This morning I licked the inside of empty Nutella jar #5, simultaneously plastering whatever body parts I could manage against the warm radiator (again, neighbors, sorrrrrry). I looked up at the gray sky and recalled a conversation with some expats yesterday in a book store. The weather, although nothing compared to the Snowpocalypse on the east coast, has been absolute crap here for months. Some of the expat ladies were on their 5th, 6th, and 10th winters here, yet remarking about, "Where is that Tuscan sun, anyway?"
I mentioned that despite the winters being, well, downright blech as the ladies said, I could get used to this. Why? It was already the 10th of February, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen anything even remotely Valentine's Day-ish. Ladies, I continued, I love how we aren't assaulted with commercialism here during Christmas. Check it: The holidays come in, AT THE APPROPRIATE time of year (and no, October is NOT appropriate to start seeing tacky Christmas shit in the stores) and aren't shoved down your throat. Then? They are enjoyed. Then? They are over. That's it. Done. Finito. Basta. Enough. No stress. No 'overdone' anything. Then I made some joke about not wanting to vomit up large pink heart-shaped chunks of Valentine's marketing this year and how, "Ladies, he can go to Jared's all day long, but you can bet that toilet seat's still up though, isn't it sweetheart?" Snickers, more chats about home states, and then I stepped out into the sloppy afternoon and splashed to my next class.
Yes, even with the clouds, cold, rain with little breaks of sunshine once a week, grill marks on body parts that should probably never touch a radiator, I really see myself spending Fall, Winter, and, what the hell, Spring (at a minimum) here. Come to think of it, if finances allow for plane fare, lodging, and a new hot water bottle (as I have just about worn this one out), I think it will be a great way to avoid stateside holiday "kill me now or sedate me till spring" fever.
Tonight as I walked home from the movie theatre, the whole 2 blocks - 2.5 blocks if I detour past Fendi - I thought about how nowhere is really perfect. If you are happy in the present, wherever you are, you must admit it's damned near close. I like to say, "The fleas come with the dog" and every place has its flaws, even Tuscany. I hate to break it to you, but we don't just eat spaghetti and meet beautiful men named Marcello (or at least take them seriously) here.
Although I can say I've shamelessly eaten kilograms of Pecorino, Toma, Taleggio, Stracchino, Prosciutto, Salami, Cinghiale (wild boar), and pastry like it was my job.
I've had my lips on wines some people will only ever read about. I've learned about wines that I had no idea existed ... and I will probably only ever read about.
I can't tell you the last time I set an alarm clock - that's what church bells are for. Right? (Hmm ... still on the fast track to hell, huh?)
I walk past Santa Maria del Fiore (otherwise known as "The Duomo" or "The Mother Ship") several times every day, and am awestruck by it. That said, I could do without the drunk American college kids, oblivious to the fact that everyone living in central is not, in fact, an obnoxiously loud, 19-21-year-old, who somewhere learned that tights = pants and T-shirts = dresses. It's like "blond elves gone wild" here. But like I said ... "The fleas come with the dog."
Every walk home in the evening across the Ponte Santa Trinita, along the Arno, around these amazing buildings, churches, through piazzas that have been here since the world was still flat, does invoke feelings, at least for me, that everything is pretty damned near perfect. These walks have that romantic air that things here are the way they are meant to be right now, even without a Starbucks in my free hand, as the other one is still holding my trusty umbrella.
Another saying that has become a recent - and quite applicable - favorite:
"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet."
Roger Miller
"I choose to jump in the puddles."
Me
I mentioned that despite the winters being, well, downright blech as the ladies said, I could get used to this. Why? It was already the 10th of February, and I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen anything even remotely Valentine's Day-ish. Ladies, I continued, I love how we aren't assaulted with commercialism here during Christmas. Check it: The holidays come in, AT THE APPROPRIATE time of year (and no, October is NOT appropriate to start seeing tacky Christmas shit in the stores) and aren't shoved down your throat. Then? They are enjoyed. Then? They are over. That's it. Done. Finito. Basta. Enough. No stress. No 'overdone' anything. Then I made some joke about not wanting to vomit up large pink heart-shaped chunks of Valentine's marketing this year and how, "Ladies, he can go to Jared's all day long, but you can bet that toilet seat's still up though, isn't it sweetheart?" Snickers, more chats about home states, and then I stepped out into the sloppy afternoon and splashed to my next class.
Yes, even with the clouds, cold, rain with little breaks of sunshine once a week, grill marks on body parts that should probably never touch a radiator, I really see myself spending Fall, Winter, and, what the hell, Spring (at a minimum) here. Come to think of it, if finances allow for plane fare, lodging, and a new hot water bottle (as I have just about worn this one out), I think it will be a great way to avoid stateside holiday "kill me now or sedate me till spring" fever.
Tonight as I walked home from the movie theatre, the whole 2 blocks - 2.5 blocks if I detour past Fendi - I thought about how nowhere is really perfect. If you are happy in the present, wherever you are, you must admit it's damned near close. I like to say, "The fleas come with the dog" and every place has its flaws, even Tuscany. I hate to break it to you, but we don't just eat spaghetti and meet beautiful men named Marcello (or at least take them seriously) here.
Although I can say I've shamelessly eaten kilograms of Pecorino, Toma, Taleggio, Stracchino, Prosciutto, Salami, Cinghiale (wild boar), and pastry like it was my job.
I've had my lips on wines some people will only ever read about. I've learned about wines that I had no idea existed ... and I will probably only ever read about.
I can't tell you the last time I set an alarm clock - that's what church bells are for. Right? (Hmm ... still on the fast track to hell, huh?)
I walk past Santa Maria del Fiore (otherwise known as "The Duomo" or "The Mother Ship") several times every day, and am awestruck by it. That said, I could do without the drunk American college kids, oblivious to the fact that everyone living in central is not, in fact, an obnoxiously loud, 19-21-year-old, who somewhere learned that tights = pants and T-shirts = dresses. It's like "blond elves gone wild" here. But like I said ... "The fleas come with the dog."
Every walk home in the evening across the Ponte Santa Trinita, along the Arno, around these amazing buildings, churches, through piazzas that have been here since the world was still flat, does invoke feelings, at least for me, that everything is pretty damned near perfect. These walks have that romantic air that things here are the way they are meant to be right now, even without a Starbucks in my free hand, as the other one is still holding my trusty umbrella.
Another saying that has become a recent - and quite applicable - favorite:
"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet."Roger Miller
"I choose to jump in the puddles."
Me
Hey Val!
ReplyDeleteSo what happened? You are now totally off FB? Hope you are well! I miss you and your posts there!
Take care!
Cheers!
Vic
Ciao, Vic - had to give fb a rest, a little busy - miss you guys too - but it was getting silly, all the crap apps that wouldn't stay blocked. Hey, if someone drops a nuke on farmville, let me know! Will revisit in the spring/summer. Promise to keep up the blog!
ReplyDelete