Beer Cupcakes?

In Italy we have a favorite small local enoteca, Enoteca Fuoripiazza, where we go when at the last minute I decide that cooking just isn't in the cards that night. The food is simple but always fresh. Luca and his crew take good care of us. It is low key, relaxing and comfortable. Oops, almost forgot to mention that their  wine selection is totally outstanding. We love it there; in fact, can't wait to pop in and see the smiles next summer--and hugs.

So it was a real sense of homecoming when we discovered our own little enoteca not far from us here in San Diego. It's in a very small, neighborhood shopping center--well, center is sort of an overstatement as there is just a specialty grocery store and a handful of other small shops--beauty parlor, cleaners, etc. For years there was a wine shop with a deli counter which we infrequently entered.

Now they have transformed into a great little bistro/enoteca with both inside and patio dining areas. The menu is simple but good, the staff fun and the atmosphere lively. This is combined with their shop which has an incredibly  fantastic wine selection--including several of the wines from the vineyard where we lived in Italy. They have also expanded to offer great craft beers from local breweries.

The name of this place is--drumroll-- KNB Wine Cellars--Grapes, Hops, Fine Food

 So this is now our go-to-place when we don't want fancy, but do want good food and a pleasant, kick back time--when I don't want to cook. Well...if we did this every time I didn't want to cook, we would be there much more often.

Last night we were there and had a chance to talk with Kat, the wine buyer. We mentioned the Viticcio Chianti Classico Riserva which she doesn't stock--but now will. This will make a pretty complete selection of wines from our Italian home which makes us very happy.

Anyway, back to the title of this entry--beer cupcakes. We've eaten here several times now but have always passed on the cupcakes as beer is not my thing and it just didn't sound appealing. Last night, though, we were talked into trying them for dessert with the promise they didn't taste like beer. And, guess what--they are deliciously good and tasty-not at all beery.

 

I really liked the Stoned Portzilla!! Yummy good. As usual, I forgot to take a picture of these--even though my camera was on the table. Next time!

So, when you come to visit--we'll take you to our new favorite in the hood.

Don't You Just Love Spring?

I do!  And yet, this year we have only teasers. Here in always sunny San Diego, the sun plays a game of hide and seek. Just as I slide feet into sandals, the cold reappears and socks come out once more. Rain has become a thrice weekly uninvited guest.

But...when the sun does shine, how delightful it is. As in today! Sun shadows play in the yard, birds are everywhere, singing their songs, flowers sparkle and boast their colors. Scratch luxuriates in the warmth. Ken plants sunflowers. It is nice. And soon I will go walking.

Sun shadows play in the yard

Birds are everywhere

And here...

Scratch basks in the warmth.

 Flowers drink the sun

 And the water

And the charming humming bird flits from cup to cup

(My Italian friend Chiara, upon first seeing this delightful creature, mistook it for a big bug. They are not in Italy. I wonder if one can be found in Botticelli's Primavera?)

So today is a lovely gift from God and so too will be tomorrow's thunderstorms. 

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.

San Diego

San Diego calls itself "America's Finest City" which seems similar to a self-promoting social climber. If you say something enough times you will believe that it is believed. I have wondered if other cities snicker when they hear this and find a quality of hubris in the self-inflicted title.

But........if you were here today, you would find the moniker absolutely on-target. Other places called home pale in comparison. Today was incredibly beautiful--the reason a rather incompetent past mayor promoted the "finest city" concept. She is gone but we remain "fine."

For three days we have awaken with sun streaming through the windows, heat shimmers on the leaves and wisps of clouds threading the blue skies. It is days such as these that bring "paradise" to mind. Casey's first order of business after school has been jumping into the pool, enjoying the first dip of the year. Solar heat panels have created warm water--at least for a 10 year old.

But, San Diego is rather schizophrenic and manic. A week ago we were freezing. It was bitter cold--well, by Southern California standards. I had to wear two sweatshirts--one a hoodie--and cozy gloves at the Little League game. Today it was shorts, a thin cotton T-shirt and sandals.

Yesterday we bordered on 100º. And true to the city's illness, tomorrow is to be fog, low clouds and a significant drop in temperature--down to 72º.

These are the reasons people flock to us in the winter--snow birds they are called. Sunshine has an allure that is irresistible to frosted noses and red hands. Although our beaches aren't so usable in winter, they are beautiful and the sunsets awe us all. God's handiwork is displayed in its glory.

Such days as these lend credence to San Diego's claim to be "America's Finest City." But, there are measurements other than weather and, perhaps, competition is greater in areas of substance.

It is in the areas of intelligent planning, honest government and human institutions, impact and interactions that we may find ourselves less than the "finest."

Self analysis, which is hard for you and me, is even more difficult for San Diego as long as we hide behind the beauty which God has gifted this corner of the world.

At the risk of sounding disloyal to this town I've called home for 32 years, we still have some work to do in order to be "the very finest." But--we'll get there--I'm sure. Just, please, don't ask me to compare it with my second home--Greve in Chianti.

Tomatoes

A friend of mine, Barbara, lives in Italy--most of the time. A couple times a year she and husband Art brave the skies and return to whence they came--Kentucky. It wasn't too long before our final gathering of friends in Italy that they had happily returned from a visit to the states.

At our little party, Barb rhapsodized over the red, ripe, juicy, delicious tomatoes available in a bunch of varieties and sizes everywhere in Italy. It seems she hadn't been able to eat their bland, tasteless cousins here in the US. I sort of nodded and rather listlessly agreed with her, not giving a whole lot of thought to the question.

At Market in Italy

Now, being home ten days, I am in tomato withdrawal. Barbara is right--the difference between here and there is as if we speak of two different fruits. Strangely the best to be had here are from the big box store Costco--which, by the way, has fresh Mozzarella di Bufala from Compagnia, well-aged Parmigiano-Reggiano from Parma and a very good Tuscan Olive Oil--the one in a glass bottle, not the plastic.

As I wrote last year, coming back to the states after our extended stays in Italy, demands adjustment time. The first few trips to the grocery store, I reflexively look for the basket of cellophane gloves. Produce is not to be touched by bare hands--no multiple shoppers squeezing and handling that peach before I buy it--makes a lot of sense, doesn't it? I look for the scale which provides a price sticky to adhere to the bag after I weigh the produce--makes check out a lot faster and easier. Walking up to the store, I reach into my wallet to get the coin needed to unlock the cart and then realize that we don't do that here. Instead, we have traveling carts finding their way to homes, schools and roadsides. The Italian system works because the shopper reclaims the euro by reattaching the cart to the chain.

Of course, we have some transportable ideas, too. For example, people who bag our groceries. This is really appreciated the days I do a big shopping. In Italy it is a quite a challenge to pay and bag before the next customer's purchases begin co-mingling with mine. I'm glad to see more and more fellow shoppers here bring in their own reuseable bags--a common practice in Italy for many years.

Because we are a new country, things like electricity, power, telephone wiring--let alone highspeed--are a taken for granted part of our daily experience. We can have large appliances and even run them simultaneously. Europe is different. Retrofitting centuries old buildings built of thick stone walls is difficult. In many places, power sources are limited, again due to infrastructures that go back hundreds of years. My most favorite place in Italy, Sant' Antonio outside of Montepulciano, does not have ovens or microwaves in its apartments or on-site guest laundry facilities because their power allotment does not allow for these things.

Back to tomatoes--so, I miss the Italian ones, along with snapping fresh green beans, delicate zucchini flowers to quickly fry in 00 flour, fresh pecorino in all its varieties, prosciutto from Falornis macelleria, fish from the morning's catch and fresh pasta from the pasta shop. Even our celebrity stores such as Whole Foods and Trader Joe's don't fill the bill, let alone Ralphs, Von's or Wegmans.

These are things I can't bring home with me so, until next summer, I'll settle into San Diego and enjoy what we have--sandy beaches, corn-on-the-cob and no winter.

Checking In

Just a couple quickies today for those of you who check in to see what's new and find that nothing is. I seem to be somewhat short of topics that motivate me right now...except....

Yesterday Casey added a new name for me--following the gramma-mom of a couple weeks ago. Yesterday it was Mom at a Higher Level. I had to laugh both at the words and the little mind that would even think of this. Of course, it also touched my heart.

Then there is a video clip that I took at the local Spring Fest last weekend. It reminded me of Carnavale and other extravaganzas in Piazza Matteoti in Greve last year. The stilt people were always there and, of course, Camilla and Casey were always in awe.










Stilt performers amaze me, too. I wonder if it is as hard as it looks? Anyone know? The day was hot and you can see the shimmer in the air--not the best video but it tells the story.

Christmas 2007

Christmas was good this year--but, then, isn't it usually? Some years though are better than others and this was one of those times. Perhaps, because we weren't here last year, there was a sense of something special in resurrecting our traditions and "ways of doing things." It was comfortable and nice.

We always have a large tree-8 feet/2.5 meters or more and finding the perfect one is always the quest. Usually we settle for less than perfection--after all, perfection is hard to find. But this year.........there it was, standing tall and straight and beautifully formed. We spotted it instantly among all the other preening trees and knew that one was meant to be ours. And so it was.

Now, you must know that I am not Martha, never have been, never will be--nor, do I ever aspire to be. Given this, Ken took over tree decorating years ago--back in the days when trees were lovingly bedecked with silver, shiny tinsel. He not only would put it on strand by strand but then would take each strand off, wrap it around the cardboard and put it away for next year. I think no one misses those days.

But, if you look closely you will see that he still does an excellent job of dressing a tree in Christmas finery. And, in doing so, provides all of us something lovely to enjoy and savor during the Christmas season. Somehow a tree decorated with the shimmer of lights and ornaments collected over many years and from many places invokes the treasured memories stored within. A special glow seems to fill all the nooks and crannies of the house.

By Christmas morning, after Santa and Rudolph did their thing the night before, gifts were piled high under the tree. Clearly a child lived here. So gift opening was a fun time.

This part of Christmas is clearly made for a child and for adults to enjoy the child's wide-eyed excitement as each box and bag reveals its treasure. Erector sets, legos, remote controlled dragonflys, and...and...and. Then there were his not so favorite things such as books and puzzles. Except--he loved the Italian book on the life of Leonardo da Vinci. He loves all things Italian and all things da Vinci for whom he has developed quite a fondness--along with Giotto, Picasso and Michelangelo.

The rest of the day was filled with laughter and fun. Jeff, our grown son who can not imagine Christmas without legos, spent the day building a 900+ piece Star Wars vehicle. His friend Sally and her very loveable, unforgettable dog Bear joined us for the day--Scratch finally had a play date but wasn't at all sure what he thought of sharing his space with a non-human. He certainly was not going to share his chewy.

Casey's mom, our daughter, came for the day. It was nice that they could have the day together as Casey enjoyed seeing her and spending time together and I am certain she enjoyed it, too. It had been a while since they had a chance to do that.

We toasted with prosecco and sparkling cider. And then joined around the festive table set up in green and red and china and silver.

Dinner was yummy and conversation filled the air. And so the house was full of good cheer and laughter.

And we remembered the real reason for the day and the gifts and the fun and laughter--the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. The one who came to earth as a humble baby and left it in a glorious ascent into the heavens.

It's Fun To Be Nine

What does a kid do when it is winter and no one wants lemonade? Well, sell snow, of course. But, then.. if you live in San Diego that is problematic. Quite a quandary for two motivated, imaginative 9-year-olds.

Or what if you are two motivated and imaginative 9-year-olds and you find a gigantic cache of styrofoam packing material and peanuts just sitting in the side yard, begging to be smashed beyond recognition? What fun to get bats and brooms and sticks and beat this pure white treasure into billions of little snowflakes.

Soon you are covered with clingy, non-removable, non-recyclable earth destroying detritus. You have become a snowman that doesn’t melt. And you are having mountains of fun as your laughter erupts throughout the neighborhood.

Gramma and papa might want to be mad at you because surely you are making a mess that you won’t clean. But how can they be when you are so adorably and completely being kids.

The challenge then facing such motivated, imaginative kids is what to do with all this magical substance? Why—sell it of course. Develop entrepreneurial skills. Surely there is a market for people wanting front yards of snow. So—find boxes, pretty metal ones, cardboard, whatever. Dump out what may be in them for surely gramma won’t care. Now, fill with snow—make a sign—beg to go down to the park and set up your stand.

If you are lucky and truly loved, gramma will agree to accompany you, knowing that sales are not going to soar but that children must explore experiences that they create. How else are memories stored for future years?

So, off the three go--two imaginative, creative 9 year olds and one intrigued gramma.

Ah ha! the workout bench in the park--perfect for setting up the wares. The sign--"Christmas Snow for Decoration"--which has been taped to a garden stick pushes nicely into the ground. Boxes are arranged, rearranged, and then arranged again as each child has a vision of how they should look. And then we wait.



No one is in the park. We wait. Suddenly a couple enters at one end so we perk up, smile and wait some more. But---they leave before reaching the store.


Swings and monkey bars begin their siren call. The grassy slopes are great for rolling down. No one wants snow today. Maybe tomorrow.

So our imaginative, creative 9-year-olds, pack up, gramma closes her book and all go home. It has been fun. Who cares if pockets are no heavier? These hours have been a success.

Tonight We Had Tacos!

Yes, it was taco night and we had them last week, too. That equaled the total number of times we had them all last year--as Casey dutifully pointed out. Somehow Mexican food, that which we thought we could not live without, faded into the culinary background when competing with the delicacies of Italy.

I so often write of what we miss which isn't quite fair as there are things that we treasure here--now, if I can think of some of them. Let's see--

1. Tacos, burritos, red curry, kung pao, huge artichokes and......corn on the cob.
2. Our church fellowship--somehow Baptist churches are few and far between in Italy-or actually in most of Europe.
3. Our friends of years. New friends are wonderful but can never replace those that have traveled life with you.
4. Scratch--our dog--or rather Casey's dog.
5. Being able to talk with teachers sans interpreter.
6. A big, big refrigerator and freezer.
7. Meat cuts that I understand.
8. Finding clothes that fit my non-size-6 frame.
9. Spending time with our son.
10. Browsing book stores which have books I can read.
11. $'s not €'s.
12. Target for Casey's clothes and Costco jeans for me.
    
13. Canned music (scherzo).
14. Air America.
15. The desert.
16. Dungeness crab.
17. Ability to read and comprehend directions on soap boxes--or anything.
18. Having groceries bagged for me.
19. Freeways rather than toll roads. (I do miss the Auto Grills).
20. Big Christmas trees.
21. Heated swimming pool.
22. Honey Bunches of Oats
23. Heat or a/c that isn't on a schedule.
    
24. And............how about some suggestions from fellow travelers?
25. A fellow traveler addition--and rightly so: The beautiful Pacific Ocean
    

So, have I redeemed myself in the eyes of those who think I spend too much time remembering and wishing? Probably not, as somehow a list doesn't really equate with narratives. But, the simple truth is, Italy demands the rhapsody that the USA has not yet found.

Malls Still Scare Me

We’ve been back in sunny San Diego, the vacation capital of Southern California, for a few weeks now. It is lovely here and contrary to what I remembered while in serene and beautiful Greve in Chianti, we do have blue skies—just not the angel beds that seemed to be always present there.

Blue Skies in San Diego

Angel Beds in Greve

Ken spends hours each day working in the yard—pruning, planting, rearranging fountains, climbing shaky ladders while trimming palm tree branches, tending to the fruit trees and puttering. In Italy he read books and books and books—now he seems to have put that aside for a while—exchanging mental workouts for more laborious physical labor. He sleeps well—but, then, sleep wasn’t a problem in Greve, either.

I spend inordinate amounts of time not getting much done—or at least that’s the way it seems. Focusing is difficult, being productive escapes me. My brain shuts down at the thought of “mall time” even though I’ll be clotheless pretty soon and then won’t be able to go out at all.

What I have done is spend too much time on computer stuff which now involves unsuccessfully trying to figure out why my main computer is so slow that I clean out desk drawers while waiting for a document file to load. At this point I have taken off many programs, downsized by 90% the start up programs, run virus, spyware and registry checks, transferred most of 10,000 photos to an external drive and deleted and restalled programs which I thought might have been corrupted. And—I can now report—none of this has helped. Maybe tomorrow a flash of insight will fill me and the problem will be solved—or maybe one of the earthquakes we are having will shake it up.

When not compulsively attacking the “darn machine,” there are 4000+ photos from the last year to tackle. Fortunately, they are nicely organized, labeled and tagged so my job now is deciding which to order.

Of course, as each picture glows on the screen—looking very beautiful and triggering memories, the selection process goes sl-sl-slowly. I sometimes think I should just put the project aside but—the compulsive person that I am overrules—gotta get the scrapebook/album done for Casey’s memories.

Shutterfly, the on-line company I use, prints comments on the back of each photo so each picture must be documented. When Casey grows up he will be able to flip a picture to see why it was important or to learn something about himself. “You really liked swimming with Camilla.” “You wanted to go to the Uffizi to see this Madonna by Giotti.” "Tommi was your best friend."

Then there is-----still trying to find a tutor for him. I can tell that he is already losing some of his language; locating a karate program so that he can continue the shokotan style he had in Greve; finding a guitar teacher because he wants to learn how to play the guitar--contrary to my wanting him to play the piano; supervising homework; helping with his blog and having his friends over for play and swimming. All this makes a pretty full life, after all, for nonna here.

In Italy Casey went to school from 8:30 to 4:30 which gave us time to do things but here school is from 7:45 until 2:10 and so the day is short--no more of the late lunches while sipping glasses of Chianti, we enjoyed so much. Of course, no little trattorias around each corner here either--lots of Burger Kings and Roberto's Taco Shops. Is that an even exchange?

So-till now, I've stayed pretty close to home with the daily forage to the market--a remnant of last year. I am sure though, that the day is coming when THE mall will beckon and I will go. Maybe.

Settlin' In--Movin' On

Yes, that's what we are doing--becoming San Diegans once more.

When we exchanged our comfort level here at home for a year in a different land and culture, we knew it would be enriching but we didn't understand how deep in the psyche the experience would burrow. Now the transition is slow as we seek to blend our two lives into a richer whole. Sometimes these days I feel as if I'm neither here nor there--I've always known who I was but now I don't seem to be quite that person. So transition involves not only the physical and environmental but also the emotional and psychological.

During this process I have thought about another indelible year in our lives--a year like our last one, leaving memories that seem far too many for a mere 365 days. This was the year we lived in University City on the outskirts of St. Louis, Missouri.

Although we weren't leaving the country, it seemed as if we were as we pulled out of our driveway in Southern California, following the moving van to the "border state" between the two halves of our country. In our minds we were headed towards a great culture divide--the North and the South. In our inexperience and young naivety, we had a strong sense of embarking on an exciting adventure--as a biracial family what would it be?

That year became a treasured part of the fabric of who we are. We loved St. Louis as it was wonderful in every way we could want our life to be. This "border" state provided our children-black and white-with the healthiest, most accepting living experience of their growing up years.

During that year we became actively involved in the pulse and life of University City with a circle of friends from multiple races. Politics and public service were easily penetrated, providing ways to volunteer time and energies. Even today I regret that we could not stay there and call it home for many years. But--as all of us know, life tends to interfere with our wants and to change course on us--with or without our compliance.

So I know that leaving life's great and special times inescapably involves a sense of loss but I also know that new experiences and interests surface--that there is an unknown corner ahead of us with something new and exciting around the curve. It is the anticipation of that which moves me through the missing Italy phase-allowing me to again become a San Diegan--just a little different person than I was before our year away.

Tuesday school starts and I'll have time to search out that corner. I'm excited!

Time Travel

Children empty themselves in unexpected ways--finding creative avenues to express and release emotions and dreams. We big people must watch closely for the message being sent and the heart that is being exposed. I relearn this almost daily.

Casey makes no bones about missing Italy, friends and all that was. In fact his latest blog entry again makes this plain Here and There. At night in bed, much as it was a year ago when he would ask to return to San Diego, he asks "Can we start packing? I really want to go back."

Spoken words and overt revelations are easy to read. They can be discussed quietly and sadness softened. But, there are more subtle ways of expression, too, and some of these can bring a tear or two, knowing that there is a private grief that needs to be left alone to find private solutions. Such is the time machine.

Casey's Time Machine

This takes Casey back in time to where he wants to be. He has developed quite a process for activating it--complete with sounds and movement. The machine has been housed in the middle of the office, the TV room, his bedroom, the kitchen and other places. Now it is ensconced in a spare bedroom which has temporarily been converted into a play room. If he goes upstairs and is quiet, we know he has gone traveling.

If you look closely, you can recognize all the little odds and ends he has drawn together to make this--a clock, the globe, levers, a mobile phone for commands, a radio, the core being the mind of the computer and then it all lays on the Fiorentina banner--symbolic? I think so.

He has introduced this glorious machine to some of his friends, and, being 9 year olds, they are easily entranced with make-believe and join Casey in making it real. It becomes an outlet for him and by sharing it with friends here, he begins to blend the parts of his life. The process is fascinating to observe and maybe learn from.

Ken and I are doing much the same thing--in different ways. We are reconnecting with people --something we needed time to do. We are resuming a life that was put on hold for a year but we are being selective about what we resurrect. We have become very aware of the consumer driven society of the US; the millions of things to make life easier but in reality make it crowded and sterile. The road to an easier life, we have learned, is in many ways the absence of things--not the proliferation. We are still overwhelmed by our house and belongings--more than we need and now more that we want.

We are different people--not necessarily better--just different. And this is a problem because there are 10 lane freeways here, big box stores galore, blazing neon on every structure, fast food establishments 3 to a block, strip malls and the revered Walmart. We can not change these things and so we must adapt--to all but Walmart.

We find that the skies we loved so much in Tuscany are here, too. The colors are different but the beauty still reflects the creator.

Friends are true and waited for us. Saturday we joined with many of them for food, laughter and reflections on the greatness of our God's magnificent universe. Thursday I am "doing" lunch with two good friends who add strength to my life. One of them babysat my plants all year, turning each of them into a virtual jungle. Had I stayed here I know they would have been long dead.

Casey and Ken are at the movies now and Ken can enjoy it along with Casey as English is his cup of tea--although, Casey would prefer Italian.

We have Thai and Chinese and Mexican and Peruvian and Vietnamese and Moroccan and more to choose from when we go out at night--although, strangely, our love continues to be Italian. As with our travels, we may occasionally branch out but always return to Italy and pasta.

Our pool is cool and refreshing and we play with Casey. He rides his bike in the park across the street and practices his karate.

Tonight we are having tacos--with chedder cheese and fresh tortillas--a treat delayed for a year.

So, as with Casey, we are learning to reenter a life that has always been ours but look forward to the next time in our other life--using our time machine--a United 747.