together won’t let up for very long. I won’t pretend any longer that things are different this time. They aren’t. They are always and forever the same- back and forth until one of us falls. And though I feel that I am in a new frame of mind, the overall picture is very much as it always is.

So we went to the Eternal City to look at the past, to look toward the future and to interpret the present. And I was of a mind that this outing would very possibly be, our last. We traveled around the city, awestruck by the beauty, immersed in the ruins. We touched and were touched. The hot sun was fearless and unrepentant. We sweated rivers and oceans and hardly noticed at all. Something new. At least if we were the same, we could bask in the joy of the one tiny difference. Sometimes and for some people, when a problem seems unsolvable, it is wise to change environments and get some perspective brought on by a different atmosphere.

There was some stress on the trip, as my stomach would not settle for the life of me. But in the midst of that, we found some peace. The greatness of the city made us humble. I realized how small we are, and how temporary this life. How fear and war can get us from one century to the next, but how much more lasting is hope and love. With these thoughts swirling around my head, we found a bit of grass in a park overlooking the city and took a nap, while the sun made its way towards the other side of the world.

I won’t say that we were different after, or spectacularly changed. I don’t pretend that a weekend can resolve the deep issues that we continue to trudge through. And I can’t even say that I know what to do next. But since I don’t know what to do, I’m not going to do anything for the moment. I’m going to stop, reflect and let the waves that ebb and flow in the ocean of my life, continue to ebb and flow, while the sun continues to fearlessly cast shadows on an Eternal City somewhere in the middle of a boot.

Pull Me Under.

2009-08-01T00:18:00.000-07:00

I spent one of the most painful nights in my life staring up at the face of the Santa Croce church while tears poured down my face and I tried to understand why Cazz didn't love me. Things have been ended again, only there is that ring of finality this time that cuts through every sinew of my heart right into my soul and creates such an unpleasant emptiness that I don't know what to do with myself. I need something, anything, to hold onto that will keep my head above water. I want to close my eyes and forget everything, but memories the magnitude of my previous happiness are impossible to quell. They overshadow every waking thought, and some non-waking thoughts as well. They choke out every ability I have to hold my head up and keep moving forward. I am completely lost and the pain rolls over me in waves.

I lost my love and my best friend. I lost every thought of future happiness. I should try to pick up the pieces and hold myself together, but there are some missing. I don't know that I will ever be able to love again because I lost something so essential that it seems impossible. I don't know that I want to love again. I don't know if I believe in it. But there is one thing I have to believe in and hold on to: myself. I believe in myself and this time I chose me. I stood up for myself, confessed my love and allowed him to let me go. And now I'm all I have to hold on to. So I hold tightly, rocking back and forth and telling myself that I will be okay someday. I'm broken and maybe I will always be broken, but I am here and I will have to hold my own hand through this when there is nothing else to hold.

Thoughts on Love.

2009-07-30T04:47:00.000-07:00

A small lifetime has happened in the span of this month. I celebrated my 26th birthday among friends, meeting new people and basking in the glory of sushi and books during the day. I have been immersed in contented happiness and occasional fearful sadness. The passage of time, the inability to change the course of nature. Longing to express myself, and fear of where that will take me. Work, work and more work, punctuated with moments of laughter, and tears. And watching my usual faith that things will work out battle with the fear that it's all random.

I woke up in an intense and difficult mood today. My good friend is here visiting and last night, after work, we went out to my favorite karaoke place to spend time with friends and belt out to the chorus lines of our favorite songs. I tried to get out of the pensive and brooding mindset that I was in. The funk. I laughed and sang along, and my friend, who is very intuitive, looked at me with worried eyes and asked why I was staring off into space. But he knew. Because it was the subject that dominated our conversation for most of the evening. Love, and the lack thereof.

Life is fleeting. It is beautiful and painful and it cannot be controlled. We are as light as leaves, thrown about in Life's winds. We are taken to the edges of earth and back, to the edges of ourselves and farther. And the only thing, the most eloquent of all, is Love. We would be barbarians to deny it, fools to try to control it. And yet we seek to reign it in, to capture it, to evade it and destroy it. We become barbarians in it. It overwhelms us and we no longer recognize ourselves, a mere whisper of the shadows that we used to recognize. We love and love and love until we are sucked dry and sobbing and smiling and remembering. It's all love, every moment of it. It is impossible. Impossible and as necessary as air. And I want it. I want to devour it like candy, because it's all that's left when all else is gone. And when it's gone, it feels like nothing else is left.

If not now, when?

Dashed Hopes.

2009-07-11T09:07:00.000-07:00

I have been looking for an apartment to share with C.R. My current landlady may want us all out by the end of the summer, and if she doesn’t, I can’t decide if it’s wise to try and survive another winter in the freezing apartment without enough hot water to go around. I have been thinking a lot lately about moving out of the center of Florence where the tourists are like locusts and the heat rises straight up and traps any molecule of cool air in its death grip. I long for the calmer neighborhoods of Italians, where there are piazzas lined in trees and cool breezes that tickle the singing birds. I need a little peace.

So we have been searching for something in our preferred area and daydreaming of the possibilities. Early this week, I found a perfect apartment: two bedrooms, kitchen, balcony, in our price range and just where I want to be. I asked Cazz to call, because I feared that I may not understand all of the vocabulary over the phone. He called to ask if we could go see it and explained that C.R. and I were interested, and that I was working here and had all of my documents. I listened eagerly, already planning move-in dinners and mentally setting up furniture. When he hung up the phone, without a date being mentioned, I sensed something was wrong. The woman at the agency, had apparently made a range of excuses, finally ending with “Please don’t insist”, indicating that the apartment would not be available to stranieri foreigners. We could not even go to see it.

I was hurt, and Cazz, bless his Italian heart, was incensed. He went into a soliloquy of the problems with Italy and searched for a number to send an angry message to the agency. Thwarted by the lack of decent contact information, he eventually gave up. All of my mentally taped-up pictures came fluttering down, and I am resigned to the continual search for decent housing. I can’t decide if I should stay where I am for the time being, save a little money and try to bear the cold, angry winter, or if I should keep looking. My spirit is a little dampened by this turn of events. However, I know there are reasons that things happen, so I will take this as a blessing in disguise. Working with an agency in Italy is a tricky thing. They have huge and sometimes unreasonable fees, ranging from an entire months rent up front (not to mention the actual rent, deposit, etc.), to fees every month on top of rent, that you pay directly to them. After all is said and done, the rent is a decent amount more than the price quoted when you did the search. So maybe a private listing will be more fruitful.

In any case, for the time being, my apartment is comfortable. I have two friends in town from the states this week, and they are astounded by the size, location and price of it. It truly is a little gem, and is mostly marred by the inattention of the owner, who likes to make unreasonable demands, and doesn’t want to pay to have anything fixed. This, alongside the lack of hot water, fear of the impending cold, and the fact that my evil neighbor likes to throw my bike around our shared space on the ground floor make moving out seem refreshing. But it takes time and patience to construct this life, and if that’s the price I have to pay to live in this country, I’ll pay it twice over.

Across the Border.

2009-07-11T09:04:00.000-07:00

I had last weekend free from work and decided to get out of town for a while instead of combating the hot Florentine sun. After several hours of researching online and determining how much money I could spend for the trip, I decided to give my friend a visit in Switzerland. It was the 4th of July, and since that means little to Italians, I thought it would be perfect to celebrate in the company of other expats in Europe. So I finished work around midnight and hopped on the 2am train to Lugano.

This particular voyage has convinced me that travel by night on the train is a terrible idea. I had to catch the bus from Piazza San Marco in Florence to the Campo Di Marte train station, instead of the main station. As I was standing at the bus stop alone with my backpack on and waiting for the bus, two sneaky-looking guys showed up. One went on his way and the other came to look at the bus schedule, but was standing very close to me. I kept half-turning to keep my eyes on him, and him away from my backpack. When my bus arrived, I moved toward the street, and so did he. We both boarded and I sat with my bag in my lap. At one point I got up to ask the bus driver to let me know when we got to the Campo Di Marte stop.

As we neared the station, the bus driver alerted me to the fact and I moved up towards the front to hear what he was saying. When I turned around, the sneaky looking man was very close to my bag, as if he had sprinted the length of the bus the minute my back was to him. Perhaps this wouldn’t have been as strange, since we were nearing the last stop, if it wasn’t for the fact that the exit of the bus is in the middle and there was no reason for him to follow me to the front. When the bus stopped (and I continued to keep my eye on Sneaky) I exited the front, and he followed me. He stayed behind me and I walked with one eye on him the whole time, zigzagging a little so that he couldn’t be directly behind me. As I walked in the station, I took the exit for the binario indicated, and he kept walking straight ahead the other way. I thought I might have been going crazy, until I looked down from the top of the binario to the underground passage and saw him turn around and go back the other way toward the exit. He caught my eye and I watched him leave.

Waiting at the stop for my train, I kept a constant pacing movement, and when I stopped, I did so only with my backpack against a wall or something solid. The train was 15 minutes late and finally I boarded, and found my seat next to the window. I set my alarm to go off a few minutes before we arrived at the Bologna station so that I could switch trains. From the Bologna station, I boarded another train and located my indicated seat that was occupied by a sleeping man. Irritated, I took the seat across from him. Then another man came and sat next to me. He had white hair and gentle eyes. A few minutes later a big ox of a man came in and grunted to the gentle man that he was in his seat. The gentle man pointed to me and said I was in his seat. I pointed across at the sleeping man and said he was in my seat. So Ox sat across from Gentle Man in the center.

Eventually, Gentle Man got off of the train and the disgusting man next to him took the opportunity to lie down in the two seats, head in my direction and drift into a deep sleep, to the accompaniment of his own chainsaw-like snoring. Ox man decided to stretch his feet out, and placed the left foot on the seat across from him, and his right foot on my seat and began to burrow his grubby toes under my thigh. No matter how far I shifted, his toes were burrowing, and flexing and un-flexing. I was smashed into the corner, a crick in my neck and irritation spreading like flames. Eventually I had to put my foot down (or more literally, my hand) and block his burrowing process. I know that sociologically, men take up more space to establish dominance, but on a night train in a cramped compartment I had enough. After a few minutes of contact with Ox man’s wormy little toes, he moved. Then, sleeping man got out of my seat, which I made a point to occupy and I drifted to sleep for about a half-hour before needing to change trains again in Milan.

The Milan train station was huge, and beautiful. Especially compared to the dimly lit stations where I had been waiting during the night. I got on my train, finally, to Lugano around 7:30 in the morning, and woke up as we were making our way across the Swiss border, along an enormous and sparkling lake. The tracks are right next to the water, so it felt as if we were sailing across the deep blue waters. The sky was clear and blue and I noted the spotlessness of the city, as it expelled the deep, contented breaths of Good Organization. The Lugano train station was equally beautiful, and the town, situated on the lake in the midst of towering mountains, was a sight to be seen.

My friend met me at the station and we spent the morning walking around the inclined streets. We bought a sandwich and sat by the lake, catching up and breathing cool air. It was the 4th of July, and there was a plan in action to meet up with some other American students a little farther out of town for a bbq and a swim in the lake. The day progressed nicely, with my relief at being out of the sweltering humidity that Florence takes on in the summer. I met a lot of nice people, and a couple that were a little more difficult. I was trying to be very nice to everybody, but especially the ladies, since there were men present and there was no way of telling what ties there might be between them all. I wasn’t looking to spark any jealousy or animosity, but sometimes it doesn’t matter how good your intentions. The ingrained nature of many American women to compete with and alienate other women often overshadows all else. Regardless of the few glances and looks I caught from the two who reflected these behaviors, I had a lovely time. Everybody else was very kind and funny and peppered with debauchery. It suited my personality perfectly.

The weekend was a delight and the good weather was only interrupted by a serious rain/thunder/lightning/hail storm that lasted several hours and cleared the next day. I caught the train back to Florence, irritated once more to find someone occupying my seat (though when she got off in Milan I managed to get it back), and settled myself in for the long ride home. Switzerland was beautiful and clean, even in the city so close to the Italian border, but I’ll take my chaotic and bustling boot country any day.

Beach Day

2009-06-21T10:36:00.000-07:00

The heat through the night is uncomfortable, but still bearable as of yet. The steady hum of the oscillating fan entice me into a deep slumber, where I dream heavily until the heat of the day draws my eyes open once again. It is a day for the beach, and I am scheduled to meet one of my new friends, Irene, at the train station at 9:30.

I dress quickly, though I am careful to cover myself thoroughly with sunscreen before I go. A hurried breakfast and I am out of the house, onto my bike and headed towards Santa Maria Novella station. I arrive fifteen minutes early, and after locking my bike to a stair rail I slowly head to our meeting place in front of the Farmacia. I don’t wait for too long before I see my Spanish friend stride up in a miniskirt, flip-flops and shirt that matches what I can see of her bikini.

We quickly buy our tickets and get on the train headed to Viareggio. I suggested this town not only because it’s one of the closest beach spots you can go without a car, but also because it’s the only one I’ve been to here that I remember how to get to. As the train begins to chug forward and we look forward to a beautiful day on the sand and in the water, the clouds start to roll in. And they keep rolling.

An hour and a half later as we descend from the train to buy our bus tickets, the clouds have not let up and we’re looking at a particularly gloomy day, with a good chance of rain. But we trudge on, whining a little, but still with some hope. Secretly though, I am pleased with the weather. There are few people on the beach and the refreshing wind is just what I want. I am a little disturbed by the raindrops that begin to hit us as we lay out our towels, mostly because I hope my new friend will not want to head back so soon. But I think to myself that I would really enjoy a swim in the rain, and if I were alone, I could stay in it for hours. However, it never comes to that, as the clouds and drops come and go for a couple of hours, but because we have hung in there, the sun finally sees its way through the grey, and it is fiercely asserting its presence.

A couple of dips in the blissfully cool water and a couple of peaceful hours sprawled out on the beach, soaking in the wonderful late-afternoon sun rays, and we are prepared to head back. We say goodbye to the beach, the calm blue sea and our day off and head back to the train station. We arrive back in Florence a little before 8pm, and the sun is still out. Glorious summer days are meant to be spent in the company of friends, and I think this one has been done justice.

Connections

2009-06-15T00:14:00.000-07:00

The heat of the Florentine summer is quickly settling around us. The nights no longer require jackets and the occasional cool breeze is a welcome gift. The town is bustling with activity as the streets are overwhelmed by tourists and biking becomes more difficult. It seems that Spring lasted a couple of days, and was powerfully overtaken by persistant Summer.

I can't believe that I've been here for a year already. Today, one year ago, I went out with a man that I call Cazz. Everything was exciting and fresh and new. Today, the perspectives have shifted monumentally. I have been on the roller-coaster of human relationships and while it has been, at times, painful, I would do it again. At this point in my Italian life, my relationship with Cazz is good. There is mutual appreciation and respect. We can't seem to keep out of each others' lives. We are a perfect match, and are really happy, as long as we don't stop to think about where we're going. Why, oh why, is it such a human condition to try to get assurances? If we are happy now, why do we always have to try to make guarantees on the future? We question and prod so that our happiness is tainted by uncertainty. But life is never certain. Even if we promised that we would be together always, only time would tell. Things and people change. And happiness is fleeting. As is sadness.

One of the most beautiful things in the world, and perhaps THE most beautiful thing is connections with people. Lovers, friends, partners in crime-that tiny spark of connection that brings us all together. Feeble twines of being that stretch out, weblike, and cover the networks of our lives. Twines that grow stronger if you give them the attention they deserve. Twines that twist and turn and make up the fabrics of our lives. Traveling gives us a chance to stretch these wonderful little webs across the world. It allows us to find the differences among us, and more importantly, the similarities. We can compare our webs, and while no two will ever match, we can see the individual strings that are made from the same materials. A woman is a woman is a woman on every continent in every community. Endlessly different. Amazingly the same.

Love and life are the subjects that every human on earth has pondered, worshipped, abhorred and become completely immersed in. And yet they are so fleeting. Perhaps because they are so fleeting. So I wonder how necessary it is to question them, when we could just enjoy them while we have them, and mourn them when they are gone. What good do assurances do? What promises can change the nature of that which is temporary? Perhaps the only questions that need to be asked are: does the good outweigh the bad? And if it doesn't, how can we get there?

I'm pursuing the life of dreams. So far, the good is the overpowering force. Even while there are moments of despair and longing- the goodness of this life, even with the ever-changing Cazz, is not something to be taken lightly. After all, we never know how long we are given and the end always, always comes too soon, so is it so bad to cherish with all our might the moments of ecstasy and try not to hold on too hard to the ideas of how we feel it should be? Should is an imaginary word. There is only IS, and it's too fleeting already.

We weave a web of dreams

Strung across a world of light,

Yet far too short, it seems

Though we hold with all our might.

We should be getting on-

Now the light is fading fast,

We've lingered much too long,

And the dreams, they never last.

But one deep breath we take-

And steady the shaking hand,

For life is what we make

From the view where we stand.

-15 Giugno 2009.

Prologue.

2009-05-30T04:11:00.001-07:00

There have been so many moments in the past few weeks in which I have desired nothing more than to sit down and write. The craziness of life has, however, prevented me from doing just that. My friends are in town and between them and work, I have been running nonstop, pausing only at my house long enough to light my mosquito-repelling candles and fall into an exhausted sleep. My physical and emotional states were deteriorating rapidly, leaving me significantly smaller, and a cause for concern among my housemates and co-workers. The loss of a few kilos of happiness and trust left me a fragment of my previous self. I was not well. But I am getting better.

Several moments, tears, thoughts. Several revelations. Something has shifted significantly inside of me. And I can't be sure that it won't get harder first, but it feels a little more secure. No longer able to bounce back and forth between emotions, my body has decided for me. As I began to slowly disappear, I realized that I just can't live this way anymore. And so time begins to do what it does best- erase the memories and the pain, and begin a new chapter.

Home is where...

2009-05-11T19:12:00.000-07:00

The sun has been shining brightly and without apology. Even though it seemed so contrary to my mood as of late, it demanded my attention and showed no remorse. It reminded me that life goes on, whether I smile or cry, so I might as well enjoy it. And the time with friends has given me hope with a pinch of laughter on the side.

I went running this morning with my good friend Jess before going to the Italian consulate. It was a beautiful day, though the wind was fierce. We circled the lake a few times before heading back, feeling the pain that is earned after too much time in between workouts. It was hard to imagine that anybody could be sad surrounded by sunlight and friends. Then again, it doesn't seem real here. It is easy to forget the world in this atmosphere.

Jess took me to the consulate about an hour before it opened, as I like to get in line first. I was so nervous that my stomach was clenched for a good thirty minutes before I noticed the pain. Though I had meticulously organized all of my documents about 20 times before arriving, I let the pressure get to me. I always get nervous when my entire way of life is hanging by the decision of one stranger.

Around 12:45, 15 minutes before the consulate was scheduled to open, the gentleman who always works the window opened the door asking if we were ready, because he was. I like this man. I have exchanged many an email with him, and seen him in the consulate several times before. Today I put on my most charming smile and gathered my wits to begin the process of applying for a visa, in italian. I think he really appreciates my communicating with him in his language, and is very kind to me.

He asked me why I was here, and was perplexed that the Questura would not let me extend my permesso di soggiorno from Florence. He stated that the law says that I can extend it from there if I am continuing in the same program. I sighed and told him that I didn't know, but for months I had been trying to do just that, all to no avail. I asked him how long it would take, and just as he was about to tell me to return next Monday, in a week, I asked if Thursday was at all possible and he changed the date. Just like that, the kindness of a stranger and I will pick up my visa just 4 days after I turned in my documents. And then I head straight to the airport to fly back home.

Home is an interesting concept. I don't know when it changes. I don't know when the place that feels the most like home in the world shifts. I do know that I feel strange back here. It's like looking at the world through the bottom of a glass. Everything is blurred and dreamlike. I don't feel like I'm here at all. I watch myself from the outside like I'm watching a movie, and maintain a politely curious expression as if this isn't my life at all. Only when I prepare the journey back to my foreign land am I able to rub the fog from my eyes and feel alive again. I have cut the cord to this American life. It will never be the same for me. My home is where I left my heart. Bruised though it may be, I can hear the soft thump-thump that calls me back. Peace, my little heart. I will be home soon.

After All This Time.

2009-05-09T09:06:00.000-07:00

I am back in California. After weeks and weeks of running around and jumping through hoops and miles of red tape in Italy, I have returned to get another visa. It couldn't be done from there and so I have taken time off of my new job during busy season, bought a plane ticket that cost my monthly salary and landed in sunny SFO yesterday afternoon. I really, really didn't want to have to do this, but maybe it is a blessing in disguise since I need to take time to recover from my broken heart.

After getting back together and breaking apart a few times, Cazz and I have called it quits. We are clearly in different places in relationship to one another and the loss of my best friend feels like a severed hand. I am mostly still in shock. I allowed myself one day to sob uncontrollably and break down. And then I promised that I would move on. So that is what I am trying to do here in the States: distract myself for long enough that I don't notice the stinging sensation from where pieces of my heart have torn away.

I will be happy again. I vow to myself that I will do whatever is necessary to find the happiness that life has to offer. Although I feel like a ghost of my former self, I know that someday I will notice that my translucent skin will become more solid again and that I will be able to look back and be grateful for the great times we had together and the lesson I received. I will be grateful that for once I put myself out there, not holding anything back, and although it didn't work the way I hoped, that I loved fearlessly for awhile. I don't know if I will be able to do that again for a long, long time, but I hope someday I can. Until then I am taking a sabbatical from men. I need to focus on me right now, and reclaiming parts of me that will allow me to fully live.

On Monday I will find out how long I stay in California. I am happy to be with my friends and glad that I could take a little break from the country that reminds me of him, but am also anxious to get back and resume the life that I have carefully constructed. This place is not my home any longer and I can't settle the intense longing to go back where I belong. Soon enough. Soon enough.

Spicy Awakenings.

2009-04-16T14:05:00.000-07:00

Red sauce spatters from the pan to form a polka-dotted coat over the stove. I am trying to make a flavorful blanket for my gnocchi (store-bought). I venture into new territory as I try to teach myself how to cook. I cannot be in Italy, surrounded by the most marvelous ingredients, fresh and mouth-watering, and not be able to make them into something that reflects my relationship with my boot. I cannot go one more day without creating a masterpiece in the kitchen.

I slice a whole peperoncino open and sprinkle the colorful seeds over my tomato sauce and olive oil base. I rinse my hands, but in my excitement do not use the soap. I pour a little wine into the pan and some water, and then mix a bouillon cube in. Salt, pepper, more water. It’s bubbling like my own little cauldron of inexperience. And then I touch the skin above my upper lip near my nostril to momentarily quell a little itch.

As the pain builds from the heat of the chili seeds, I try to splash water on my face and the assaulted area in particular. It is not working. I am breathing chili through one side of my nose. It feels bad, but there is nothing I can do. I bear the pain, and decide that it is an entrance into a new culinary land. The price that must be paid by all who learn to cook. And besides, it will make for a very funny story later.

I am a novice in the kitchen, which is probably obvious by now. But I have been inspired. I have been reading travel books, with a cooking edge. And these chef/travel writers are traveling through Italy for at least some part of their journey. I devour the descriptions of their menus and they cast a spell over me. I’m determined to not only cook, but to learn about wine as well. What better place to do it than here?

Cazz has offered to help me in my endeavor, and since he is a great cook I have happily accepted. I reap the benefits of the arrangement, as I learn a bit here and there, and then I eat and drink with one of my favorite people. There was a night in particular that I still think of and drool. Cazz prepared 2 kilos of big beautiful cozze (mussels) in a spicy tomato broth. Then came a spiral pasta with salmon in a cream sauce. Paired with a lovely white wine, I was in heaven. An unforgettable meal that has bewitched me permanently, I only strive to create such a perfect meal. In the meantime, I pick up ideas here and there and often lose myself in a parade of antipasti dancing in my head.

This is Life.

2009-04-07T13:08:00.000-07:00

I wrote this at work the other day and have just gotten around to posting. I think it's good to think about the beautiful things in life, especially in the wake of tragedy. My heart and soul goes out to all of those affected by the Earthquake in Abruzzo.

Notizie dallo stivale!

These days have been a mix of marvel and unease. The unease comes from the continuous question as to how I will manage to stay here. And the marvel comes from everything else. My routine is something that comforts me and excites me. Every little thing becomes spectacular; the ordinary things more than the changes. Buying a bus ticket and catching the bus. Grocery shopping for the freshest of foods and imagining a menu. Picking up a word here, a phrase there. Watching out of the store window as my work-neighbors go about their own daily routines. Becoming part of the landscape instead of just passing through it.

It’s true that the shopkeepers and barmen become more friendly after a customer has established a presence, a loyalty. I have little conversations here and there with Italians that work in my neighborhood, or the places I frequent. “Ciao! Come va? Dove sei stata?” Hi! How’s it going? Where have you been? I tell them that I went to the States for two weeks, that now I’m back and I have a job. They are excited for me, as it has been a shared burden, a familiar story that jobs are hard to come by. We chat, little words and phrases that have become familiar, filling the gaps in the bustling world.

I ride my bike everywhere I can, which grows into a wider arena as I become more familiar with the way the streets work, and I accept how close I often am to complete disaster. When I don’t take my bici, I am on foot, or navigating buses. I am often in very close contact with many strangers, all pushing and wedging their way through to their destination. I have offered my bus seat to many a Signora and have accidentally fallen into just as many, when the buses screech to a halt and then take off, as if chased by their own demons.

When I work, I spend many long hours in the company of my thoughts. The season begins slowly, and many days I encounter no more than 3 customers in over 9 hours. I bring an arsenal of books, magazines, crosswords and my journal, all stuffed into a bulging backpack. I often bring my lunch, sometimes fitting it into my bag, other times settling for an extra bag carried in the basket of my bike. If I don’t bring lunch, I wander over to the little paninoteca or gelateria/caffe’ located a short space from my building. I get sandwiches on good, crusty bread with prosciutto crudo or porchetta and a crumbling cheese. I snack on sundried tomatoes (pomodori secchi) and bread, the thick oil dripping down my chin and into puddles at my feet. It can’t be helped. Nor would I want it to be. Sometimes I will make the short jaunt across the street for a coffee and a little pastry filled with chocolate, or a gelato, ice cold and haunting.

When not consumed by thoughts of these treasures that lay so close to me, I read books or write. I sit and watch the world go by, captivated by how extraordinary the day to day can be. The sun, when out, hits the wall across from my doorway and yo-yos up and down it throughout the day, tempting me to wander a little further from the entrance of my little cave. Tour groups pass by constantly and I am so happy that I can be here, that I know the shopkeepers’ names and they mine. That I am not just passing through, but living an ordinary existence in a not so ordinary place.

The other night I drank wine with my housemates and we regaled each other with stories of ex-boyfriends and talked frankly about sex and our lives. A conversation held in a language other than my native tongue, but nonetheless shared by all women. We are not so different after all. We laughed at our apartment which is literally falling apart. An earthquake-like crash and some of the kitchen cabinets were on the floor, having pulled themselves out of the wall in a bid for freedom. The mold never ceases, never surrenders and I have become accustomed to the black, fuzzy squatter in our midst. A small price to pay. We spend time together, talking, drinking and laughing in the kitchen which is the worst room of all. But we spend most of our time together in that space. We all cook at the same time in the evenings and talk about our days. It seems that a kitchen is the most interesting, welcoming place in the world. We create, we fulfill urges and desires and we fill the space with echoes of life.

This morning I wake up in the mood to spread some joy. It spills over in my days and nights and I want to share it. I stuff 5 tangerines into a little bag, along with some chocolates. I rush out of the house, down the grand stairs of our building and grab my bike. I go around the corner to buy a bus ticket because I know they will be closed when I finish work. I backtrack only a little to buy a bunch of narcissus flowers. Then I head over to pick up the keys for work. I drop off the tangerines and chocolates with the funny men that greet me each morning and bid me farewell each night. They hand me the keys, we exchange a few jokes and well-wishes for the day, “Buona giornata, buon lavoro”, we say. Have a good day, and good work.

I cycle back to my place of business to begin opening for the day. I take a moment after the alarm has been deactivated to run over to the paninoteca and deliver the bunch of narcissus. The charming couple that owns and works the shop look at me in wonder. “Come mai?” they ask. They want to know what it is for. “Perche e’ venerdi’ I tell them. It’s Friday. Flowers don’t need a reason, I think. And so Friday will work, though I could have said anything. Because you are kind. Because the sun is out. Because we are alive and in Italy and we are speaking a language that you could speak in your sleep and yet I have to work very hard at it. But we are speaking and sharing a little piece of earth, so why not brighten it with the vibrant yellow of a narcissus?

As this day continues to fade, and I continue to smile at strangers and tickle my imagination with possibilities for dinner, I remember to be grateful. Problems are always here in Italy, nagging and fighting for attention, and yet, it doesn’t matter. I can let problems be. I know they are there. And they don’t make me as angry anymore. It’s life, and it’s hard and it’s good and it’s always worth the fight. To be in a place that ignites the joy of the mundane, that reminds me to be here in the world following my heart every day is the reason I don’t give up and go back. Why I keep fighting. It’s a hard thing to tell someone in passing conversation. And so I’ll put it here instead, a reminder to those disillusioned and to myself why we are here.

The Battle of the Red Tape.

2009-03-30T02:19:00.000-07:00

I finally picked up my permesso di soggiorno on Friday! This time it only took 3 and a half hours and a bit of ridiculous shuffling about. I arrived around 7am and the line was only halfway down the block. Promising! Then we were let in and given numbers around 7:30. We all filed into the room with all of the sportelli and saw that nothing was open. Then a giant lady announced to us that at 8:15 we would need to get new numbers, based on the order of numbers we already had.

The numbers were called out in blocks of 10, with lots of shouting from the lady to stand back and clear pathways, and then some insults shouted to those who didn't comply. They started at 298, and since I was 357, I didn't have a terrible wait. Then I went out of the room with the others and got in another line. At the end of that line an officer took my paper requiring me to pick up the permesso on that date, and told me to stand with a group against the wall. Another lady officer then yelled out last names and when the people went forward, they were given another number.

My number was F834, and the F's started at 800. When I was called, Cazz and I went forward and I received my beautiful permesso. The expiration date is the 9th of June. Cazz asked some questions about converting the permesso for motives of study to subordinate work. He was told that I needed to go to the Prefettura and the Sportello Unico to find out. He then asked about extending the permesso for motive of study and was told to go to the post office to get information.

I went to the post office this morning and was told that in order to renew the permesso for motive of study, I would need to return to the States to get a new visa (my visa expires 16 of May). Now, I've also heard that once you have the visa to get in the country, the only thing you need to do is renew the permesso with a letter of acceptance and payment from the school, and a residence address. So now I am once again flummoxed by the miles and miles of red tape and misinformation. Asking questions does not necessarily get answers but often, fairy tales. Interesting and complex stories that have nothing to do with reality, but more to do with the mood of the storyteller.

I am asked again and again if it is all worth it. Is staying in Italy that important? There are many answers I don't have regarding what it takes to stay here. But the one answer I know for sure and never hesitate to give is "yes. It's worth it". I would jump through hoops of fire and ice to stay. And who knows, I may have to.

New Routines.

2009-03-23T02:43:00.000-07:00

I have finally recovered from my sickness. For the most part. I still get a little cough sometimes and my nose has been running for days, but I feel pretty good. I even managed to make it to the gym twice last week. (One of those times I ended up positioning myself right behind the cutey gym instructor and I had to keep reminding myself to stop staring at his backside, because there are mirrors everywhere.) I am looking forward to getting back into a routine that doesn't involve laying on the couch for hours at a time and figuring out the best time to take meds.

As far as getting back into a routine, I have finally begun working. Therefore my weeks will be taking on a new element, and I couldn't be happier. After looking for a job for months on end, I found something that will probably be temporary (at least until I figure out what to do with my visa). But it feels really good to have somewhere to go each day, and responsibility. Oh yeah, and making some much-needed money. It really gives me the sense of building my own life here, and relying on myself. I love that.

This week will be a busy one, what with working 6 days a week and my impending visit to the Questura to pick up my permesso di soggiorno. While there, I will try to get some information about changing my visa. Cazz will go with me for moral support. I hope then I will know more (about the visa, that is). Only time will tell. Until then, today is my day off. My big plans include a gym class and cleaning my room. It's a bit too cold to spend the day outside, but then again, it's a bit too cold to spend the day in this cold apartment, so perhaps I will go and enjoy the bustle of the city coming to life in time for Spring.

A Visa for My Heart.

2009-03-16T04:09:00.000-07:00

The past week I have been on a couch, entertaining myself with DVDs. Like the rest of my household, I have been sick. Outside, a beautiful blue sky taunts me, beckons me, begs for me. And I look through my big, bright windows and mournfully refuse. Not today, maybe tomorrow. Instead I turn my eyes to the computer screen and while away the hours. What a waste.

Hand in hand with sickness is stress. I just flew to the States and back just to be told that what I wanted would be found at the Questura. Upon asking at the Questura, I am told that I need to return to the States and ask at the Consulate. Again. I am here on a study visa that expires in May. I want to stay, more than anything. I've heard that trying to get a work visa, as an American, is improbable. But what can I do? I can't throw in the towel- I just made my way home, here, now. Day by day, my mind wildly runs possibilities of how to live here. Why is it so easy for people to stay illegally, and yet so impossible for someone who wants to live and work and pay the taxes and do everything by the book?

I'm looking for a sign. Any sign will do. The large kind from a greater force than myself, like lightning in the shape of an arrow pointing to a briefcase of cash that will buy me a residence, or even something that says, "Hiring Americans. Will provide Visa". Perhaps that is too much to ask for. But there's got to be a way. There just has to be. I didn't come all this way to turn around and go back now. Italy wants me and I want her. We are engaged in a love affair that blurs fantasy and reality, and she ties those miles of red tape into a heart-shaped bow, welcoming me into her arms.

Home, boot, home.

2009-03-08T14:37:00.000-07:00

I am back in Firenze! After two weeks in California, filled with dinners and visiting the family and friends, I am back in Florence. I arrived last night at 8pm after two flights and two trains took me as far as they could. At the train station, a kindly gentleman offered to help me with my heavy duffel bag as I made my way from the platform to the main part of the station at Santa Maria Novella. He was able to stop halfway however, as Cazzatore made his way over to me with a little bouquet of mimosa flowers that are given for today's holiday, Women's Day! He grabbed my two bags and took them all the way to my home.

California was beautiful when I arrived. It appeared that Spring had taken over and was going to stay. (It ended up raining most of the two weeks.) I spent a lot of time with my dear friends, drinking wine and celebrating life. Of course, I also spent a lot of time getting together my paperwork to get a new visa at the Italian Consulate. Unfortunately, when I got there, I was told that I couldn't get a new visa since I already had a functional one. The gentleman and I spoke entirely in Italian, and he was very nice, but told me that I need to request an extension at the Questura in Florence. I was dismayed to learn that I had traveled all the way back and spent my entire tax refund on the plane ticket, for nothing. And considering my last visit to the Questura (see permesso entry), I am very unhappy to discover that the possible answer to my pleas will be there. I tried to make the best of the situation, I changed my plane ticket almost immediately. The new date was Friday the 6th of March, a mere 10 days earlier. The price however, was worth it, as I missed my dear city immensely.

Friday came and as prearranged, C.R. and I met about 10 of my dear friends in San Francisco for lunch. We saw Michael Rapaport (actor) there as well, though none of us approached him ( I learned from the Dennis Quaid incident). After brunch, several of us made our way to Dolores Park to drink wine and beer and relax in the beautiful Frisco sunshine. At around 1:40pm, C.R. brought me to the airport to begin my journey back home. And Saturday evening, I finally arrived.

Since today was a holiday for me and my feminine companions, Cazz made me breakfast and we sat out on his sunny balcony to enjoy what has been a beautiful, warm and sunny day. Then we made our way into Central Florence to go for a walk up to Piazzale Michelangelo. We bought a little lunch to take with, and enjoyed an immense view, obscured only by the cigar smoke of the impolite lady in front of us.

It is almost 11 p.m. now and I am not a bit tired. But I will try to get to sleep anyways. I am pleased to note that a friend of mine has now moved into our apartment, so I have a trouble-buddy. Well, maybe not, but we'll see. Tomorrow I go to the gym and then try to find a job! I hope it's as lovely as it has been, but even if not, my spirits won't be brought down because I've come home.

The Fallen Tree.

2009-02-25T07:09:00.000-08:00

I'm almost over the jet-lag. I imagine I will be completely on California time as soon as I have to go back. That's the way it works, right? In any case, my trip has been a good one so far. I wake up early (really early) and fiddle around for a few hours. Sometimes I take a refreshing dip into my friend's hot tub. There is nothing like being in a hot tub in the morning while listening to the birds sing and the cacophony of frogs. I spend a lot of time catching up with friends, chatting about life, and trying to persuade them to visit me in Florence. And I eat. And sometimes, I find myself soaked to the bone and sweating at the same time, happily swinging an ax.

The other day I went to meet a friend to eat. Brunch. A true delight. While C.R. and I were pulling out of the driveway, we were stopped short by a tree that had fallen and was now blocking the road. Damn, there goes all of that planning. Instead, C.R. ended up staying home and I crawled through the branches and went to meet my friend at the top of the road where she planned to pick me up.

The brunch was lovely. I ordered biscuits and gravy and she belgian waffles. We split a side of ham. Very American. Very heavy and very delicious. We chatted happily, soaking in each others' company for about an hour. She dropped me back off at the tree, which I crawled back through to C.R.'s side of the world.

C.R. left with her hubby to go run errands (he came back from work and picked her up on the other side of the tree), while I settled in with a blanket, a fire and a choice of movies. While trying to pick an appropriate one for my mood, a friend showed up. I met him through C.R. and the hubby, and we have thoroughly enjoyed each others' company since. He came with another friend of his, and offered to clear the tree and I decided that I would help. Armed in a poncho and work gloves, I marched out to meet the guys at the site of the incident. I took an ax and hacked at a medium-thick branch until there was just a tiny patch of wood between the trunk and freedom. It was pouring rain and we were getting soaked. But it felt so good to be doing some heavy labor in the California air.

We garnered the help of a neighbor with two chainsaws to finish the job. I didn't touch a chainsaw because I have seen too many movies. I really, really like using two legs and two arms. But I helped clear the brush, and soon enough, there was a path through. Proud of our work, we went inside and sat by the fire drinking beers and chatting about food. Now that we had options, it seemed the best thing to do was just enjoy ourselves and be there with each other.

My entire body is now extremely sore. But I am happy. After all, it happens on occasion that a tree may fall in the way and obstruct the paths we choose. But in those times, maybe all we really need is a poncho, an ax and a couple of friends to clear the way.

Lucky.

2009-02-21T08:01:00.000-08:00

Here I am, waking up to another day in the place I left behind. California is beautiful right now, today. The sun is out and everything is green and open. Much different than my beloved Florence, it is amazing that there is room in my heart to love and be at home in such vastly different places. I count myself lucky.

The trip back was incredibly long- about 25 hours of travel-but extremely smooth. On the flight from Rome to New York, I ended up sitting in front of an older couple from Napoli. I had also sat next to them on the train, and kept bumping into them during check-in, security and shuttling from terminal to terminal. Finally as I took my place next to the window (the best place for a dreamer), we acknowledged each other and began to chat in Italian. The dialect they used was a little hard for me to understand, but we managed. The plane filled and we eventually began our journey.

None of the flight attendants spoke Italian, so I was called upon to translate for the couple behind me, who did not speak English. I helped explain what was being served for lunch and relay their order to the attendant. As forms for Customs were passed out (English and French only), I helped the couple fill out their forms, while the attendant looked on. I also discovered that there were two Brazilian women in front of me who I chatted to in a mix of Portuguese and Italian. The flight attendant also approached me several times to ask me how to say a word in Spanish. It was a working flight for me, and a smorgasbord of language.

Usually I am very quiet and keep to myself when I fly. For some reason, this trip was peppered with conversation. Everybody I sat near or around was pleasantly chatty, and I filled hours exchanging ideas, observations and principles of living with strangers. The man who sat next to me from New York to Los Angeles was an older man with a lot to say. He looked about 65, but revealed his age to be nearing 81. He was extraordinarily impressed by the brain. He made exclamations over it again and again, while bemoaning an age where people need to distract themselves constantly with internet, books, games and anything but just being with themselves and thinking. He told story after story of his youth, how he raised his children, how he constantly tested himself and his family and applied common sense and intelligence to everything. He told me that he believed that nobody "had a life" but they were merely expressing life, because when they passed, life would go on. Convinced that the only way to live is happily and fully, he knew the importance of spreading positive energy. He was exceedingly interesting and kind.

The short flight from Los Angeles to San Francisco was also pleasant and filled with conversation. I sat next to a man who loves Florence. He goes whenever he can with his wife and is planning another trip in November. He asked me for little gems of knowledge about the best non-touristy places to eat and visit. When we landed at SFO he offered to let me use his phone to call my friends who were picking me up, and if they weren't there, offered to accompany me to the travel lounge at the terminal of which he is a member, so that I could wait in comfort. I thanked him kindly and instead made my way out towards the doors to find my friends.

This trip highlighted for me the importance of conversation and the need people have to connect. It showed me the international currency of kindness and most importantly, reminded me how lucky I am to be able to connect in so many different languages with people of all ages and from all walks of life. It felt wonderful to say "I live in Florence" and filled my heart with joy to know that as hard as it can be, I am living my dreams. I followed my heart to a city in the heart of Italy, and every day, while freezing and jobless, I thank my lucky stars that my soul refuses to let me settle and instead pushes me to ever greater heights, often over an ocean.

Doors.

2009-02-18T02:04:00.001-08:00

A bit of sunlight is drifting in the window of my room today. I change position frequently, to catch the warm rays, and my mood is instantly uplifted. I have been so cold this winter in my drafty apartment lacking heat that I am almost amazed at the feeling of warmth returning. It is so beautiful outside, and I am so lucky to be living in Italy. And yet today, I am leaving Florence.

Not forever. Goodness, no, I couldn't do that. I must return to the States for a couple of weeks, though I don't know for exactly how long. A little feeling of dread has made its temporary home in the pit of my stomach. I don't want to leave. Even for this short time. I want to stay and watch the battle that Spring has waged against Winter. I want to feel and see and breathe every moment that a year has to offer. And then I want to do it all over again. And again.

I'm going to sorely miss the everyday trivialities that are not so trivial after all. The steep hike up and down the stairs in my building. The little hop-scotch dance I do to avoid steaming piles of dog waste. The cheerful wave from my neighborhood barman as I pass by. The too-long lines at the supermarket. Even the weighing of the fruit and vegetables at the supermarket. The slow-earned gestures of recognition from people I pass every day. Eating slowly and speaking more quickly in a foreign language than before. I'm not going to be gone very long, and yet, there are a million little things that tug at my heartstrings, whispering "don't go".

But I must go. I must pay homage to the life I left behind. I must embrace all of my loves-friends, family, familiarity- and remember that every single opportunity is also a sacrifice. I have no job, little money, and a world of people who are a day away. But I have Italy, an opportunity to make new great friends, to strengthen my brain each day, and the wonder that comes from the great pleasure that simple things bring. The warmth of the sun and the promise of another day in my beloved boot. Open doors.

Recap.

2009-02-16T11:41:00.000-08:00

Friday:
On Friday night, C.R. and I decided to check out a sushi aperitivo at a local bar (The aperitivo is a concept that I have come to deeply appreciate. Buy an overpriced drink, but get lots of little delightful snacks for free. I'm in!) It sounded too good to be true, and while there was a Chinese image on the Japanese-styled flyer, we decided to give it a shot. Of course it was a draw that one of the cute gym instructors who has been chatting me up at the gym mentioned that he might head over there. So around 9pm we headed out. We arrived at the bar which is conveniently located near my house, and noticed a bunch of empty plates. I asked at the bar if there would be more sushi coming out, and she assured me that there would be. There were, however, about 10 hungry-looking patrons crowded around the empty plates.

After a while, I noticed a little commotion by the bar so I went to check it out. The lady making the sushi asked what I would like, so I asked for tuna. And she made a roll filled with tuna and mayonnaise, like a sandwich I would eat when I didn't want to cook/spend much money. Interesting, but okay. C.R. couldn't eat anything because it wasn't vegan-friendly. I managed to get a couple of pieces of sushi and translate for a couple of American girls who asked for a "vegetariano", before we realized that this was a lost endeavor and we should cut our losses and head to dinner. The gym instructor never made it, but I wasn't too disappointed.

We headed to a restaurant on the street next to mine that opened while we were here in the summer. It seemed like a good bet, and was close by, so we went in. The food was fabulous, the menu long, and the service good. The owner's brother came to our table to toast us, and the waiter was flirting constantly. Eventually, the owner's brother came and sat down with us, offering limoncello and chatting in Italian. After we had almost finished a bottle, a couple of other men came and joined us, and one of them somehow offended the brother, who tried to get in a fistfight while three other waiters/cooks held him back. It was very weird, and we were wondering what had happened. He tried to explain that the guy was a "bad man" and he apologized. Eventually we left, with the owner's brother accompanying us toward our next destination. We headed to B's bar where we ran into two of my other friends.

Around closing, we all headed toward an after-hours private club. C.R. and I were beginning to drop from exhaustion, so we decided to go back to the house. On the way, a security guard accosted us to chat about all of his lady friends who are "bisessuale". He kept looking at us creepily and dropping the b-word before finally asking us if we were "open-minded". It was an extremely unwelcome diversion. After we pried ourselves away from his slimey gaze, we drank some water and dropped into bed.

Saturday:
San Valentino. A holiday that I have never particularly enjoyed, having always been single or just sad. So I thought it would be another melancholy night to add to past years. However, C.R. and I decided to go to the same restaurant that we went to on Friday. Cazzatore joined us. We had a lovely dinner, with a nice little discount from our new restaurant-buddies. Then Cazz and I split a tiramisu, while C.R. had biscotti and Vin Santo. Even our "drunk-jackets" didn't protect us from the icy cold as we left the restaurant. Cold, but happy. We made plans to head to Viareggio the next day to catch a Carnevale parade.

Sunday:
We managed to catch our train, only to find out that we would be standing in a crowded aisle for the hour and a half that it would take us to get there. One train had been cancelled, and since it was Carnevale, it was already extremely crowded. After a seemingly endless trip, we managed to make it into the streets of Viareggio, where grown people were dressed like furry animals. I think that this is probably the best way to spend the good years of life. It is extremely amusing to me.

We grabbed some drinks and marched into the crowd of confetti-coated, animal-dressed people and took our chances with the rampant foam-sprayers. We got doused a few times in what seemed like shaving cream, and took care to protect our drinks from the wild confetti bits. The floats were elaborate and impressive, and there was an air of joy all around us. Cazz, C.R. and I pranced along, enjoying ourselves fully. After a few hours we went and sat on the beach to enjoy the sunset before catching the 6 o'clock train back to Florence.

Today:
It is freezing outside. We have been in our thickest coats, layers of socks, and drowning in blankets all day, watching movies. It does not get any warmer. My housemate's hands are discolored, and when she went to the pharmacy today, she was told that it was a little dangerous. He asked her where she's been. But it's just our house. Our heat-free home. He told her not to put her hands under warm water or on the heater too quickly, and to avoid the cold water that is our kitchen faucet (there is no hot water in the kitchen). It is impossible to open our mouths in the house without expelling visible clouds of breath. This part is not a particularly enjoyable side-effect of living in a cheap apartment. But C.R. and I leave Florence on Wednesday. I hope to be in the States for less than two weeks, but I will have to wait until I get there to find out how long it's going to take. Perhaps when I return there will be a little more warmth waiting for me.

Memory Lane.

2009-02-09T04:36:00.000-08:00

C.R. is visiting again from the States, and yesterday we decided to go on a post-dinner stroll. But what streets should we take? Ah yes...let's go down Memory Lane. We wandered by all of our old haunts, including the apartment we lived in over the summer. We stood outside the window for a few minutes gazing lovingly at our windows, and paused by the window of The Ladies. The air seemed to warm into another hot summer night for just a few moments while we recounted details of the beginning. The road that led us where we are now...never straight, not always easy, but always forward and speckled with hope.

C.R. stays until the 18th and then we take a train to Rome, and she departs for the States. I will follow a day later, after somehow amusing myself in Rome for an evening. Back to the homeland, though thankfully, only for a short time. Then I come back to the boot, and prepare for Spring.

Doughy Delights.

2009-02-03T02:07:00.000-08:00

My housemate and I decided to make doughnuts the other day. He previously worked in a pasticceria and therefore likes to teach me to make all sorts of doughy delights. Here is what we did:

Vampires, Pigs and Wishes.

2009-01-26T03:38:00.000-08:00

On Saturday night, I was invited out by one of my housemates to go to a concert with her and her boyfriend. And I was also told that a friend of her boyfriend wanted to meet me. So, at 10pm we headed out to Prato in the boyfriend's car, and after some time clenching my teeth and gripping the seats in fear, we safely arrived at the club. Upon entering, I realized that I was not going to fit in. It was a death metal show, filled with Italian death metal/goth kids. I felt like I was surrounded by vampires. The kind of vampires that like to spoon their blood over a nice plate of spaghetti.

I was either over or under-dressed, though I'm not sure which. I was literally the only person wearing a color other than black, in my yellow and brown striped sweater. The music was not really what I listen to, being bands whose singers scream into a microphone in a very Darth Vadery way. It was loud, and the drinks were too expensive at 5 euro a cocktail. I resigned myself to a lost evening and tried to make the most of the people-watching.

A couple of hours later, the friend who wanted to meet me showed up. I was relieved to see that he was not dressed fully in black with long hair and leather/chain pieces hanging off of his clothes. He was actually kind of cute, but got points knocked off just by being there. I know, I know...I'm judgmental. But I don't think I could go out with someone who listens to death metal and hangs out with vampires, even if I was ready to start dating again...which I'm not. But the thing that was the biggest turn off was the blond girl that was hanging around this guy, at a bit of a distance, and glaring at me. I got the whole ex-girlfriend/interested party feel. I later found out that they had indeed dated, for about 8 years, and he had broken up with her about and year and a half ago. She wasn't planning on coming to this event, until she found out that he was coming to meet another girl. Me. If I wasn't just freshly out of a relationship, I might think she was going a little crazy. But instead, I feel sorry for her. This stuff is hard.

Yesterday was good. I ended up going for coffee with another roommate, to a place he often frequents. It has a enclosed outdoor patio, with heat lamps. We had a really nice time, and I was proud that my Italian was good enough to have entire conversations. After coffee, we walked around a little and I made a wish on the pig fountain next to the market. We were out and about laughing and chatting, and I tried to help him pick out a cologne. When we got back to the house, I read in his room for awhile (which is much bigger and warmer than my room) and then we went out and got pizzas, and brought them home to eat. This is the first time I have hung out with him outside of the house, and it was really lovely.

Today, I am going to the gym. I have been going pretty regularly since I joined last week. I do a few of the total body workout classes that are taught by this beautiful, muscular Italian man with wild, curly hair. He has these great pecks, among other things and when we workout he does this thing with his hips that is divine. If there is one thing to keep me going to the gym, it is a beautiful instructor with arms the size of tree trunks.

In other news, I bought a bike today. A friend of V's actually gave me a bike for free, which I promptly traded for a nicer bike with a discount, from my neighborhood bike repairman. I'm going back today before I catch my 4:30 film in English, so that he can put a basket on the front, for free. It's a blue bike, and it's mine. I have fulfilled one wish, even while many others have fallen to the ground. If not floating in a bubble of happiness, I am at least, content.

The Beginning...Again.

2009-01-20T05:27:00.000-08:00

Today I joined a gym. It is right down the street from my house and I'm really excited to do some of the classes. It is also a great way to try to get my mind off of other, less suitable, thoughts. Two of my housemates go to this gym, and one said she would do some of the night classes with me if I wanted. This will probably give me more encouragement to actually go.

It seems like a beginning type of day. The Inauguration is a few short hours away, and then we have a new President of the United States. Thank goodness. It's about time. I hope to keep myself thoroughly occupied and distracted for as long as it takes. You know, until I have completely moved on. A work-in-progress, but I think I'm doing a damn fine job of it currently. One day at a time.

Starting Over.

2009-01-19T05:50:00.000-08:00

I'm smart. I really don't give myself enough credit. So why would a smart woman like me be trying to make excuses for a man that has certainly given enough hints that he doesn't want to be with me? Why would a smart woman tell herself that maybe eventually we could be together, that a fear of commitment is a reasonable excuse for a man to make her feel bad about herself? I'm done with that. I'm done making excuses, assuming he'll come around and connecting my self worth with him. He is not a bad person. But he has told me all along, in many little ways that I am not "the one". It's me who has manipulated his words and actions into something that I wanted to hear/feel. I know that a fear of commitment has only to do with a knowledge that a person is not the right person. Because I overcame it. Unfortunately, it was with a person who believes that I am not the right person. Love is a crap shoot, eh?

This situation sucks, and it hurts and it makes me question everything that I held to be solid in my life. And I can either accept that, and build the roads necessary to move on and be a better person, or I can stay in this stagnant place that, face it, makes me feel bad about myself and doubt my self-worth. I choose the former. I have made a decision to date myself. I am taking myself out to the movies this afternoon, and I have already treated myself to a new book and hopefully soon, a bicicletta. I will make no more excuses, accept no more half-promises and I will not lower my standards because I am lonely.

I am a smart woman. I have a lot going for me. And I absolutely deserve to be loved completely by somebody who is completely available. As do we all.

Cakes.

2009-01-14T03:41:00.000-08:00

I thought I would throw this post in, to add a little light-heartedness among all of the melancholy.

I took a cake decorating class back in the States, and here is what I produced from it:

Challenges.

2009-01-14T01:03:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I spent all day at the Questura. Thanks to a fax sent in, I managed to receive an earlier appointment for my permesso. January 13th instead of July! So I showed up around 7:30am to an already huge line and took my place at the end of the block. I was stressed and emotionally raw from a conversation with Cazzatore the night before, and trying to focus only on the task at hand. I kept repeating to myself a little phrase that I saw on a sign in a shop window the night before, Pace, amore mio. Peace, my love. Let peace fill my troubled soul, still my whirling thoughts and focus my energy. Peace, my aching heart. Peace, my love, myself.

It was a process I expected to go through alone. And it was also a process which I thought would take a maximum of two hours. Boy, was I wrong. On both counts. Cazzatore showed up to help me, and even though we had agreed that he would have space- no more phone calls, emails, visits- he still showed up to help me. Because that's how he is. He always wants to help. And though I had mentally scratched him off of my list of friends/lovers/whatever you want to call it, I was relieved to see him. He helped steady me.

He stayed longer than he should have, with important errands and things to do. He stayed as long as he could, so that he could help me when they finally called my number, C335. The A's and B's and D's and F's and a couple of E's were flying by, with no sign of a C. A little over an hour passed until a C finally showed up. C300. Okay, at least the C's were on the little board now. It looked like only one sportello (line, booth) was handling the C's. So only 35 to go. Shouldn't take too long. But in Italy, there is a large difference between should's and reality. Cazz had to go, though he was distressed. He said to call if there were problems. So he left, and I waited. An hour passed moving the C's to C302. Then another. C304. Then I realized that I had forgotten to bring the receipt for the permesso from when I applied and paid for it. Did I need it? Oh God. I had no idea. I saw other people, all with the receipt. But I had the letter from the Questura... oh why did I forget that little paper?

I made several phone calls to the few people I know, but there was no one to help. I didn't want to leave in case the numbers speeded up and suddenly it would be my turn, and I would be absent. I wasn't sure that I even needed the thing, and it would take me an hour on foot to get back to the apartment and return. Also, I needed to find it. Where had I put it? I just moved into my room, so everything was in a different place. And perhaps it was in a pocket of a pair of pants. I was reeling with the stress, the fact that I hadn't eaten since a small piece of toast early the day before. I was glued to my little stool in the concrete corner of the building filled with people trying to stay in the boot. And it was freezing.

After several hours, I finally managed to call my housemate who would be home for lunch. She searched my room and couldn't find it. Then my friend from the bar said he would go to my house on his scooter, look around and bring it to me. We were on the phone while he was searching my room, but all to no avail. He couldn't find it. It was, after all, a little folded up quarter sheet of paper, of all the importance in the world. He did, however, bring me a little sandwich, for which I was/am supremely grateful. Although, I think fainting might have brought me enough attention to move along my case. But who knows.

As the hours passed, and I sat and worried, and waited I began to feel a bonding with those around me. We would recognize each other, because we had all been there for what felt like forever. It's like the way people bond when undergoing tragedy together. We were war-buddies. We would smile and nod and silently commiserate. We would reassure each other without saying a word. Almost. We're almost there. At 2pm all of the sportelli closed for lunch. Not a word to us waiting. I still didn't want to leave...the sign was stuck at C312. But would they open again? Or reassign us for another day? I wasn't about to leave and miss crucial information. Nearing 4pm, Cazzatore called me and said he was done with work and would come by. When he finally walked in, I was hit with relief. He came over to me, and I cried a bit from stress and worry about that receipt. He went and asked a guard who said, yes, it was essential. So at 4:30pm, with the C's in the 320's, I zoomed back home on his bike, dug up the receipt which was in a pencil box in my desk drawer, and zoomed back. C325. A sigh of relief. I still had time.

Finally, around 6pm, my number was up: C335. I had seen another gentleman with a C352, but I'm not sure how he fared. The process was a little nerve-wracking- did I have everything? The man at the window looked confused, as clearly my letter stated a July appointment. Cazz explained everything to the man, and after about half an hour, I left the Questura with a piece of paper in hand, telling me to come back and pick up the actual permesso on the 27th of March. I did it. With the help of friends, I finally did it. I will try not to focus on the fact that this document will expire in May, and then I will have to figure out how to renew it, or change it or all that. Because for now, it is done.

I went to meet my bar-friend for a coffee, and then went to meet V for a hamburger. We walked to the movie theater, only to find that there was nothing playing, due to an event being held there. So we went to a bookstore and eventually parted and went to our residences. I am trying to go out more, to build my life as a single gal in one of the most fabulous cities in the world. I am definitely not anywhere close to ready to date, but I am ready to make friends and work on healing myself. A large task, but if I could overcome the bureaucracy in Italy and get the infamous Permesso di Soggiorno, I imagine I will be able to manage this. Eventually.

Sunlight.

2009-01-12T05:09:00.000-08:00

This morning I needed to leave the house. I wanted to go sit somewhere sunny and read for awhile. So I debated, upon stepping out of my door, if I should turn right toward Piazza S.S. Annunziata, or if I should head left toward a handful of other piazzas. I let my feet lead, and they turned left. So I got the idea to go to my favorite piazza, Piazza della Signoria. I love the openness of this one, the beauty of the statues dancing in frozen motion, and the fountain. There is so much space there, that one feels that anything is possible. But when I arrived, as I should have known, the buildings were shading the entire area. So I kept on, with the idea of sitting in the vast amount of space in front of Palazzo Pitti. Then again, as I soon realized, Palazzo Pitti was blocking all of the sun as well. My feet led me, though not by choice, to Piazza Santo Spirito, where I sat on a bench for awhile bundled up and reading. As I was debating returning to the other side of the Arno river, a bit of sun peeped over the building. So I stayed.

I stayed for some time, and as the sun became more pronounced, spilling down the steps of the church, I felt more peace. I walked to one of my favorite places, a Fornaio around the corner and bought a piece of focaccia drenched in olive oil and covered in potatoes and rosemary. I then made my way to the church steps, where I sat in sunlight, slowly eating and dreaming. After I had cleaned the last bit of oil from my fingers, I picked up my book and began to read and listen to life around me.

A homeless man asked me for a cigarette. After telling him that I don't smoke, he came over and began talking to me. It seems that, especially when I am feeling a little low, I must carry a sign on me, asking men I don't know to talk to me. We chatted a little and then he left me to my book. Awhile later, he returned to chat and asked me to be his english teacher. He wanted to become friends and also wanted my phone number. I told him we could become friends, but I wasn't going to give my phone number. Instead, we would have to run into each other the old fashioned way- through fate. If the universe causes our paths to cross again, then so be it. And if not, so be it. I am tired of giving my phone number to strangers, no matter how nice they may seem. I am taking steps to making myself stronger, and it's a journey that cannot be speckled with phone calls.

When I left to return home and help my friend move into a new place, I was thinking about this connection I had participated in. It makes sense to me, that now, while I am emotionally homeless, I should connect with those who are physically so. In that way, Life winks to us and lets us know that even when we are battered and broken, we are alive.

Transitions.

2009-01-12T00:09:00.000-08:00

So this is what's it's like to be completely alone. Cazzatore moved out yesterday with a wave of the hand. Everybody in this house changed rooms, and I got a new one. After moving things in and arranging them, it was dark, everybody had gone out, and I was alone. And it hit me. I am alone. I looked in the bank of phone numbers in my little telefonino and realized that I have about four or five friends, but none that will come over in the night so that I will feel less lonely. That takes time.

My family tells me to come home. To give up. But they don't seem to realize that that is not my home anymore. I left home. I am making a new home. But until it's finished I am emotionally homeless. I'm trying to build my new place in myself. So that I can take it with me wherever I go.

I can't give up, no matter how hard it is. No matter how lonely I feel or how few people will come to keep me company in the middle of the night. I won't give up because I don't want to make a habit of it. So I keep at it, hoping that one morning I will wake up and be content. That I won't automatically dwell on loneliness or pain. That I will smile again. At this moment there is only the faint glimmer of hope. But I am grateful that it's there at all.

Change.

2009-01-09T01:56:00.000-08:00

I realize now that I have been lost. And I will strive to change my life. Cazzatore lent me a book to read with a powerful message. I am halfway through it, and already I am realizing certain things. And one of them is that I am lost. And not because of any person, or because things aren’t going how I would like them to. I am lost because I am caught up in a cycle of placing importance on things that are truly not so important.

I am so lucky, and yet I have taken it for granted. I have health, creativity, imagination and luck. I have a roof over my head and food on the table. I have great friends and a capacity to connect with people. I have a family, that while not perfect, is there. There is so much beauty in the world and I have been so caught up that I have almost forgotten to appreciate it. It is not the end of world because I have troubles. It is an opportunity to have a new point of view, to grow and change. And I attempt to do that now. It will not be easy, because old habits are hard to break, but it will be necessary. I would like to place my focus and energy on becoming a more genuine, honest and interesting person. I would like to spend less time complaining that things are hard; less time crying because it hurts. I must remind myself every moment of everything I have, and how to appreciate it.

I have no job. But I am blessed with time. Time to walk around this beautiful city, time to talk with people I care about, time to reflect. I am given the chance to truly appreciate what it means to have a day of hard work. To support myself because of my efforts and contributions. I have no job, and therefore can dream of doing anything I want to do.

I have no permanent residence. And so I have to ability to wander freely, to explore and be a part of a new world. I am not locked into the responsibility of a mortgage, repairs, and the sense of duty that comes from being so rooted. I have already made many of my dreams come true by the power of my own will, the help of the universe and the lack of severe ties. I have come to realize how many friends I have that care and try to help me when I am down. New friends, old ones and ones I have never met.

Things with Cazzatore are changing. It hurts. It is one of the hardest stories in the grand history of humanity. The story of Love, and how to navigate it. But I heard once, on a show that I adore, that “it is Love. Stop expecting it to look how you thought it would”. Love does not have restrictions. It just is. And it doesn’t mean marriage, it doesn’t necessarily mean children, and it doesn’t mean forever. As humans, we have the ability to love and be loved. I have had heartbreaks before. The heart endures and I am able to find it again. Some of my old heartbreaks have turned into great friendships, deep and without constraints. There is a trust there from sharing an experience, from being able to forgive others and myself. And every one of my heartbreaks has been a great lesson. It is the nature of humanity, and the world. I love Cazzatore and as such I must let him go. Love is not about possession. It is not about changing someone. It is recognizing a change in ourselves, something that ignites Life’s great passions. Even love that we think we have lost is kept. To be able to love is a truly amazing thing. Love itself doesn’t hurt. It is how we try to form and manipulate it to what we think we need. I don’t need a hand to hold because I have two of my own. I don’t need another to tell me I’m worthwhile, because I know it myself. I don’t need a promise of tomorrow because I have today. I love and I love and I love. The world, beauty, peace, change and acceptance. So I am lucky.

I realize, as so many people recently have reminded me, that it is the little things that are important. Life’s simple pleasures. This city, connection with people, a beautiful, broken building, and a river that keeps flowing day in and day out. I have been placing too much importance on things that are not so important. I have grown more attached to things, than to myself and my mind. I am going to attempt a change. I am going to try to let go of these objects I drag around behind me. It’s going to be hard, and take time, but the truth is, I can’t take them with me when I go. And they limit my movement. I must take an inventory of the things that are most important to me. A notebook and pen. A warm pair of shoes and a coat. An open mind. An inquiring one. Acceptance. Friends. Peace.

I look back and see too many complaints. I wrote of the lack of heat. But it just makes me appreciate a warm embrace, or a brisk walk all the more. A lack of money. But I learn to be more creative, and appreciate simpler things. Isolation from friends and family. But I am able to realize how important people are, and I must work at keeping these relationships strong. A fear of the unknown. I teach myself to adapt, to keep an open mind, to accept change and fear. I learn how to change moments of distress into those of reflection and opportunity.

I am taking these moments to free my mind of my own barriers. I embark on a journey to cultivate and improve myself. To become a better human being. To be honest and genuine. I put my efforts into maintaining relationships and letting go of objects. I will be afraid. I will be uncomfortable. It will take time and energy and will power. But I will be more real, more connected and happier. I do not accept the continual wanting of things that my society has cultivated in me. If anything, I need less, not more. I will give the love that I have without terms and conditions. Without expectations or reimbursement. The fact that today came at all is amazing. Whether it rains or snows or all of the world falls to the ground, it is here. And I am grateful.

Things Fall Apart.

2009-01-07T04:39:00.000-08:00

Today it is raining in Florence. It seems appropriate; my world is falling apart and now the sky is falling too. The place where I was trying to work is telling me that they can't hire me without this permesso di soggiorno, and as my appointment is in July, I have to try to get an earlier appointment, which is like trying to catch a cloud. Only a miracle will help me now. As for Cazzatore, it really is over. He wants time to himself, doesn't want to deal with the fact that he doesn't know what he wants, no matter how much he likes to be with me. And he moves on Sunday, to an apartment by himself. I was proud of myself yesterday, because I managed not to cry. I just looked and him, and told him okay. And when he asked what I thought about it, I told him that it didn't matter, because I have to respect his choices. He can't be with me just because I want it to be so. He said we would each do what we wanted-if he wants to call me he will, and if I want to call him, I will. Much easier said than done, I think. It seems easier for the person who has less to lose. I think I might erase his number from my phone.

As far as the living situation, I found out that the girl whose room I have been renting, said I could stay until the end of the month, and then we'll see. She doesn't want foreigners or women to live here. So, no matter how much she trusts me to stay in her room with her things for months at a time, it is a different matter if she has to see me every day. So I don't even know if I have a place to live in a few weeks. Everything has broken, including me. The worst part is, I no longer have any place that feels like home, not even in myself. It is a terrible pain that borders on numbness. I have felt so much recently that I'm beginning to lose the ability to feel anything at all.

There is nowhere to run, because anywhere I go, I will be there. I will still have to deal with the feelings, the pain, and the loss. I can't hide from me. The only thing left to do is to accept what is happening and look for something better. I have to face the ghosts and then let them go.

Change of Heart

2009-01-06T05:05:00.000-08:00

I didn't move to San Niccolo'. After two days of dragging stuff there and cleaning furiously, all I wanted to do was cry every time I walked in the door. It was more like a filthy cell in a wonderful neighborhood. But I would have had to start from scratch, as the girls there don't even have a mop. After all of the trouble of this whole thing, I have decided to stay where I am for the moment. Cazzatore will be moving out soon, and then I will navigate my way through a life spent battling ghosts. I live in a big, cheap apartment with people I already know, and with the ability to have guests over and not worrying about them physically fitting into the space, or the smell that comes from a dirty place. Sometimes the neighborhood just isn't enough.

I will stay until I can move on without despair. I will stay until I find a path I can follow. So I stay.

The Move.

2009-01-04T23:36:00.000-08:00

Today is moving day. I started to move things yesterday to my new place in San Niccolo', and found when I arrived that my new room was filthy. I spent a lot of time cleaning, but there is still work to be done. I don't know how long it's going to take before I feel comfortable there. And to add to the lack of comfort, I am sad. Moving out of the place I've stayed in for months is one thing, but moving away from Cazzatore is quite another. He has found a new place as well, much farther from the city center than was desirable, but it was too good of a deal to pass up. And I don't know what this means for "us". My stomach is in knots and I am close to tears. So much change at once is a scary, scary thing. I will actually be on my own with no safety net.

I have to remind myself that change is always scary. And it usually works out for the better. It's strange how a person can adapt to new situations so quickly. I'm counting on this ability to help get me through it. I need to get a job though, for not only financial reasons, but also to occupy me while my thoughts are a hurricane of change, loss and new horizons. I think this would be a lot easier if it wasn't winter. I'm already a little bit blue in the winter, and having to change my life around again and live with strangers is certainly not helping.

I'm pretty sure that I will end up okay. But I have to keep reminding myself of this so that I won't break down. After all, change is good for me, right?

Putting it Together Again

2009-01-04T00:46:00.000-08:00

While New Year's Eve left me reeling, as Cazzatore and I ended things and I spent the night in a daze/crying, we had decided to carry on as usual for a bit. To pretend that it hadn't happened, at least while I was still living with him. And then, the next day, while he was comforting me from the pain he inflicted, he asked, "couldn't we pretend it didn't happen for a year, or more?". As I was left in a vacuum of insecurity, we continued to sleep next to each other, to hug, kiss and walk hand in hand. We were pretending like it didn't happen, but I knew it did happen. It felt as if all of the air had been removed forcefully from my body, and I was supposed to rebuild pieces of shattered flesh with scotch tape.

In the last couple of days, though, things have been really good. He has been great to me, and from all appearances, nothing has changed. He himself asked, "but what's really changed?". So I guess we are still dating. But now I have the knowledge of that pain, and will try not to be so easily led to that place again. I am wary.

Yesterday we went to the Florence Ikea, so that I could get a relatively cheap blanket. We walked close together, hands clasped, millions of atoms touching, lips brushing skin again and again. I feel closer to him now than I have in a long time. And when he helped me take some stuff to my new place, my new roommate asked if he was my boyfriend and he said yes. And I said, "E' complicato"- it's complicated. And so it is. I'm not really sure what we are, but I've learned an important lesson- it doesn't really matter what labels we take as long as we're happy. And though I am confused and wary, I am happy to be able to spend a little more time at his side and in his embrace. Only time will tell where our paths take us.

New Year's

2009-01-01T03:24:00.001-08:00

It's over. I'm single once again.

Ingredients from home...

2008-12-26T06:26:00.000-08:00

Friends!
An attempt at cooking.
A sauce to remember.
A little rainbow.
Pomodori!

A few things...

2008-12-26T06:11:00.000-08:00

A beautiful view from a bridge on Christmas Day.
My soon-to-be neighborhood.
A view from Cazzatore's window shortly after I arrived.

Christmas.

2008-12-25T14:36:00.000-08:00

Today is Christmas Day. Last night I went to V's for dinner, which was nice, but exhausting. Trying to communicate with many people in a language that is not one's own is hard enough, but trying to understand family traditions, and navigate the lines of courtesy is very, very draining. So I came home last night, to my cold apartment and found, to my utter joy, the heater was working. Happy Holidays to me. I went to sleep around 2:30am, snuggled in warm blankets, and slept soundly and warmly until about noon. When I woke up I made eggs, which is the only food in the place, and then went out for a walk while some movies were downloading from itunes.

It was a nice walk around the Arno and my new neighborhood. I took the time to take some photos, which I love to do, but which makes me feel awkward in a city of so many tourists. I like to seem like I belong here, and it seems that with my camera out, I stick out like a sore thumb. But since there weren't many people out today, I gave myself a break and went for it. As I was heading home, a man stopped his car abruptly, jumped out and came to my side of the street. He saw my camera and offered to take my photo. I wasn't about to put my camera in the hands of a stranger who could easily take off with it, so I declined. And then he started to talk to me. Now, it seems I am a magnet for creepy men. Any time I am alone, I inevitably encounter them, and while minding my own business, they begin to talk to me. Since I am a person who likes to believe in the good of others, I usually talk to them. This is always a bit strange. I should just tell them that I am happy to be alone, and prefer to continue that way. But I believe in Fate. And what if one of them had something important to tell me? So I play along. I have not heard anything of much importance yet.

After I left the man at the side of the river, I headed home. I spent quite a bit of time watching movies, and then headed to the pub around the corner where my friend B works. I met V and we ate hamburgers and chips and had a couple of drinks. I spoke to B, a Brazilian, and another Brazilian girl who works there. It seems, as expats, we all have something in common: Christmas is a sad holiday that is often spent alone. We, the new expats, have no family, and few friends with whom we can share the holidays. So they, like Cazzatore and all of my housemates, go home for the holidays and we stay behind to babysit the city of ghosts.

And now, as I get ready to sleep, I am happy to leave this holiday behind and move into a new year. I am lonely, yet hopeful. For happiness comes again, perhaps when we least expect it to. Suddenly we let forth a true, deep laugh, out of nowhere. Then we know it's going to be okay.

Merry Christmas everyone, and Happy Holidays.

Changes.

2008-12-24T02:58:00.000-08:00

So, today I have agreed to move into a new room. I had been waiting for two girls to decide between me and another one, and they chose me. This was difficult because at the same time, I was offered the possibility to stay in the apartment where I currently am, which is 150 euro cheaper and a great location. Cazzatore has already decided to move out by the end of January, so I would not still be living with him. I stressed about this all night, because I had to make my decision this morning. Finally I took the other room, for the following reasons:

1) There is no heat here.

2) I'm not sure I want to wander around the apartment with the ghost of the man/relationship

3) There will be 4-5 people living here, but I'm not sure who, because everybody here now will be leaving.

4) There is a serious lack of hot water.

5) The other apartment is more expensive, but it's in a lovely neighborhood by the steps up to Piazzale Michaelangelo, a single room, with heat, and two girls that I met who are very nice. It's also pretty close to where I am now.

6) I think it's important to start my own life, on my terms.

7) The landlady here is jerky, and wants to stay here, and then wants everybody out by July, so I would have to find a room anyways.

I am afraid. Cazzatore and I will not be living together anymore, so I fear that we will not see each other often. The plan was always for us to live separately, but now that it's happening I'm not ready. I will be really living on my own, with no safety net. I don't have a job yet, so I don't really know how much money I will make per month. I also have to go out and buy blankets and all of those things that I was able to use here for free.

This is going to be a big year of changes. I hope I make it through alright.

Winter Blues.

2008-12-23T01:59:00.000-08:00

Two days until Christmas, and I feel less like celebrating than ever. The heater in our apartment broke once again, so we walk around in layers of clothes, letting out visible breaths in the cold, cold air. To be in the house is to be under blankets that do little to trap heat. The landlady just doesn't care that we are freezing, or that the heating switch sent a little electric shock into Cazzatore a couple of days ago. Nor does she mind that the heater often overflows, spilling water onto the floor. Perhaps she will care more soon, as she has informed us that beginning in January she wants only 4 people in the house, instead of the usual 5 because she wants a room for herself for those times that she comes into town. This, to me, is outrageous. She is limiting the ability to rent the other room out, thereby raising everyone else's rent. And then she wants to camp out occasionally. It might not be so bad if she weren't such a jerk. Of course, maybe then she will do something about the heat, and maybe even the black mold growing in the bathroom.

Some other reasons I am not so cheery are that I:

a.) am not yet working, and therefore have no income, disposable or otherwise

b.) am searching for a room to move into by the end of the month (with no current idea of how much I will be making when a job does come through)

c.) will be alone in this cold apartment for several days on and around Christmas.

I like to think of the bright side, but it is much harder during the winter, when inevitably the chill and lack of light start bringing in the blues. I am trying to fight it, and keep a cheery disposition. After all, I am in Florence and I'm still happy to be here, regardless of the trials of everyday life. I'm sure it will all work out perfectly. If anyone has any tricks or words to maintain positivity, I would be delighted to hear.

Red Tape.

2008-12-15T23:16:00.000-08:00

I am in the process of trying to get my permesso di soggiorno or stay permit. This little document allows me to work part-time. I was offered a job, but I need to have this permit in order to be allowed to work there. So, I did as I was supposed to... I applied for this permit a few days after arriving. The receipt, I was led to understand, would function as the permit until I could actually get the permit. So I took a copy to this place of work and waited for the phone call to arrange a schedule. I got a phone call, but it wasn't quite what I expected. I was told that I wouldn't be able to work without the actual permesso. This same day, I got a letter stating that my appointment for identification purposes and to actually get the document is in July 2009. Which is interesting, considering my visa expires before this date. So I don't have an appointment to get my permit to stay until I am supposed to leave the country. Excellent. So now I am left jobless and a few steps away from broke.

So now I must go to the Questura, the local police department to try to talk to someone about this unfortunate delay. And the Questura is notoriously difficult to navigate. There are phone numbers that no one ever answers, websites and automated machines that lead the user nowhere, without actually imparting any useful information. There are different divisions for different areas, one being the request for the permit which is open one hour a day in the early hours, and there is a division for those who want the permit interview on a different day. I am not sure which one to go to, since it is never made clear.

All in all, I will be trying to get somewhere today with this process while working at buoying up my spirits in the dark, rainy winter atmosphere. So, not all peaches and rainbows here, but I'm doing my best to keep pushing forward. A few days left until Christmas, which usually would provide something to look forward to, but since I will be spending the holiday occupying an empty apartment which has been abandoned by roommates with families, I am not entirely excited. I will probably go to V's for the actual evening, and other than that, perhaps I will spend several hours talking myself out of that second bottle of wine alone, my own personal heating system, since our heater is once again on the fritz. Looking forward to the beginning of the new year, in any case.

Acceptance.

2008-12-11T01:44:00.000-08:00

Moment by moment, my faith in love is tested. It is wrung out, stretched thin and left in the elements. Doubts grow and multiply, making even the good moments difficult. I am in an uncertain place. But I guess all places are uncertain. I push the limits of my ability to accept. Accept the possibility that it is all too temporary. Accept that there is a fine line between protecting myself and pushing someone away. Accept that I will find peace in my heart, one way or the other. Accept that love is not always returned. That perhaps my story goes somewhere other than this place. Nobody ever said it would be easy. The faith I must keep is the faith I have in myself. Knowing that if it is too much to shoulder, I will be able to walk away. That I will not settle for anything less than love. And that I deserve more than half-promises and unanswered questions.

I accept that I am flawed. I accept that I want love, but that it may not be what I thought it would be. I accept that I may not find what I was looking for here. I accept that I may fail, but if I do, I will pick myself up and try again. I accept that I cannot change anybody but myself. And I accept that it may take some time, but that I will ultimately find serenity.

The Serenity Prayer

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.

This is widely known, and it helps to remind me that acceptance is key.

The Little Things.

2008-12-04T01:56:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I saw a photo of my ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. And it made me realize how temporary everything is. We were convinced that we would be together forever. A little time and a lot of distance and that all fell apart. It kind of got to me. And I am happy now with the way my life is going, and Cazzatore, but it still bothered me. When we move on, and find other happiness, what does that mean? Does it lessen what we had together? The reasonable answer is no. The answer my heart tells me is yes. He told me I was the love of his life. And yet it seems so easily traded in. Now they see photos of me, as I saw photos of his ex before, and write it off as something in passing. Do they chuckle at the retold memories? Does he tell her that their relationship means more? I know I shouldn't dwell on it, but that's the nature of being human. And I want it all. I want to love, to be loved, and to have been loved always. But now I'm stuck in some in-between place. The security I felt with him, which eventually pushed us apart, and the insecurity I feel with Cazzatore that binds me to him. It is an interesting moment.

Aside from the bout of discomfort I experienced at the sight of my replacement in the life of one I loved, I am fairly content. Cazzatore and I began running last night, and I remember how painful the beginning always is. It's been about 6 months since I have run, and 2 years on the 10th since my marathon. We ran for half an hour, and I felt the pain and thrill all over again. We plan to run twice a week. But plans...we'll see and hope they are followed through.
My comprehension of Italian is getting better, though I hardly ever practice speaking, as much as I would like to. I really want to focus on the language, because it is really amazing. A stranger today asked me where the Christmas festivals were, in Italian, perhaps mistaking me for Italian or seeing me as a resident (which is very exciting). I didn't know, but was able to respond in Italian anyways, and she thanked me and went on her way. I walked around for awhile afterwards, just enjoying the feeling of being in this amazing city. It makes me want to create art, to take photographs and to write. It certainly enhances my world-view.

The search for a bicycle continues. There is a certain little shop that Cazzatore frequents where I go to see if anything new has come in. Of course, I would like a little basket on the front, and a rack on the back. The basket is the essential part, as part of the vision of me riding around with my groceries and wine. Nothing so far, but I am hopeful. In the meantime, getting around on foot is not a bad way to go.

I am anxiously awaiting the arrival of C.R. who will be here in a few days. She will stay here in the apartment for a couple of days, and then go to an apartment right down the street. We will be neighbors! She will stay until just before Christmas, and then return to California until May, when a large group of friends will come stay. But while she is here now there will be many of our favorite posts to revisit, the ones I do not often frequent by myself. Her absence makes it a little less warm. So now we will be set free once more in the streets of our home away from what once was home. It will be glorious. And then for Christmas, all of my roommates will be leaving, including Cazzatore, to go back to see their families. I am thankful, however, that V has invited me to his house to celebrate with his family. I've spent many a Christmas alone, when I was a Resident Advisor in college, and worked over the holidays. But it would be nice to be with people I care about for this, my first Natale in Italy. I can't believe it's already here. 2008 has flown by with a speed unlike any other year I've experienced thus far. Is it just me? So much of this year has been marked by big events: breakups, meetings, new cities, new lifestyles, waiting to return to beloved cities, historical elections, this and that. All in all, I think it has been a very good year. The pain and joy have mixed together to form solid memories, ones that will be old far too soon. But today the sun is finally out. Today is a day for being here now. And so I am.

Thanksgiving

2008-12-02T05:23:00.001-08:00

It seems a lifetime has passed since I last wrote. And it is not because I haven't wanted to , it is because my computer died and I have tried to use any computer but Cazzatore's to write. But, I have finally given in, and I am using the computer in his room. Of course, I will promptly erase all of the addresses of sites I've gone to- just to keep the mystery.

In any case, the past couple of weeks have been blissful, and difficult. The heater in our apartment (shared by 5 people) was not working for two weeks. And it was very cold here. It was almost colder inside then outside and I had taken to wearing about 3 layers of clothes, gloves and a scarf indoors. I was feeling terrible with a sore throat- thinking that sickness was soon approaching. Cazzatore made me tea and we would curl up under his blankets and watch movies. Finally, at the end of last week, the repair technician showed up and fixed the heater. And thank goodness, because it has only gotten colder and now there are winter storms complete with hail and wind. We only turn it on occasionally, but it is enough to keep away the frostbite.

It was recently Cazzatore's birthday. We went out Saturday night to have pizza. There were four of us: me, him and two of our roommates. We had a lovely time, complete with a cake that one roommate had made. We ate and drank, and returned home, preparing to go back out- but ended up calling it a night as the effects of the prosecco and beer took hold. On Sunday I made him an omlette that ended up being more of a scramble due to the fact that every pan here sticks terribly. After breakfast, we went out to watch part of the Florence Marathon. It was cold out, and had been raining that morning, but stopped in the afternoon. A crowd gathered at different points to watch the runners go by. They were yelling words of encouragement like "forza!" and "dai!". I had to laugh, because "dai" sounds like "die" and that is exactly what the runners looked like they wanted to do. I ran a marathon in 2006 in Honolulu, and having never run before I started training for that, I can attest to the pain they were feeling. I remember how it felt to run past groups of supporters, pushing the body to its limits. I remember the grimace, on the verge of torture and bliss. The accomplishment of finishing. All of these things came flooding back to me as we watched, and I cried. I cried for joy. And I decided to train again (as my running has fallen by the wayside) for the Firenze Marathon next November. I wanted to do it with Cazzatore and I told him that if we were just friends, we should do it. And he said he saw no reason why we shouldn't do it now. I don't know what it means. He seems so willing to commit, and yet he is so unwilling to believe he can commit.

Even with all of the mixed signals I get from him, I maintain a level of wariness and gratefulness. I am grateful for the present. I am grateful for the ability to be with him here, now. I am grateful for every kiss and every embrace because I know that it always ends too soon. We are never prepared for loss. The last kiss is never enough. We always wish for one or a million more. And if the end comes, I know that no matter how much I prepare myself, I will feel that I didn't have enough time. It's funny that we always remember the good times more fleetingly than the bad, no matter how long either lasted. I love him, and as such, I am prepared to let him go. I want him to be happy, with or without me. And because the present is so unsteady, I am thankful that I can place my feet here for awhile, my face stuck in a grimace between torture and bliss, having the knowledge-like the runners- that I am capable of doing this, no matter how much it hurts. Because when I reach the finish I can be proud to know that I kept pushing myself to the limit, and I did something that seemed impossible at the time. And every moment, when I had to make a choice between going forward or stopping I went forward.
Each moment offers that choice. We need not think. We need only make it to the next moment. And every time I am offered the choice, for better or worse, I will choose to keep going. And in this moment, I am grateful to have someone to run with.

The Beginning.

2008-11-18T04:03:00.000-08:00

Sono arrivata due giorni fa. I arrived two days ago. And I am home. The trip was very long, very frustrating and very exhausting. All of my flights were late and I had trouble carrying my heavy suitcases (as predicted). I arrived in Florence shortly after 1pm, hopped in a taxi and gave my address (I may even have sounded Italian!). Outside of my apartment, I rang the bell about 5 times. Cazzatore had told me that someone would be there to let me in. Just when I was giving up hope and preparing to sit outside on the sidewalk for goodness knew how long, my coinquilino (housemate) walked up. He helped me lug my baggage up several flights of stairs (no elevator) and then I carted them into Cazzatore's room. Shortly after I was told that the shower wasn't working, I decided to go meet my friend V (the one who came to California) to get a bite to eat. As soon as I had eaten, I really felt my exhaustion. He was also tired and so we parted ways, each to get a little rest.

The day was beautiful and the temperature moderate as I went upstairs to unpack. I made it until 5pm, when I fell into an exhausted sleep, alone in the bed I had grown so used to. There were two blankets (as if that could make up for the heat of another body next to mine) and I curled under them layered in two pairs of pants and a sweater. I was alone, beginning my new life in Florence in the comfort and insecurity of the place I called home just a few months prior.

I woke up around 1am, freezing and unable to fall back asleep. Cold and jet-lagged and still happier here then there. I resigned myself to my wakeful state, and happily discovered that the hot water in the shower was working. After bathing, I turned on Cazzatore's computer to check my email and correspond with friends and family. For some reason, my internet will not work at the apartment, so I only write when I am at the school. I do not want to use his computer for my words, because he may be tempted to read them, and I don't think I'm yet ready to be so open about us, knowing he may not be. Perhaps in the future.

I got dressed for school and stepped out into the cold air at half past eight. I began the walk to the piazza where I take my classes, noting how few tourists were milling about. Joy filled me, along with apprehension. What would happen when he arrived that evening? Would it all have changed? Would we feel the same? I vowed to go out with V in the evening so I wouldn't be sitting and waiting for him to arrive.

At school I greeted the staff as old friends, and noticed how everything had changed. The students, the noise, the feelings. And the room: empty without his presence. This was a hall of ghosts; the very place I met and began to flirt with him. The place where my previous relationship was ended forever. The place where all of my classmates shared a journey that would change all of our lives. Ghosts of memories past, of ringing laughter and smiling faces. It is cold now, and like a home that was left behind only to find that the return is surreal. It is the same and it is completely different.

I took a short nap after class so that I would not crash too early. Then I went and met V at his workplace and we proceeded to a pub to eat hamburgers and drink beer and avoid waiting. The pub we went to is one that C.R. and I went to often during our stay, and also where Cazzatore and I first spent time together outside of school. The end of that night found me kissing him in front of our doorway, and the rest is history. V and I had one beer and stayed a little less than 2 hours. Then we went to another pub (a sister bar of the first) where I was hoping to find a friend that I had made during the summer. He had worked at the pub, and I hadn't had a chance to say goodbye before I left. I did find him, though discovered that he no longer worked there. He just came and drank often. We chatted and he gave me his new phone number, promising invites to bbq's and other places. After about an hour, we parted ways, because it was cold outside and we were looking forward to the possibility of warmth.

V and I headed to the next pub, in which another friend from the summer worked. He, however, was not there, and so we kept on. We stopped to chat with a friend of V's, an American who is in a culinary program in Florence. After about half an hour, I was getting pretty anxious thinking about seeing Cazzatore again. I thought he might have returned by then, so V and I took our separate paths home.

I arrived at the apartment out of breath from the stairs, the cold night air, and the excitement of what would come. I slowly unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was completely dark. There was nobody there. I went to the room and forced myself to study. I heard the door to the apartment open and I went out. It was one of the other housemates. I decided not to go out again. I would be in the room, trying to look like I was doing anything but waiting, when he arrived. But all I could think about was him. I know from experience that a couple of months away from someone can drastically change everything. My last relationship was like that and it was terrifying. And while I remain calm and collected, prepared to make my life singular if need be, I wasn't sure if I was ready to do it yet. And so I waited.

An hour, or two, or a lifetime passed in that room. And finally I heard the front door open. I was sure it was him. I heard two of the other housemates speaking excitedly, as if to welcome someone back from a trip. And still I waited. Then, as I heard him moving towards the room, I opened the door and saw him. He looked good. I feigned confidence. We hugged. He put his bags down outside his door. And then, the kiss. Passionate, reassuring, hungry. It hadn't changed so much after all. We went and talked to the other housemates for a bit. Then we went to our room. We kissed, we looked at photos, we laughed. The same laughter. If I could just keep that forever, I would be content. We found passion in that room, and joy. When he finally closed his eyes beside me and slept, I, cradled in his arms, lie awake. Every moment there was one worth living, and I intended to hold on to it while I could. I know that nothing lasts forever, and loss always comes too quickly. So I breathe in and out and remember that endings are sad and they may be very painful, but I won't break. Because I will always be with me, making my life my own. And if I can have some beautiful people come into it, stay for awhile and change me in some way, then I am at peace. Life keeps moving and if I need to take a break for a good long cry, I just hope I have a window seat.

One.

2008-11-15T02:45:00.000-08:00

Tonight was the going away party. In fact, it is still going. My last day in America has been fantastic. Friends showed up whom I haven't seen in years. And some friends didn't make it, but it has been a really beautiful last day. It almost made me want to stay. Almost. I will be on a plane in no time at all. What a way to end an era. I move on to the life that only a little boot and a big dream can offer me.

One.

Two.

2008-11-13T20:45:00.000-08:00

Today was nice, but hectic. I went to my final orthodontist appointment, followed by a stroll through the beloved bookshop where I worked to say goodbye to my friends. I then had a lovely, albeit brief lunch with Capelli Grigi. I arrived home to pack for a couple of hours and then C.R. and I went into town to have a drink with a friend from our Italian class.

When we arrived back at the house, I continued with the packing, only to repack twice because my suitcases were over the weight limit. I now have a pile of things that I would like to take, but I have nowhere to put them. Packing is hard work. I think it's time for a break, a little leftover Chinese food from last night and a Japanese movie. Tomorrow is going to be a very busy day. After all, it is the last day in America.

Two.

Three.

2008-11-12T21:29:00.000-08:00

We just arrived back home, after a 10 hour drive. C.R. and I were not feeling very well for most of the day, so her husband did all the driving. What a champ! It feels great to be back, and with only a couple of days left, I must begin preparing the final pack and the last minute things that have to be done from here. Although if I miss something, I will manage it from my new home, nestled in the boot. My life is changing radically, and it doesn't seem quite real. I imagine it will take a little time before it does.

Tomorrow and the next day will be full of the goodbye things. Phone calls and meals, tears and laughter. I hope to make it through the airport and security without weeping, but as I've said before, I'm not good with goodbyes. I imagine it will only take one other person's tears to set me off, but I'm so filled with excitement that I will probably be okay. It's the moving forward that makes it alright. I cry more at the moving backwards.

Three.

Four.

2008-11-11T19:02:00.000-08:00

Today was spent overcoming a hangover. I am finally starting to feel better, and C.R. and I decided to do facials (the in-room kind that we bought at the grocery store). We are watching a movie in her hotel room and relaxing before we go and see another Cirque du Soleil show at 9:30. During the last show, we were sitting in the front row and one of the performers waved to me at two different points. The performers were incredible and fit, with more muscles than I even knew existed. I imagine tonight will be just as lovely. We leave Vegas tomorrow, and I am content to have spent so many of my last days in the company of friends, making memories.

Four.

Five.

2008-11-11T18:49:00.000-08:00

Five was the birthday of C.R.'s husband. We went to the shark reef aquarium at Mandalay Bay, which was very interesting. Then we had a lovely dinner at an Italian restaurant in the Venetian. C.R. wore all red, which matched her hair. I wore a gold dress. We were seated at our table and our waiter was Antonio. I heard Antonio speaking Italian with one of the other waiters, so I began to speak to him in Italian. He was an older gentleman, though not lacking a certain sensuality. He kept coming back to talk to us and flirt, like any Italian man would. At one point he leaned over and asked, "Sei fidanzata?", which caused C.R. and I to burst out in laughter. This question, "Are you engaged?" which actually translates to "Are you with anyone?" is generally the third question Italian men ask when a woman talks to them. And I'm not sure that the answer matters to them. C.R. and I always laugh about this little nugget of Italian culture. So when Tony asked, we couldn't help but shriek with joy. Then Tony asked me if I would come and meet him for a drink later in the evening. I declined, and he feigned a broken heart.

Five.

Six.

2008-11-09T20:19:00.001-08:00

We had a lot of fun last night. We were drinking and laughing, and at one point C.R. and I went into the lobby to get some sushi to-go. We sat at the bar while it was being made, and a very cute bartender asked what we wanted. We decided not to get any drinks for the time being. Then he asked if we drank sake. Indeed. He went over and poured us two shots of a really delicious sake, gratis. Delicious sake with delicious bartender. Excellent. We chatted and joked with him for awhile, and then when our food arrived and we were leaving, he poured another shot for me (C.R. declined) and himself. This was a rather exciting evening because I love to flirt. I do not want to seem obnoxious and cocky, but I am pretty good at it, and it is a rare delight. We will go tonight for more sake before we go to a cirque du soleil show. I look forward to it.

I had a dream last night that caused me some discomfort. First a little background. Yesterday evening, when we went to dinner, there was a group of people sitting next to us and I suddenly realized they were speaking another language. The gentleman closest to us was a very handsome man, who looked a lot like my ex from Brasil. And I realized they were speaking Brazilian Portuguese. Now, I have never really dealt with the fallout from the Brasil relationship. I moved into something else very quickly, and have tried my hardest to just not think about it. This is easy when I'm with Cazzatore. All other times are difficult.

The relationship was a good one. My ex was a very wonderful person who I loved very much. And a lack of love wasn't the problem. So we ended a relationship due to circumstances, and then he met someone and then I met someone. But he was very pro-commitment. And I was very afraid of it. Cazzatore is also very afraid of it. So now and again, when I start to think about the whole web I've woven, I become a little sad and a little afraid. The man at the table next to us at dinner brought that all up. And so, the dream...

I was talking to Mr. Brazilian in a park, but it was in Brasil. He was flirty. Then, his fiance' walked up. Uh oh... awkward. So I walked towards the park exit. And on my left was a pool/tank. And in that, was my ex-boyfriend giving scuba diving lessons. I saw him, but he didn't see me, so I walked to the end and asked someone to get his attention. He came out and we hugged tightly for several minutes without saying anything, and I buried my nose in his neck. Then the place we were standing was actually a bus which began to move. We didn't get any time to speak, and I had to get off the bus. That was part one of the dream.

The second part involved Cazzatore and C.R. C.R. and her husband were mad at me for something I had said, and couldn't be my friends anymore. And I saw Cazzatore and we kissed like mad for a few minutes, but it was awkward because they were there and were angry with me. This was a very strange dream. It involved a lot of things that I do not want to deal with. And it wasn't the first uncomfortable dream involving my ex. I imagine this means that these are things I must deal with, whether I would like to or not. I can push and push them to the periphery, but in the end, they will be at the forefront. I just want to be in a place where I can deal with them in the shadow of Cazzatore's embrace. I pick up pieces of the heart I've given away, and then cast them into the future, hoping that one day, they'll stick.

Six.

Seven.

2008-11-08T22:48:00.000-08:00

Today has been magnificent. We are now officially on the Vegas strip and had a lovely dinner in the Venetian. What a gloriously beautiful place. And the weather is fantastic. Last night we stayed in a little hotel on the outskirts of the strip in a town called Henderson. And this evening we made our way here, to a beautiful hotel with great rooms. We are currently celebrating with a bottle of Prosecco. That may lead to other celebration. But I have officially entered my final week of life in America.

Seven.

Eight.

2008-11-07T09:34:00.000-08:00

I am in my hotel room in San Luis Obispo, on the journey to Vegas. The first leg of the trip was pretty good- a quick trip down here and then dinner at a lovely Italian restaurant called Buona Tavola (Good Table). I changed my tune a bit and ordered a nice penne all'arrabiata, which should be a bit spicy. It wasn't really spicy, but it was still delicious and the service was excellent. After dinner, we came back to the hotel where C.R. and I watched a movie and hung out, and then went to sleep.

I awoke this morning to the alarm at 7:30am, because we were going to get started with our day around 8am. It is now almost 10am and I am still waiting in my room, entertaining myself with some music television and a slew of online communities. Ah, but I am not upset. I've gotten much better at letting things be as they will be. I practice patience every moment that seems to drag along.

8 days.

Countdown Until Departure

2008-11-06T08:32:00.000-08:00

9 days. I can't believe I leave in 9 days. It is finally here, and I am thrilled. Last night I did another "test-pack" and found that my original plan was not going to work. My original plan being that I bring one big suitcase and one little one. I will now be bringing two big suitcases, one of them being over the 50lb weight limit that I get on the flight. In fact, I was fitfully dreaming all night that I was at the airport, trying to check in my bags and find out if I would have to pay a fee. At first there was no line, and a nice gentleman at the counter whom I thought would let me slide without the excess weight fee. But I kept getting distracted by people I knew, and every time I turned back, the line had grown exponentially. It had wrapped around the airport (which looked like the inside of a giant arena).

I was tossing and turning in my real-time bed, and finally I woke up without warning at 6:59am and was up for the day. Then I realized that today is the day I go to Vegas! Just what I need to assure the rapid flight of time. A week of fun, in a place where I don't see my suitcases everyday and don't have to pace around looking for a distraction. It's a bit of cabin fever, but it seems to be America cabin fever. And I have an end point in sight. 9 days.

The Last Moments

2008-11-05T10:01:00.000-08:00

Today is November 5. Last night was Election night, and what an evening! I was in Italian class with C.R. while all of the results were coming in. Luckily, our professoressa had the television turned on, without the sound, and we were able to see what was happening. Needless to say, I couldn't concentrate at all, this being one of the most exciting elections in history. It was my last class as well. Professoressa kept us late, which was frustrating me, but as we were walking out the door and I was on the phone with a great friend of mine, the race was called. Regardless of who people in this country were voting for, it was quite a moment. I am still reeling. And I know we are moving towards a brighter future. Both candidates had excellent speeches. McCain's concession speech was hopeful and dignified, while Obama's acceptance speech was inspiring and humble. I think we can all agree that it was a night to remember.

Aside from all of the excitement from the election, I am excited to be moving closer to my new home. Tomorrow I leave for Las Vegas with C.R. and her husband. We will be celebrating his birthday there on the 10th, and will be returning on the 12th. A couple of last minute errands and appointments, and the 14th marks a going away party for me. We will attempt to celebrate into the wee hours, when at last I will be taken to the airport by at least two, but maybe a caravan of friends. My flight leaves at 7:50am from San Francisco International Airport. I have a layover in New York (a mere hour) and then on towards Rome. From Rome I must take the express train to the train station, and then another train into Firenze. My Italian friend (who came to California to visit) will meet me and help me lug my heavy bags to the apartment (or at least a taxi) and then up several flights of stairs, where one of the housemates should be waiting to let me in.

As far as my luggage goes, I am limiting myself to one big suitcase and one little one, and a carry-on backpack and computer bag. I am having trouble fitting everything into the bags, because I have several of my most beloved books, a couple pairs of newly beloved boots and other little things that I can't be away from for such a long time. Cazzatore called me on monday and I told him I would bring a lot of stuff (because I knew he would protest). He is the traveling type who brings a tiny suitcase when he goes to another country for a year. I have never been able to do that, although I did only bring one suitcase when I went to Brasil for 3 and a half months. I'm working on it. I have had several "test-packs", where I pack everything up, then take it out again and try to whittle down. Since we are leaving tomorrow for Vegas, I imagine that this will be my last day for a "test-pack" before the real one. I am going to be in Italy in ten days. I can hardly stand the anticipation. Just put me on a plane and take me to my beloved boot.

November Approaches

2008-10-27T08:04:00.000-07:00

It's really starting to feel like Fall, after the heat wave we've been experiencing. This morning I woke up cold and rummaged around the guest room where I stay at C.R.'s to find matching socks and a sweater. I had strange dreams punctuated by the alarm clock going off at 9 minute intervals for about an hour. I use the snooze button too frequently.

The approaching weekend marks not only the beginning of November, and therefore two weeks until I pick up my life and place it somewhere else, but also the arrival of a friend from Florence. He is a really great, generous person that I met while looking for a job the first time around. He got me a job and gave me a cell phone as well. He arrives on Friday, October 31 -Halloween. The next day is the big party we have been preparing for since I got here, the annual Heaven and Hell costume party. I have spent many a day painting trim, cupboards, plywood, more plywood and touching up bathroom paint. I have cleaned and scoured all corners, and will be doing so again this week. We are running around like crazy, our heads exploding at the thought that this is the final week pre-party. And it's that much closer to that illusive flight.

I have been living out of my suitcases, so to speak. I have them open on the floor, clothes and other odds and ends continuously draped over them, often spilling onto the floor or into each other. I have no idea how I will get all of these things I love to fit, and come with me. The traveling will be a hassle, because I will be dragging this luggage through Rome to the train station, and traveling two more hours after landing to my final destination. My friend, who is coming on Friday will meet me at the train station in Florence to help me drag all of my most beloved things back to Cazzatore's apartment. Over cobbled streets and up several flights of stairs and I will store them in some corner of his room until I take over the other room a couple of weeks later. He won't be there when I arrive. He will arrive from a vacation with a friend the next day, when I go back to school. I'm not sure what I will do until he arrives, but I hope it will be something along the lines of wandering the city alone and catching my breath for a moment, and not sitting around the apartment looking out the windows at intervals, waiting. This is my journey. I want him to be a part of it, but I don't want him to be the main story line. This is about me, changing my life, challenging myself and learning how to be okay with not holding on so tightly to a little thing called love.

Rewind

2008-10-22T16:39:00.000-07:00

The first time I left Italy, I was a mess. I am very, very bad with goodbyes and every time I have ever left Brasil, or this one time, Italy, I am a sobbing fragment of myself. Usually, the day before I am scheduled to leave is an almost impossible one, considering that every time I try to talk or think, I break down and weep. I can recognize the humor of this, and I appreciate that it is a funny image. This particular leaving, was a little better than my previous ones. I only cried twice the day before, and not at all on the way to the airport. Cazzatore was accompanying me, of course, and we generally find some laughter to share. However, while sitting in a line of chairs outside the security gate, it happened. Uncontrollable tears. They poured down my face, and with no tissue, they just kept going. My face became red and streaked and I was thankful once again for my foresight in skipping the makeup.

While sitting there, trying to pull myself together, I did a double take as Dennis Quaid walked by with his wife. Crazy! Dennis in Florence. After saying goodbye to Direttore and going through the security gate, I started heading toward my gate, telling myself that I wasn't going to be one of those people who bothered this man just because he was a celebrity. And then I thought, too bad- I want to make this not the day I left Florence, but the day I met Dennis Quaid. So I approached him and his wife and asked for an autograph. I felt despicable while doing this, because I don't really like the idea of autographs, but I was going to any length to distract myself from my sinking heart. Dennis grudgingly gave it, looking very displeased, and his wife giving me a very cold, hard look. I thought this was unnecessary, because if a person is going to be a celebrity, I think they need to be prepared to have fans. And they should be gracious, because if they didn't have fans, they wouldn't be so almighty, eh? I felt a little angry with the whole episode, but I have to laugh because I was such a disaster. I later read in an online article that Dennis and his wife were photographed having a fight in Florence that same day. I'm not sure if it was before or after our encounter, but I guess I will cut him some slack. After all, he was leaving Florence too, if only for awhile, and I understand how that feels.

Revelations

2008-10-20T03:53:00.000-07:00

It is almost 4 o'clock in the morning and I am awake. I had a dream just now that was strange, and yet strangely freeing. After a lot of fighting and running and other dream-bits, I was finally in Italy, living in a shed converted to a room off of a main house in which Cazzatore lived. I was there, and waiting to see how he would act towards me before I made any move. At one point he came over and lay on top of me, face to face. But my brother was in the room, so that was as far as it went. Cazzatore was working on something with a microphone and a recorder (he loves to do karaoke, and I think it had something to do with that). At one point, my brother left and I was hanging around, waiting for Cazzatore to come chat or kiss. After a bit, I went to his room, where he was already in bed, getting ready for sleep. I was a little stung, but I didn't say anything. I went to a porch, where he followed and sat a little far from me. Then I started working on a project, painting a big piece of plywood a vibrant purple (this is probably because I have been doing a lot of painting of plywood at C.R.'s house, and one of the most noticeable colors around is a rich purple, which, coincidentally is also Florence's color). I remarked to him that I wanted to spend time with him while I could and let things happen as they will. He remarked that he wanted to end things now, because they were not falling into the neat little box of his inability to commit. And I just said "okay".

Above all, I would like to live gracefully, and be accepting of what may come. After all, you can't change others or their opinions- you can only change you, and yours. This dream was an important lesson for me. And I know that I must make my own life and happiness. However the cards may fall, I am the only constant in my life. Everything else is a bonus. And I am grateful every day for the wonderful things and people that come into my life and decide to stay awhile- those things that could disappear all too quickly. And I know also that I am moving to Florence for me- and I will stay and shape my life with whatever tools I find along the way.

Ready.

2008-10-14T13:54:00.000-07:00

Things are falling into place slowly, but surely. I went home this weekend to visit my family and best friend, and while it was bittersweet, I think it was important. I am definitely ready to strike out on my own, without being too homesick. I want to move my roots to a place I love, with people I hardly know and possibilities around every corner. I will miss people, and places here, but ultimately, I am ready.

I can't wait to get my bicycle and put things into my little basket on the front, like groceries and wine. I want to know what it's like to be freezing in Italy. I want to walk along the Arno River and see my breath as I exhale. I'm ready for a life that I make, not just one that is given to me because of roots and boundaries and fear.

November 15 is my departure date. Almost exactly a month until then. Time seems to crawl and fly at the same time. I dream of Italy, Cazzatore, all of the people I went to school with there. The dreams are fragmented and scattered, and the only things I really remember are that they occurred and they involve pieces of the "boot life". There are still things to be done, right up until the last minute and I must remember to enjoy this moment, every moment. It's the last one like it, and it's wonderfully real.

Waiting in October

2008-10-05T19:18:00.000-07:00

Fall is upon us. Outside it's a bit brisk and the clouds are covering up bits of blue. The air smells of change. I love this season, the season (being a constant student) of new beginnings. I am waiting, and dreaming of my new beginning in Italy. I finally got my visa! In order to celebrate, sushi was devoured with friends and the passport was shown around as if I had made it by hand. Step by step I move closer to the dream. Closer to the unknown. Closer to that boot-shaped delight that changed my life.

I had forgotten October. Its existence had passed out of my mind like a name at the first introduction. For weeks I was thinking that November was almost here, that Time was running out, that October didn't exist. Fortunately, I was mistaken. I love October. I love when it starts raining and getting cooler. I don't much like the rest of Winter, since I tend to get sad when the darkness sets in, and lock myself up in a room with no motivation to do anything besides stay under the blankets and watch romantic comedies. I don't like being cold either. But this Winter, I may have someone to sleep next to. At least for awhile.

I wonder what Italy is like in the winter. I hear it's cold. But I think, even that won't deter me from being in love with Florence. Ah Florence, the place where the pace of living slows just a little. Where friends and laughter take priority. Where the beautiful buildings that are filled with history hold up the sky. Where I find a little more hope, and a little more peace than here. And so one more day comes to an end, and I feel my heart beating in time with the clock- tick, tick, ticking away the moments until I go to sleep and seep into dream.

Spaghetti

2008-09-28T20:40:00.000-07:00

Spaghetti makes me really happy. It's warm and slippery, delicious and filling. It can be messy and tangled, and really easy or really difficult to get right. You can find it almost everywhere, but it's easy to forget it's there. It goes well with bread, salad, wine, milk and cheese. It is never the same dish in two different places. It's a lot like love.

The recipe is basic: two parts spaghetti noodles, one part sauce (or if you are like me, two parts sauce to one part noodles, because I like it messy and unpredictable), a half part circumstance, and two parts chance. One part me. One part you. Pair with wine and finish with a smile. Even if you are a disaster in the kitchen, the best part about spaghetti, and love, is that it's great when you make it yourself.

Doesn't that make your mouth water?

Piano Piano

2008-09-26T23:07:00.000-07:00

I awoke today in a pretty decent mood. The sun was shining, I was up early and I even managed to fit in some exercise. And by some, I mean 7-10 minutes of walking lunges, squats, push ups and sit ups. Even though 7-10 minutes is not a long time, my thighs and butt are pretty sore from those killer lunges. Every single time.

Anyway, after the first part of the morning passed, I was reading my magazine (I love 'O' the Oprah magazine, for a reason sometimes unapparent to my friends) when I received an incoming call. "Unknown" was giving me a jingle. Now, "Unknown" can be any number of people, but I most often get that call from abroad... always from Brasil and now from Italy. So my heart started to beat faster as I answered the phone. I had been half-expecting this call, considering that yesterday, when I went to San Francisco to apply for my Italian study visa, I got a couple of missed calls from "Unknown" and so finally, the third time around, I asked C.R. to run outside and answer it while I was in line, in case it was important. She came back telling me it was Cazzatore and he would call me the next day. So when I got the "Unknown" ring, I was prepared.

"Hello?" I said, voice dripping with excitement, while trying to appear cool and collected. "Hey, it's me" the familiar voice replied. And what a voice. Cazzatore gets me every time. We chatted and joked and laughed for a bit and then he said, "I tried to call you yesterday because I have some news". Damn. Half of me jumped to the conclusion that it would be bad, and the other half reminded the first half to be calm. You can't change the tide, you know.

"So, one of the roommates in our apartment will be gone from November to January, so if you want to take her room, you wouldn't have to find a place so soon after you got here...".

Okay. This was very interesting. A short while ago he was calling me in the middle of the night freaking out about the mere idea that I might expect him to commit. And not such a long time later, he is asking me if I want to live in his house. Again.

I may not have mentioned that I lived with him for the last two months of my first stay, in exactly the same situation. The same roommate left for a while, I took her room and it was fantastic. He asked me that time as well. I had not brought up anything about living together, and one night he offers me the room. These are the mixed signals I am getting.

"I really want you to think about this", I said after a pause, "because it really is not a problem for me to find my own place when I get there. There are places I can stay, with friends. You think about it and let me know".

He seemed fine with it. And not only fine, but excited. He said I already knew the people in the house, and they knew me, it was cheap, I wouldn't have to rush to find a place, etc. Fair enough. I guess what he really needed was to know I wasn't expecting anything from this. That seemed to be the moment that calmed him enough to allow him to let it happen. So, either this is turning out very lovely, or it's a sick little game that will twist the dagger into my already wary heart . I'm rooting for the former, in case you couldn't guess.

As more and more time goes by, I realize the importance of not putting my happiness in the hands of others. I know that things will happen as they will, and I try all the time to be a more relaxed and flexible person. Not every story needs to be a novel. There is a place for short stories or poems. Our story could be like that. A mere chapter. A children's book, perhaps. It could be an essay, or an article. Whatever it is, it will be fascinating and beautiful. It may be light-hearted, magical, funny or tragic. There is no telling how it will end, or, if like a Dickens novel, it will go on and on. All I know is this: when the pen falls off the paper, I would like to read it as it unfolds softly, slowly.

Daydreams

2008-09-23T15:14:00.000-07:00

Italy calls to me. Today I did things geared toward moving. I did a rough-pack of my suitcases, discovering that I have far too many "necessary" things to bring and a strong desire to not lug my too-heavy bags up several flights of stairs to Cazzatore's place, only to lug them back down as soon as I find my own place. I also have been spending some time looking at apartments in Florence, online. There are very few listings for shared rooms, and many listings for apartments, which are a little out of my price range. I have had an offer from one of my previous Italian bosses, to rent a room in a Palazzo from him for 200 Euro a month. The problem is that there is no cooking facilities. 200 Euro a month begins to be a lot more when you have to go out to eat for every meal. And I'm not sure if it has Internet access, and it doesn't have a washer/dryer. However, it is in a great location and it's quiet, considering it's at the back of a garden. And the one window looks into an enclosed courtyard with a banana tree. I am torn, though I do realize the importance of getting my own place, and am excited to be on my way towards living an actual Italian lifestyle. And Cazzatore will get the space he needs to chase away those Commitment Demons.

I am also daydreaming about buying a bicicletta when I get there, so I can zoom all over Florence like the locals do. Of course, if I didn't have a bike, I could always get more rides on Cazzatore's, which is a tempting thought. But I must assert my Italian independence and ride my way into glory. But speaking of transportation, I am having a bit of a difficult time selling my car. I have had no takers thus far. It will be really nice when it's sold and the only issue I have to deal with is pumping up my tires and hoping nobody steals my ride.

It is rather difficult, with all of these daydreams, to live in the moment. My mind and heart are already abroad, and my body feels weighted from dragging behind. One day at a time, I struggle to think about what I need to do in this moment, and people I would like to spend time with. I will miss my friends and family, I am sure, though I am thrilled to be starting my own life, somewhere a little different than anyone expected. I don't know what will happen, or if I will return to California and I really shouldn't think about it. My heart beats a little faster just knowing that the road before me is open, and that I am taking a big step into the world. And at this moment, I am taking a little step to my Italian class to take a test. I haven't studied, nor am I going to study, but I think, in the long run, it will turn out alright.

Puzzle Pieces

2008-09-19T10:37:00.001-07:00

I am on an emotional roller-coaster. I just had breakfast with a good friend of mine, and ended up crying almost from the offset. Merely trying to form words is too much for this fragile state I find myself in. The waitress stood back for a moment while I tried to dry my tears on my napkin. It was a little awkward. But I have been in this state for days. Where I used to wake up bright and early at 6:30am ready for the day, I now find myself hitting snooze until well after 7, unable to drag myself into the light and face these feelings. It's coming from a late night phone call from Cazzatore, and a couple of pieces I have yet to put in the puzzle. But here we go.

I do not like people to know that I have these emotions. I have a very high defensive wall to protect myself from them. I hate being seen as an emotional, crying mess, but sometimes I end up showing this part of me, much to my chagrin. I strive to keep a tough exterior, impermeable and strong. And yet, I am often a mess. Relationship after failed relationship, I have broken down, whether or not I was the catalyst in the destruction. And I have often been the driving force, consciously or subconsciously. I have never been able to commit. I have fallen deeply into lust with many a person, ending up breaking his heart and mine because I can't take steps in the commitment direction. And so much of my life has been spent wondering what the hell is wrong with me, doing this one thing that seemed so easy for all those around me. I stopped trusting myself at a point. But I have never been able to hold back, to not jump into something when I felt that familiar stir of lust. It always ended, and not very well.

I thought this inability to pull the trigger (so to speak) was going to be a lifelong curse, and that I would ultimately end up alone. And then one day I went to Italy and met a boy. A boy unlike any other. Someone who mirrored me so perfectly in every way. Someone who was just like me in all of the important respects, such as a shared love of languages, a sense of humor that is bound to both amuse and annoy those around us, and a love of the same places-Brasil, California (he studied in the city I live in). And we were different where it mattered too. When I got wound up and cranky, he was relaxed and focused, dousing me with humor and patience. We spent 2 and a half months in a state of perfect bliss. I fell madly in love. And he told me that he has never been able to commit. We are much more alike than I first suspected.

Now, this revelation floored me. C.R. says he was born to be someone's partner. Every action he makes and every word out of his mouth scream commitment. Every word, that is, except those seven. "I have never been able to commit". Uh oh. But I marched blindly on, ignoring that which I didn't want to hear, and embracing the moments of joy. I convinced myself that he would change his mind. And it wasn't hard, because he seemed every bit as immersed in this passion as I was. Happiness was breaking upon me in waves.

I called him a few days ago. (It seems like a lifetime). There was something obviously wrong. He asked if he could call back the next day. Hanging up, I felt searing pain. I immediately assumed (perhaps selfishly) that it was about me. And then I did something that no one should ever do when consumed by emotion. I wrote an email. As part of my defense against pain and the inability to control my fate, I wrote something that basically said, if you don't want to do this thing anymore tell me sooner rather than later. Well, as the fog cleared, I began to realize that this was probably not the thing I wanted to do, to someone who was afraid of commitment. A way out. Perhaps an ultimatum to a mind like that. As I later found out, his problem had nothing to do with me, but the damage had been done.

He called me around 10pm that night, my time. Which means it was around 6am his time. His voice was groggy and upset. "I couldn't sleep, I was thinking about that email you sent me". Here it comes, I thought, making my way outside onto the cold porch. He was feeling guilty about giving me the wrong idea. He was torn up and confused, he likes me a lot, after all, but he's never been able to commit. Two conflicting emotions. We had a long talk, in which I reassured him that I expected nothing from him. That we should spend time together while it's good, and not necessarily forever. My happiness, after all, is not because of him. He enhances it many times over. But I will continue living, breathing and laughing with or without him. I told him that he had to stop worrying about what he was doing to me, and just be in the moment. I am a grown woman, and I will walk away if it becomes too much to bear. These things I told him and more. And while I gave him the opportunity to walk away, if that was what he wanted to do, he didn't take it. We ended up making a few jokes before hanging up. I talked him off of the ledge, so to speak. He didn't want to end things, but he wanted to know it was alright to not commit. That he was free.

I truly believe these things I told him. I, of all people, know what it's like to be unable to commit, and how everybody in the world can make you feel terrible for it. It's not something that is wrong with him. It's who he is. It's who I was. And every single relationship I ran away from, I can look back at and say, Ah, so that's why that happened. I am still friends with many of the people I never made it with. I really believe that there are reasons for everything.

Today, after I cried over breakfast and again in my car, I called him. I would not let him hear me upset, but I did want to hear his voice. And it was almost as if it had never happened. He was funny, and we joked and he told me about some restaurants he wanted to show me when I get back to Florence. As if everything was the same. But it isn't the same. I am now caught in a web of insecurity. Whereas happiness reigned before, I now find doubt. I now know how fragile it all is, and how quickly it can be lost. And day by day, I avoid talking about him with people because I don't want to count my chickens before they're sure. I do not want to be the one whose heart got broken. I don't want people to see my weakness, and judge me if it all falls apart. The one time I feel fully able to commit to one wonderful person, and it's all hanging by a thread. I overcame my habit of running away because of him, and I dread to think what might happen if it breaks. I may become a shattered fragment of myself. I may decide to never take the plunge again. And if there is one thing I want for myself, above all else, it is to always take the leap into the unknown, get lost somewhere between hope and a dream, no matter how much it hurts or I've been hurt. I never want to become so jaded that I tiptoe through life, missing out on the best experiences of all.

So day by day, I hope and try not to hope. I cry and try not to cry. I dream and try not to dream, knowing that I can only take one day at a time, breathe in and out over and over again and be here with me now. I am here and alive. I am going back to Florence, and I will, through time, know if it is meant to be. Until then, I write and I live and I laugh as much as one can laugh, while crying over breakfast.

Intentions.

2008-09-16T09:16:00.001-07:00

I am selling my things, packing up and going back to Italy. I spent three glorious months there, eating, sleeping, riding on the back of the bicycle belonging to a handsome Italiano. And it really got me. Italy is a king among men.

I returned to California two weeks ago, pretty much kicking and screaming. There are things to be done here in the homeland, that cannot, unfortunately be done through the shared technologies of internet and phone. I need to sell my car, manage my things, say my goodbyes. I need to uproot myself, this time with the intention to stay for a significant amount of time. I am going on a journey. A journey in which I will eat all of the spaghetti al pomodoro that I can find in Italy. And perhaps, in time, find the best love.

It began almost four months ago. I was preparing to go on a study program through the local community college to be in Florence, Italy, learning Italian. I was excited to be traveling abroad again to expand my mind. I had done a three month stint in Brasil, learning Portuguese and falling in love. After two and a half years of a lovely (though long-distance) relationship with a Brasileiro, in which I traveled to Brasil four times (he couldn't get a visa to the U.S.), we called it quits. Mutually and amicably. Country borders and visa restrictions make love a very difficult pursuit (as does a lifelong fear of real commitment). It was difficult, but I believe things happen for a reason, albeit a reason that may not be clear at the time.

My mind had been awakened by the program, by studying a new language in the country where it is spoken. Wanderlust was ignited. And in time, after living with one foot constantly out the door (of wherever I was), I was finally feeling done with the beautiful city where I went to college and that I called home for 6 years. So with this sense of moving on, I set out into the world, toward a boot-shaped haven to try again. And two days before leaving, I got sick. A cold, I thought. I boarded the airplane with a patchwork group of students, heading towards the same program, but with different fates.

I felt terrible on the trip, though excited. I sat next to a man whose pores were frothing with alcohol. We used a really great airline company, with luxury all the way. But I just focused on calming my churning insides. We landed in Munich, and went on to Florence. Wine was served as a complimentary beverage on the plane, and though I couldn't fully enjoy it, I felt like a whole new world was opening up to me. When we finally landed in Italy on Sunday night the 8th of June, we were exhausted and happy. And we had no idea what was in store for us. Ahh, the magic of possibility.

We took vans to our arranged accommodations, preparing to arrive at school at 9am the next morning. I was living with a new friend whom I had taken Italian 1 and 2 with, though we really, barely knew each other. We lived above another student from our program, and a few doors down from "the ladies"-the name we gave to the little triad of a woman, her daughter, and granddaughter. The street was lined with trees and on the top of a hill. We couldn't see much however, night having that effect on vision. But we packed into our places, perhaps a little worn from the wear, but excited to be starting a new chapter of life. And I was coughing up a lung, so to speak. Very, very exhausted, and very sick, I walked into my new lodging for the next month with my friend Capelli Rossi (C.R. for short). It was a great apartment with two big rooms and a kitchen, and a bathroom that had a shower head stuck to the wall in the center, and blocked from the sink by a worn shower curtain that didn't go all the way to the floor where there was a drain. Very interesting. We then went off to our respective beds to catch a wink before starting school. I set the alarm on my watch, for a bright and early 7am (and feared oversleeping). Luckily (?), I coughed all night, and managed to only get some sleep the last couple of hours before dawn broke and found me wide-eyed and ready.

As the sun shone into my huge window (screenless), I saw the light, so to speak. Illuminated by day, the area we were living in was even more beautiful than the previous night had been. We were situated directly across from a very green garden of a beautiful home. I was in the room directly above the street (our own street in Italy!), and therefore caught all of the street noise, which I really like. As a Leo, I like to be in the mix of things, seeing who's coming and going and calling up to the window. As a deep sleeper, I opted to take the noisy room so C.R. could sleep soundly in the room at the back. Morning in Italy is glorious. That morning in Italy was life-changing. C.R. and I both felt it. It felt like home.

We walked to school, stopping along the way to gather up our neighbors and fellow students. As we reached The Ladies' apartment, we knocked on their street level kitchen shutter, as we would almost every morning for the next month, and found them in pajamas enjoying breakfast, and not ready (also, as we would find them every morning for the next month). So, accompanied by our new friend, the Car Salesman, we mapped our way to school. And we were like kids in a candy shop, grabbing on to every experience as if it were the last of its kind, and devouring it with a gleeful relish. Look at the street! Look at that tree! Wow! A fruit and vegetable stand! Look at this day! We're in Italy! I was, of course, coughing horrendously through this, barely taking the time to breathe, but even so, it was magnificent.

Arriving at school, we excitedly chattered with our fellow students, finding out who was living where and with whom, and how the first night had gone. Then we proceeded to our Orientation, where we took a placement exam to see what level we should be in. I was in bad shape, hacking and gagging and trying not to be rude while the director was speaking. And then I saw a beautiful man. I commented to our group leader about this man, as a side note. After finishing the orientation, we went off to begin a city tour of the most famous sights of Florence, which is packed with history, art and beauty. The tour ended halfway through, due to the sheer exhaustion of the students, and also my near-death coughing fits. C.R. and I went with our group leader, whom I shall call Capelli Grigi, and had lunch at a favorite place of her and her family, after which commenced our life of leisure.

Time is different in Italy. There is a distinct quality about it, as it moves more slowly than in America. There is time to savor. Time to chat with friends over a nice meal, or glass of wine. Time to sit at the top of the city gazing out over the bridges at sunset. Time to enjoy forming words, speaking a language. It is a marvelous thing. And over time, we fell more and more deeply in love with that strange country, shaped like a boot.

The first Friday, we were standing at the information desk at school after class, I, waiting for C.R. to get the information she needed. The beautiful man approached, whom I shall call Cazzatore, and tried to assess if I was waiting at the desk for help. "No, I'm just waiting," I said. He then said my name, followed by a "right?". I'm not sure exactly how he knew who I was but that was all of the help I needed to spur me towards an attempt at seducing him. Of course then, as we were chatting, it was revealed that we both had stayed in Brasil for a significant time, and he spoke Portuguese as well. If the name thing was all of the help I needed, then the Portuguese was the hammer that knocked me into action. Excited, I left school and C.R. and I prepared to go to a little dessert party that Capelli Grigi had organized with some of her Fiorentini friends. At this party, I enjoyed great company, hacking coughs and excitement about this new man.

A long, leisurely weekend followed, which I barely made it through, wondering what to wear that Monday, when I would most likely see Cazzatore again. The excitement was palpable as I walked with C.R. to school. I decided that I would put into motion, an ultimate seduction, and after classes had ended, I remained in school, hoping to see him, with the guise of studying until closing time. Hours later, and about 20 minutes until the school closed, he appeared and I asked him to join some of the students for a soccer game and some beer. He agreed.

Aside from the concern that perhaps he was gay (had I even asked?) when he showed up with another well-dressed Italian man he introduced as his roommate, the evening went very well. At the end of it, I had deduced that he was indeed straight, single and exceedingly charming. He offered to walk C.R. and I home, and when we reached the apartment, she went inside and I proceeded to kiss him. The beginning of something that is puzzling, wonderful and unique.

The month went by too quickly, recovering from what I found out was bronchitis, eating spaghetti everywhere we went (for some reason I craved the hearty simplicity of spaghetti with tomatoes), taking beach trips, riding on the back of a bicycle built for one, and giving in to a great and fun "relationship". I use this word carefully, as it is not the standard, commitment-phobe's worst fear type, but the go-with-the-flow, laughing all the way type. As the time neared to leave Italy, C.R. and I realized that we couldn't. Not yet. It wasn't just the guy. It was the country, the people, the essence of time. Everything about it felt like home. And then we made the decision to extend our stay. She, for another month and a half, and I for two months. We set the wheels in motion, a very difficult thing, considering I had to move out of my room back home, pack and move my stuff and get things taken care of, from abroad and with the generosity of friends and family. I couldn't have done it without C.R., and all the people who pushed me to chase the dream, no matter how difficult it was to do.

Three months seemed like a second, and a lifetime. Three months of laughter, joy, working odd jobs, eating spaghetti (it still hasn't gotten old), and enjoying life. And yet I had to come back. There were and are things to be done. I came back, kicking and screaming, but I came back. I was ready to turn around and hop the first plane back to my boot-country the second I landed. I am ready now. I still have two months until I am set to depart. I need a visa, some money and to know that I am closing the door to this past properly. I don't know where I will end up. I don't know if love will last. I don't know if I will find the best spaghetti or love in Italy. I don't know anything more than I want to do this more than I have wanted anything in my life before. And I am making it happen. I will go back to Italy, with a couple of suitcases and the intention of living my life every second the best way I know how. I am taking a chance, going out on a limb and ready whether I should fall and return, broken and scattered, or if this is the most important decision I will ever make. I want to live in Italy. I will start with 6 to 9 months and go from there. Life will take me where it will, and I will pack my bags, get on that plane, and let it.