A Month Later

A month ago today, I was tired, cranky, dazed and horribly incoherent. Having survived the trip home from Italy, I wondered if I would see normalcy again in my lifetime. By day two I thought I was fine, but when the end of the week came and I was still dealing with a frustrating tiredness, it hit me that I am getting older and adjustment takes longer. I just hate these reminders. If I can maintain denial I'm happy.

So now a month has passed and I am in what passes for normalcy; although Casey would tell you I am weird--and that that is normal. He thrives on having a weird gramma.

A recent aha moment came when I realized that I am comfortable here in my country in spite of my total infatuation with Italy.

Always in the past when we returned, adjustment was difficult as I so missed Italy and all that it offers. Eventually this longing led to the adventure of living there for twelve wonderful months. Returning to the US at that time was painfully difficult and traumatic as chronicled in entries from July, August and September 2007.

We have now had two more lazy summers there. We love those times and feel that we have arrived “home” when the plane lands. But this year we found the leaving a little less painful. Thoughts of home beckoned us—even Casey.

We know that we are just a plane ride away and that we will be back again and again. The sense of loss is lessened. Life here is just easier in many ways and this year I finally realize that I like that.

The wonderful roadways and byways displaying the beautiful scenery and landscape of Tuscany refreshes the soul but the ease of roadways and getting from here to there in San Diego is refreshing in its own way.

I love the little stores and shops in Italy where shop keepers are warm, friendly and delightfully helpful and food is always fresh but, I must admit, the frequency of large, get-whatever-you-need-in-one-place supermarkets has advantages. Yes, Italy has these in some places but for most people getting to them requires a considerable expenditure of time with the frozen things unfrozen by the time they reach home.

And…I love Costco where I can get all sorts of things—good new Tuscan olive oil, wonderful parmigiano-reggiano cheese from Parma, bufala mozzarella from Southern Italy, balsamic vinegar from Modena, fresh Dungeness crab from San Francisco, huge Alaskan crab legs, red-ripe tomatoes from Mexico and so much more. The biggest problem with Costco, as anyone knows, is that the “so much more” usually results in a huge deficit at the check-out stand. It is the ultimate venue for impulse buying but, then, what a deal.

I like my home here, for while it is in the city, it doesn’t seem like it. We have, by California standards, a large lot with pool, citrus trees, fountains and a fenced off area for a motor home (if we had one) which now houses Casey’s fort and bunches of other stuff—all in the midst of Ken’s gardening accomplishments.

I like my house—it is large and roomy with lots of storage. There is a park across the street.

I like that I have a church to attend—in fact a multitude of choices. When we lived in Italy, we would have our own little service, well—actually a Sunday School for Casey—each week. We are not Catholic and other denominations are few and far between—there was nothing near us. We believe in weekly attendance and very much want Casey to be grounded spiritually. This is the major reason we wouldn’t consider returning to Italy for another extended period—that and, unlike Casey, Ken and I have not been successful in learning the language. Living in another country without being fluent in the language is quite different from visiting, even when the visits are several weeks long.

I like going clothes shopping and finding clothes that fit. I know—Italy is the land of fashion and it’s everyone’s dream to fill back-home closets with fashions from bella Italia. The truth is that I have had minimal success finding clothes that I like and that fit while there. The reason? I am not sure.

I like the dollar rather than the euro. Now—that’s a no brainer. Not only is our currency exceedingly weak and so when you look at a €15 price tag, it is really $22, things in Italy (well, Europe in general) cost more than they do here even before the terrible conversion factor. A pair of Nikes that you might pay $100 for in the United States will cost close to $200 there. The three of us dining at a simple enoteca or trattoria approaches or exceeds $100. You use your credit card and so temporarily ignore the cost—until the bill comes the next month.

So, yes, the $ is better unless your currency is euro and you come here. Now, that’s a deal. People fly to New York just to shop the sales.

I like the visual stimulation in Casey’s classrooms and the diversity of teaching methods. I like that teachers put a premium on creative thought and development of personal opinion and justification of same. Casey had a wonderful third grade year in Italy and learned much. He grew and developed under the guidance of his teachers there; however, middle and high school is much different. Learning is very classical and didactic which is not negative and my friends’ children are brilliantly educated but the absence of nurturing critical thought is a negative in my mind. With that said, we may send Casey there for a year in high school at some point. As he is fluent in Italian and already has friends there, it might work well.

I like the ocean, the vast variety of culinary options, the richness of California in terms of desert, mountains, farm lands, forests and lakes. I like that we have a young and vibrant president. I like that I have friends in many, many of our 50 states. There is much I like here.

I don’t like the bitterness of the far-right political crazies—the birthers, those who oppose providing health care to everyone, those who cry socialism at every instance as a means to stop progress, those who think it is OK to disrespect the President of their country, those who think ends can justify the means, those who find the shallowness of Palin to be attractive and beguiling, those who believe this country can run without taxes, those who do not want to fund schools, etc. I have little patience for these people but fear them. The hate that they spew can have only one conclusion if left unchecked and then the nation and we will suffer.

And...to complete on a positive note...I like the history I have with friends here. I have many friends in Italy but they are new and they are spread out. Here I have old--well, long time--people who know me well and I know them. We have shared families, joys and hurts over the years. They are comfort. I love (not said casually) my Italian friends and treasure them--there is no lack of caring among us. They have an understanding of me that my friends here do not have and I turn to them. But the history is not there.

With all this said, I still miss, love and will keep returning to Italy—a country and people that hold much of my heart. It is just that it isn’t so bad here, after all.

No More Domani

We are home now—home in San Diego, that is. It is strange here and Greve seems very far away.

Did I really, truly live there? Did I really fling open the shutters each morning to the quintessential Tuscan countryside of rolling hills, lush vines and old farmhouses dotting the landscape? If I squeeze my eyes tight and play memories on my eyelids, will I be there?

Opening the Shutters

Casey, the night before we left, cried and sobbed and held tight to furniture saying he wouldn’t leave. I wanted to do the same but had to be the grown-up, providing the pain of reality. Sleep was hard for all of us that night.

That morning we left at 7:15. The Viticcio truck was loaded with our 700 lbs of belongings—9 32 kg duffels and 6 carry-ons. Alessandro drove Ken, Casey and I in the SUV. Camilla and Casey played and laughed during the drive into Firenze—too young to grasp what would happen in just a short while. Children are such creatures of the immediate present.

Before Leaving Viticcio

Look Close--How High Can You Count?

I was afraid that we would have problems at check-in with our four luggage carts in tow—each piled high. Although I had checked several times with both Lufthansa and United, I still thought the check in person would not understand the rules. But—we were pleasantly surprised when the young man who waited on us had no problem. We needed to pay for two of the pieces but that was cheaper than shipping.

Beginning of Awareness

Check-in Line

Once that was done, it was time for goodbyes—that instant when it all became real. Saying goodbye to Alessandro was hard for Ken and I but nothing compared to the pain Casey and Camilla were experiencing. They are so young that they haven’t had experience in hurting. They stood with the widest, most forlorn eyes—just staring into the other. I thought my heart would break watching them. They hugged tightly—just squeezing the other close. It was an emotional moment.

Then we turned and walked to the gates and they left for their car and the drive home—without us. Casey repeated over and over—“Please tell me that I’m dreaming. Pinch me so I’ll wake up.” This was his mantra throughout the 26 hour trip to our front door here in San Diego. As for me, in the dark of the plane, I found unbidden tears rolling down my cheeks.

So—our tomorows are over. We loved them. What will we do domani? Where shall we drive? What will we see? What’s going on in the piazza? What flavors of gelati will there be? How will the vines have changed? What will the sunset be? Each day was new and different—something to anticipate and enjoy. But, now they are no more.

Ken asked me yesterday if I was ready to go back. If it were easy to do, the three of us would be on the plane—domani..

Saying Goodbye

This is a difficult week for us. The apartment looks forlorn and not ours anymore. Our “stuff” is either packed away in duffels awaiting their trip to the airport, strewn around the floor seeking a place in an unfilled duffel (hard to find), in boxes being left here for next year, in piles to give to friends or in bags to take to the Catholic charities.

But—the hardest part of the week is saying goodbye--to people, most of all, but also to places, drives, things we haven’t done and wanted to, the piazza, our favorite restaurants and a pace of life that suits us well.

Tears are being shed or held inside wet eyes. Hugs and kisses and inadequate words spill out with friends and shop keepers, with waiters and cooks, with grocery checkers and the gelato ladies. And we say parting words with the dear people with whom we have lived every day—Alessandro and his family, Sara who really runs everything, and all the men who work here, making this a lively, exciting place--making it our home.

And then—there is our tree. The one we have watched through the seasons when it was rich with leaves and when it was barren except for that one brown leave which stayed to welcome the new buds. Now the tree is just as it was when we arrived a year ago—green and full and the perfect landing place for new baby swallows leaving their nests in the eaves--testing their wings. Soon those nests will be empty--just like our apartment.

...And Time Passes

Tomorrow is the last day of school here in Greve. Yesterday it started. And in between, time passed as it does--day by day. Some of those days I have chronicled; the vast majority have been unrecorded, left to the flashes of memory that promise to come over the years.

Casey is a year older--almost. He speaks two languages--getting them confused sometimes. He speaks and thinks and dreams in Italian. Willl it be hard to readjust to his mother tongue next year? Will it be hard to retain his new language? These are thoughts that fill our minds.

He doesn't want to leave--says he's a country boy, not a city boy. He thinks Italy is beautiful--rightly so.

Today I have 4297 pictures. Sort of sorted--thanks to Photoshop Organizer. They will make a screen saver that never repeats. Digital memories that don't need storage boxes--how fantastic is our modern technology! A year can become a lifetime in photographs.

Yes--nostalgia is seeping in as time closes--already I know what my last post will be because I know what I will miss.

There won't be many postings between now and then as starting next week, we travel. "No school" opens opportunities wished for during the year.

Tomorrow Casey is having a birthday celebration--buon compleanno; although his real date isn't for another month. He wants to host his classmates to a pool and barbecue party--as he does at home in San Diego. The weather man says the storms will stop tonight and tomorrow will be sunny and hot. I hope so!

Monday we drive to the Cinque Terre--a lovely part of coastal Italy that we have driven by but never explored. Rather an amazing neglect in all of our travels to Italy as for many it is a "must stop" place on a first trip.

At the end of the week we return for two days to have a special dinner at a special place (Solo Ciccia) with some special friends from Canada--a good friend from the world of the internet. This will be our first face-to-face encounter but there are no worries attached to that. We know each other well already.

Then we leave again for 5 days in the Maremma with Camilla and her family, a stop-over night in Pisa and then a flight to Sicily for a week at a friend's villa---facing Mt. Etna, hopefully with flowing lava.

That will round out June in its entirety as we return on the 30th.

July will be a little calmer but there will be a trip to an oasis in Piemonte--belonging to another friend--and tagged on to that a couple days in Turin. The only other away time before we leave on the 29th of July--364 days after leaving the United States--will be two days in Umbria to attend a big party with many friends from Slow Travel--the premier website for travel in Italy.

The rest of the month, we will again stay pretty close to home--enjoying Casey and Camilla and our friends here....and packing things up that are going home with us. Thank goodness it won't be as much as we brought. And.........saying good-byes.

So--friends--I'll try to do some short "this is what's happening" posts but we are nearing the end of our time together. There will be a finale--that's a promise!

Chianti in Hiding

This has been a wonderful year in so many ways. If I were a writer, I could put it into words and maybe have a best seller--but, it has been too visceral, too much touching of the soul, too much beauty for word pictures, too much of the wonderful.

One of the moments I treasure most came last autumn when we were engaged in a favorite pastime--driving the country side on the way to nowhere--or maybe it was to Firenze--it really doesn't matter. Suddenly I was seeing things I had not seen before--although the road was not a new one. I wondered--"How could I have missed that farm house? That crevice with its sparkling stream? That pond? That evocative cemetery? That charming, small village called a borgo--in its day a place of hardwork and toil for the landowner? That vestige of a life gone by?" Then I understood that all these things had simply been hiding behind lush green trees and vines; that they only show themselves after tourists go home. Suddenly emerged a whole new Tuscany that only Tuscans know is there. Secret places were laid bare. Roads we had explored in late summer and early fall suddenly were available for new explorations and discoveries. Tuscany with its clothes off became even more enchanting.

Now spring has come early, already announcing the hot days of summer. Pools are opening weeks earlier than planned; vines are growing so quickly that one almost stands and watches them happen; our maple tree, which stood naked and proud through winter months, now wears its clothes. And Tuscany is once again hidden.

Already I feel bereft as we drive, knowing that hidden beyond the road are treasures unseen, ducks floating in the shadows of a pond, sheep and goats grazing on low grasses, houses with left over piles of wood waiting for next winter, chapels no longer used or seen. Yes, vines are the life blood here in Tuscany and so they are welcomed with great anticipation but--they do not tell the whole story of what Toscana is under these Sunday clothes of green and red.

And I feel saddened knowing that next November I will not be a part of the cycle of seasons here in this special world when souvenir shops are shuttered, gelateria shades are drawn and life cycles on. When we come again, I would like it to be between November and April when life in Tuscany becomes more real and the camaraderie of neighbors and Tuscans is most felt. Or maybe--we will come back to live here once again--Casey wants that so we shall see. For now we have 3 more months to put aside thoughts of what we will leave and simply enjoy what we have.

The Vines Today