Today

Today is my favorite day of the year.  The day after Christmas.

It used to be a least favorite.  Remember that feeling, after the last gift was opened, the last relative left the house in the evening?  I used to have that feeling as a kid, even as an adult, once upon a time. Heck, I even did something as outrageous as getting married two days after Christmas, 49 years ago. It was bad timing but it was super-magic because of the timing,and it remains my only lasting gift.

Remember the magic that the arrival of Christmas music on the car radio, one week before the day, brought?  The thrill that came with the stores, all finally decorated and ready for shoppers, maybe six whole weeks before?  Not in October, maybe right after Thanksgiving, not before.  Slowly (or so we thought it at the time), things would lead to the big celebration and we were happy and joyful and filled with anticipation as the holiday of all holidays approached.  We weren't sick to death of it.

For that sick to death feeling and for a few others, I have replaced my feelings of joy and profound happiness with gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair as the day approaches.  Yes, I can join the bandwagon and complain about the commercialism of Christmas.  It's there and it's real and it's a damned shame.  We literally start the commotion right after Halloween and the horror show continues to pick up speed as November approaches, with an intense air of dread starting on December the first.
I am sure I am not flying solo on this one.  I'm just glad that I was in Italy for the month of November where it isn't quite as blinding.  There, at least they wait until December the 7th or 8th to really crank it up and, I can assure you, it is so much sweeter and real, so much more tolerable.  I don't think I heard Mariah Carey one single time.....until I re-entered and lost so much of the sweetness and real meaning of the holiday ahead.

So, today, is my real, honest holiday of Christmas.  I don't have to compare my festivities to those of other family and friends.  I don't have to cry all day, thinking of past Christmases, when I had hopes and dreams of Christmas-in-the-future, one in which I would be gathering with children, grandchildren and enjoying a day of all days.  One filled with laughter and lights.  I don't have to be sad all day, realizing that those days, those precious days, are gone forever.  That the family is non-existent.  That grandchildren are not around to light up the day,  divorce leaving grandparents as the biggest losers. I don't have to go to the nursing home, to visit a depressed parent who used to be my Santa Claus but now won't even open his card, never mind a few simple gifts.

So, to all who enjoyed yesterday, I am very happy for you.  If you are feeling let down today, I understand and feel sorry for you.  It will pass.  As for next Christmas,  I have twelve months to brace myself. Each year, I say to my husband...."this is the last time" and I mean it at the time.  He's always happy, or so he appears to be, so he always just agrees but....I think this year even he's had it and is ready to throw in the towel.  So, here's to next year and to living today, every day.  The real gift is that of having a life to live, of being free to choose how to live it and confident in the knowledge that we only have to do it one day at a time.  

Beginning the Beginning

I have been invited to guest speak at the meeting of a Catholic woman's group next month.  A friend and neighbor heads up the monthly presentations and she suggested that my Camino journey might be an interesting topic.  She added that the women might also like to hear about my more recent trip to Italy.

For the January talk, I will have to come up with something that will hold their interest for at least twenty minutes.  I have given long thought to this and have been rather casual in my preparation.  Public speaking comes easily to me.  I was, after all, a childbirth educator years ago, speaking to a small crowd of new and anxious people, every six weeks for thirteen years.  Meeting new people and forming a bond, then, became a necessary skill.  But, this time, I will be addressing an audience of women who perhaps have long ago moved from that point in their lives and are now at the point of seeking new adventures, not related to births and hopefully, more related to their own personal growth.  If I hold that thought, the preparation and final production should not be difficult.

I shall divide my presentation into three parts.  A before, during and after.  Here again, piece of cake.
Almost like childbirth, isn't it?  All is calm before a contraction as we wait for it to begin, not knowing of course, how things will feel, how well we will handle what's ahead or what the final outcome will be.  During a contraction, we are left with the point of no return, the slow development and the cresting before the retreat and the return to the times in-between. And then, the blissful time after each, and finally, after all, when a baby in arms is the reward.  If we are so fortunate, we get to live side by side with that baby and our responsibilities to the child grow as does the child.

So, in planning to speak about the great event, I will tell my audience that this was a plan that grew out of my desire to celebrate my seventieth birthday by taking on a challenge, that there will be a beginning, a middle and an end to the story.

 The need to take on something great came from my disappointment in a previous landmark birthday.  At the time, I was working as a corporate nurse in New York City.  A lot of my clients were executive level and many of them, my same age.  We were facing this landmark of sixty as a group so it was not uncommon for one of them to come to my office for a service and conversation about their lives and how they planned to celebrate a birthday. I heard about trips to exotic places, dancing the tango in Argentina, safaris, huge family trips, and quiet celebrations with family members.  With each month, new ideas came and of course, I was in anticipation of my own celebration.  An early retirement package should have filled that bill, but that only led to our return to the Cape, to be closer to my aging parents. So, the big day was approaching and so was a baby.....our second grandchild.  Her due date, just weeks after my birthday, in the middle of a snowy Winter.  A Winter which brought the flu to our house.
And, on the day of my birthday, instead of a big adventure in celebration, I sat it out, all day, as nurse-wife to my flu-riddled husband as he lay in bed. Baked my own birthday cake, brought it over to my parent's home where it was welcomed with "you baked your own cake, how ridiculous" Amen. With the day not over, I invited a friend out to dinner.  We had a lovely time but she had totally forgotten that it was my birthday.  She just thought it nice that we had dinner together. End of that story.

In approaching my seventieth birthday, I was determined to find that something special.  Just one more big birthday please!!!!  No, no party. No, no big gift.  Please, just something........
Well, a few months before, for some reason I will never understand, I joined a bowling league.  Heck, I used to bowl when my kids were young.  Loved being on a weekly league, especially since there was childcare provided.  I did fairly well. But when I showed up on the first day of this new venture, I found out that this was Candlestick Bowling, something I had never in my life done.  And, very soon, I discovered that I was not very good at it and time was not improving my style or my scores.  But, I did not quit.  I started to think of my Wednesdays at the bowling center as my weekly challenges and prided myself on my attention to that detail of my life. Challenge acceptor.  New title.

I think it's easy to see where this story is going.  For my birthday celebration, I was going to find something challenging.  I had a new and more capable body one year after my bariatric surgery.  I knew I was brave and I knew I was ready to take on something great again.  So, I did a tiny bit of research and found the Camino de Santiago, the ancient pilgrimage across the top of Spain.  Now, this is a beginning.

More tomorrow.

Global Woe-bal

My return one week ago has offered me opportunities to make observations and to wonder how much alike and how different our American lifestyle is from what has, for many years, been referred to as "La Dolce Vita", aka, "The Sweet Life".  Five weeks away, in another country, at my age, is like six months away for a younger person.  Is it me, or is it everyone born before 1968, that feels as if life is being compacted, that time is moving swiftly?  I understand the term "culture shock" now and understand the word "global" now, better than ever.  Global is not just a term used to describe what environmentalists fear as conditions beyond our control that bring changes to the earth.  To me, global signifies what's happening to the earth and to the people who inhabit it, a term that groups us into homogenicity and takes into account the fact that, probably due to social media, we are all starting to look, act, and desire the same.  I am not a social media fan.  I think of it as basically evil and shutter when I have to give it credit.  I'm old-fashioned, yes.  So, shoot me.

Shock

One of the first shockers that hit me between the eyes in new ways came with the first grocery shopping trips after my arrival.  No, actually, the first was the tab for the pizza and wine that we had on my first night home.  Pizza in Umbria, eaten at a restaurant is under ten dollars for a whole pie and you don't want to know the price of enough wine to get through the meal and then some.  I did lots of grocery shopping during five weeks.  Each trip, which got myself and guests through a few meals, snacks and my backpack filled with wine, cost me under thirty five U.S. dollars.  That put a shopping bag in each hand.  Lunches away from my apartment never meant expenses of more than fifteen dollars, with wine.  Great lunches, that might be called dinner here.  Good thing I walked no less than five miles a day.  My favorite Italian cocktail, the "Aperol Spritz", in a picture-postcard bar, a whopping four euros, and no pressure to have anything more - just sit for as many hours as you wish, with that big lay-out, and we don't expect a tip.  Thank you.  A cappuccino, and you know how long I lingered over that every morning, two dollars, including tip.  I save receipts for everything and I can prove all of this.

So, what's with this global-sameness idea of mine then?

It's not so much in the food-merchandising.  Food is still cheap and good but, frozen foods, ready-made and convenient, are appearing in the supermarkets.  Young families are now double-income and their cost of living is soaring if not as crazy as ours.  We have higher incomes and yet, our society is made up of double-incomers with the stay at home parent being a rarity.  Italians are not far behind.
The Amazon delivery truck is big, blue and obvious in the small hill-towns.  But, it's there.  What can't be found close to home is just a few clicks away in this global market of ours.  Kids want sneakers.  They get them.  Everyone wants a NY baseball cap.  Click.  Iphones.  Ear buds. Ipads.
Mom works, Dad works.  We all want, we all get.  We're global, we basically think alike and frightfully, act alike and social media guarantees that nobody will miss out on anything, anywhere.


Okay, so all of this is a commentary so far on tiny amounts of life here, life there.....but I am left wondering about some of the findings of my "sociology field trips".  My entire life, if you haven't already made that assumption, is one big trip to "What Makes People Click" Land.  And, there is nothing like public transportation to transport the amature social psychologist into Fields of Happiness and wonderment.

Years ago.....(now I sound really ancient), people behaved differently when using public transportation.  I can remember actually being offered a seat on the New York subway simply because of my white hair.  I remember people waiting to for others to exit a train or a bus before entering. I haven't lived or worked in a city in a long time.

I'm  not sure if things have changed all that much but I do know that in Italy, at least in the small town I called home for five weeks, it appears that some things certainly have.  I remember being very impressed with the behavior of school children on public busses when I spent time here six years ago.  They all seemed to be content with just being together at the end of the day, chatty and polite.  I recall thinking to myself that maybe, just maybe, they were a bit more mature than their American counterparts.  Not once, during five weeks, was I offered a seat on a bus.  Not once, was I offered assistance for any reason.  And not once, did I ever have the feeling that the children who entered the bus from the local high schools were anything close to mature or even vaguely polite.  In fact, I felt physically threatened by the masses of teenagers who, when it was time for my exit, were entering.  Instead of allowing me or others to exit,the bus, these kids just formed a wall and stampeded, forcing us to become part of a human sandwich.  The thought of how we were to make our exit was apparently very far from their minds.  When I asked, in the most perfect Italian that I could muster up, for them to stop for one MOMENTO!, I was actually mocked as if I were one of their classmates, not an older woman. Something in the culture of the young people has changed and not for the better.

I asked residents of Assisi about this behavior.  I commented on the fact that I had not witnessed this on my last visit and wondered if perhaps, being six years older has made me a bit less tolerant.  No, I was told, I was not simply being more tolerant, things have changed.  Who can we blame this on? What's going on?  The answer, categorically, was the same one.......parents have changed.  They no longer care about values such as common courtesy.  It's not taught in the homes.  Parents just go to work, allow kids to come home where they are unsupervised.  Poor behavior is tolerated and kids just don't have manners.  No use, I was told, in making a complaint to the school head.  She can't do anything about it because the kids behave this way in school too.  The teachers are afraid to say or do anything.  Does all this sound familiar?  We're talking, let me remind you, of kids who live four thousand miles away from the U.S.  Think globally.  Why not, we're all alike.  We've all been touched by the fairy wand of let's-not-be-different-anymore.

Nice Stuff

One of the things that struck me like a bolt of lightning when I walked into my house after having been away from it for five weeks, was the amount of "stuff" we have.  No, I am not a hoarder and no, I do not, in comparison to others, have all that much but, for me, this "stuff" is becoming a real problem.

The Italians, at least those who reside in Umbria, the region where Assisi is located, live uncluttered lives.  For the most part, they are people who spend a lot of their time outside of their homes.  The land is beautiful beyond words and they appreciate this and use their many resources.  This is not an area where one finds a wide variety of foods but it is an area abundant in "local" products that are used in the best of ways.  They live in accordance with the seasons, holistically.  If chestnuts and new wine are in season, as they are right now, then that is what menus at home and outside will feature.  Cheeses are produced from the cows and sheep who live to feed their owners.  Pigs, rabbits and chickens are raised to be consumed, they are not "pets", yet they are fed well and live a hormone-antibiotic-free life.  Turkeys, the few that there are, do not fall sideways from having been over-fed.  Our turkey on Thanksgiving was raised in Tuscany, the neighboring region, and gave proof to the fact that less is so much better. Want to taste turkey, then eat some turkey, not a bird that is filled with chemicals.

And, an Umbrian sausage will not wilt and shrink during cooking because they have not been "plumpted" up with additives before they reach the market.  Nor will they send you off seeking a glass of water because of salt content.  A sausage is what it is and nothing can compare.

So, I am having a rough time with the part of coming home that overshadows the joy of being again in my own humble home.  I am surrounded by things I love here.  Art is the predominant theme.  Art and cozy.  Stuff.  A new season that into which I am diving, head first. Christmas is a few short weeks away!  Lots of stuff accompanies that reality.  There's no way out.  Trees, lights, greeting cards, holiday decor.  I do it all.  We love our home and we love our holidays.  I just need to keep things in perspective, keep things simple, not get overwhelmed and not lose some of the magic that came from being in a totally different environment for weeks, one that supported my desire to rid myself of worldly problems and focus on my internal environment, where my real 'home' is.  The real "stuff" in my life.

I've been busy since I arrived back on the Cape.  My friends welcomed me and assured me that I am as integral a part of their lives as they are of mine.  I was told that they didn't "do" very much because I was not here to "do" it, or that.  What a nice mental note.  I'm needed!  I've told a few of them my stories and I'm sure that the story-telling will go on for a while more.  I live for stories. They know that and expect nothing less.  But of all the stories that I may tell, I have nothing greater to relate than the tale of a woman who left her stuff and went very far away to learn to slow down, live in the moment, and leave stuff.  Each day on this journey was a year at a university.  Each day was a voyage to another world, one in which time was only a reference point and I wasn't ever in a hurry to meet or beat a clock.  As I learned months earlier, while on Camino, there is not need to rush, ever, because, in the end, the only person waiting to meet you is yourself.

Nice to be home.  Nice to meet you waiting for me.

Re-entry

Jet lag is difficult for people with normal sleep patterns.  Imagine how I am struggling.  My sleep patterns are inexplicable and I manage to live with very little quality zees but I do hit the proverbial wall by early evening, still wake up before five in the morning.  So, my days are super-long. 

Allow me to pick up where I left off.  I'm great at recollection when I write early in the day. 

Our departure from Assisi came on a brilliantly blue-skied day last Thursday.  A last-minute visit with my friend Josie from whom I bought the most-elegant silk scarf for my mother-in-law and from whom I was gifted an equally elegant silk poncho which she made me promise I would show everyone and help her to promote her business.  I will gladly do that but worry that most people will simply think it is pretty, hear the price, and drop it at there.  Italian silk is expensive as a raw material and with her artwork gracing each piece, the price is high. We have a problem with that, living here in the land of abundance.  We have too many choices.  We live the disposable life and are reluctant to plunk down a couple of hundred dollars on anything that we can pay less for at a designer discount store.  But I will try. I made a promise.

The Sulga bus goes from Assisi to the Rome Airport.......eventually.  We departed at 1:45 and arrived at the airport shortly before six.  It was a smooth ride, with lots of stops for pick-ups and a requisite amount of time plunging through Rome traffic after the train station stop at Tiburtina.  But, we made it and we were delighted to hit our rooms at the Rome Airport Hilton.  It felt like "home".  We use that hotel every time we travel to Italy.  It's amazingly clean and comfortable and it allows us to catch a morning flight without stress.  Barbara and I walked back across the elevated walkway, to the terminal, for dinner rather than the hotel restaurant.  I'm sure the hotel food was a bit more elegant but we weren't buying it at 18 euros for a simple bowl of pasta. 

Smooth flight home.  Thank God, no turbulence in either direction.  I am an extremely relaxed air traveler but I don't care for the lack of control when the plane starts jumping around.  Nope.  Empty seats allowed me to move around like a nomad so my restlessness was quelled and the long distance between me and my husband who I knew would be awaiting my arrival at the airport, felt shorter.

I oftentimes feel the pains of re-entry.  I anticipated a very hard time, after five weeks away.  I can honestly say that, other than dropping off the Earth by seven o'clock, I have been rather delighted at being home.  I will certainly pen a long post about all the things I remember, all that I accomplished both mentally and spiritually while away, but I came home to loving arms and to words of welcome from friends who tell me that I was genuinely missed.  I came home to the mundane activities of my life and to the more challenging parts of my life, but I came home and I know my place and I am grateful and humbled by having that place.  I am stronger and more confident than ever.  Like a pot of early spring flowers that are put out every morning and taken back in each night until they are ready to remain out, I have been hardened.  No, I have not become "hard".  If anything, I have softened in the way I see my world, thanks to the love and support of my friends in Italy and my friends here, at home.  I'm simply more ready, better equipped for my future after a respite from my real world.  I took pieces home with me from a life that allowed me to slow down and to notice that in doing so, things did get accomplished and that most things can, and will wait and that there IS a master plan to all of our lives.  I'm just not ready to spill it all out.  I'm keeping a lot of it in my own head and heart for the time-being.  I know what I know and it's great stuff and.......I'm not changing my story.

I've got a few more weeks until this big birthday party is over. 

This Was Thursday

Today is the day.  This is my last morning in Assisi, at least for the time-being.  My last cappuccino at the Cafe Duomo.  My final moments of sharing stories, seeing the familiar faces of the locals, hearing their voices. Watching them as they enjoy their morning traditions. I will miss them and the beautiful Isabella in ways that words cannot express but I will hold them in my memory and I will feel that I have been blessed by their presence in my life if only for the few short weeks that they have been.

This is the end of November.  I have witnessed Assisi preparing for the Christmas holiday and regret deeply that I will not be here to see in person, all of the lights that have been strung on the streets, in their full and luminous glory.

In five weeks, I have amassed a life-time of stories and observations, not only about life in a small, ancient hill town, but life in general.  I have had time to reflect, to self-examine and to plan for the future.  And, no, we will not be giving up our home and relocating to Italy!  No.  Returning as many times as we can, yes.

I will miss the individual moments, the words and acts of kindness.

Just this morning, shortly after the cafe opened, before the regulars arrived, Isabella threw on her coat and the two of us took a short walk across the piazza just to share an observation she had made.  A set of crossed irons on a building that were different from the sets above and below it.  Random.  So simple and yet, so meaningful.  We came back in, her beautiful family showed up, she played Leonard Cohen for me and gifted me with a bottle of olive oil that was from her own trees.  Am I going to miss this, you bet I am.  How lucky have I been?  Really.  Italian lessons, life lessons, and....olive oil. Does-not-get-better.  Hallelujah.

Oh, then, there was the "raccolta" yesterday.  My beautiful friend, Letizia Mattiachi, author of my favorite cookbook, "A Kitchen With A View", came by to meet my American friends and we sat and laughed over coffee just as we would have at home. Silva came down from her gorgeous B&B,  Le
Genistre with her husband, Eddie, and together, we celebrated the comfort and joy of friendship.

One last trek to the supermarcato yesterday for some of the things that I know I cannot get at Stop and Shop, and a text from my gorgeous friend Giselle, owner of Gusto! .  Let's do aperitivo!  Sure, meet me at the Porta Nuova (she was driving back to Fabbri from a birthday lunch in Perugia and came all the way to be with me!).  One last Aperol Spritz.  And, we closed the place.

A final dinner in Assisi with my three friends from home...a charming ristorante under one of the archways that are so characteristic of the town.  We laughed and drank lots of wine.  Who knew that a "large" was a liter???? And then, as we walked home in the bitter cold, we were like a bunch of kids on school vacation.  Did you see me dancing for the Assisi webcam?  I did.  Or, maybe you caught me ringing the doorbell of Alberto Scaccabrozzi, a sweet and very kind artist (you will see his work in my living room soon), yelling into the intercom......"Scaccabrozzi!  It is your American friends.  We are leaving tomorrow. Arriverderci!  etcetera, etcetera (lots of wine)"....and as we got back on our way, out he came.  Arms open.  Smile.  Hugs.  Hey, he's an artist.  He understands.  What a send-off!!

I'm ready to complete my year of great living.  I have had one amazing life since turning 70 and I have not one complaint or regret.  I hope that my friends who have been able to join me here in Italy

will forgive my grouchy moments and understand that in five weeks, I have had six guests in and out of the "Guardino Condo" on the Porta Perlici.  My only hope it that each and every one of them had the time of their lives.  That each one lived every moment in peace and the realization that life is sweet and that kindness here, there and everywhere, is a precious commodity and that maybe they will bring a piece of Italian lifestyle home with them and look back upon these days as special and sweet as have I.

As Letizia said.... I will be back because "Lynn, you are addicted to Umbria"

Aperitivo

Last evening, Barbara and I checked yet one more of those things off from our wish lists.  We were getting ready for dinner a casa, chicken totally ready for baking and the time was right for a special aperitivo.

I wasn't going to leave Assisi this time without a visit to the charming Enoteca Bibenda Assisi.  It called out to me every time I walked under the ancient pink stone archway, one of the many routes from the "upper" part of Assisi to the middle.

Nila Halum, the beautiful owner, was doing a tasting with a blindfolded gentleman, the only other occupant in her tiny emporium.  At first, we thought he was a local, they seemed so comfortable together.  We found out within a short time, that he was an American, from California, here in Assisi for a very special purpose.

Nila is one truly gracious woman.  She knows wine and she's very faithful to the local products,  intent on keeping the relationship between the friars who introduced some of the great Sagratinos and Grechettos to the area.  Each of us had a lovely glass of a Sagratino blend (it was a bit too dry for our taste, but a great wine nonetheless) and a share of a bruschetta of crisp bread chunks, rosemary and olive oil (that simple).

Never missing an opportunity to make a new friend, to grab a new story, I started a conversation with the gentleman, one I will not soon forget. Without hesitation, he opened his heart and with magnificent sweetness and honesty, he told the beautiful story.

My daughter, who was a doctor, always wanted to come to Rome.  She died from cancer before fulfilling that one dream and she was married to a woman who decided that she would get her wish. 

So,their family of eleven came to Italy together to spread her ashes first in Rome, and then in Assisi.  

Open, honest, kind, touching.  We shared stories.  I totally understood and felt a bond being formed in that room.  There is no such thing as a coincidence you know. As Barbara has taught me, "Man plans, God laughs".  I'm sure that God was smiling, grinning, ear to ear.

As we got up to leave, I received a warm and long embrace from Nila.

Everything is going to be all right

An angel, in a soft pink sweater.  Pouring wisdom from the Earth, tasting and inviting others to do the same.

Could it be that for that short time, I was in Heaven?

The Assisi Caper of the Day

Okay, it's time for a little story.

"The" Door on Via Porta Perlici - AKA "War Zone"

On Saturday, the first of a now-series of rainy days here in Assisi, my friend Gail and her cousin Pam, arrived safely from Boston for their first trip to Italy.  They now occupy the third floor of what is affectionately referred to as "The Guardino Condo"here on Porta Perlici, by our landlord, Pietro.

Pietro owns a beautiful art shop in town and he is a busy man due to his business and social activities.
So, on the day of the arrival of the new visitors, he asked that I do him the favor of showing them to their apartment and helping with their orientation.  In addition to insuring that every bathroom in a rental space has a pull cord just in case of emergency when on the toilet....it is required that the landlord gets passport information from each of his tenants.  So, he asked that I snap photos of each and send them to him at my convenience. He also told me that if anything was needed, Valentina, the
young woman who cleans and tends to domestic needs in the apartments, was on-site for any need that might come up......not that she speaks one word of English, mind you. And, she only knows me, not ever having met Barbara. 

Of course, the newbies wanted to stretch their legs and I wanted to give them a quick walking tour of the neighborhood before handing them their map and telling them to go and fulfill their individual visions of Italy.  Out the three of us went, with Barbara remaining behind in our apartment.

We were almost home when my phone rang, a call from Barbara, and we're off and running.....


Lynn, there's a woman trying to break in the apartment!!!!

She's saying DOCUMENTI, DOCUMENTI!!!

She won't go away.  

Thank God you answered your phone!!!!

"Okay, Barbara, let me think a second......is she wearing a white tee shirt?  Short brown hair?

Yes, and she's pointing to her cell phone, documenti!!

"That's Valentina, Barbara.  She doesn't speak English but she's looking for the passports (and for a familiar face) to photograph and send to her boss, Pietro.  Try to tell her I'll be back soon and I will take care of it"

I can't tell her anything.  She tried to barge in and I shoved her out the door, onto the street!!!!!!!

"Oh, boy....she probably thinks you broke in and did away with me!"  Mamma Mia!

Well, you can just imagine how Barbara felt when she realized what she had done to Valentina.
Of course, one can only sympathize with Barbara.  She thought she was going to be assaulted and robbed, then she thought that Valentina might be an undercover cop, looking for our "documents"! She was scared!!!

Then, of course,  a new fear set in......did Valentina report her to the carabinieri and would she be taken to jail?  Every vehicle that passed our apartment became a potential paddy wagon. The flashing lights of the trash collection trucks turned our girl a shade of white one rarely sees. 

Barbara is an incredibly sensitive and kind human being.  However, I'm not sure that Valentina would have agreed at that moment and of course, we felt terribly bad for the young woman who was simply doing (over-doing) her job.  We both felt the need to communicate our apologies to Pietro, hoping he would forgive us and extend our explanation and apologies to dear Valentina. 

The good news quickly came back in the form of a text from "the boss" and our minds were set at ease.  No, charges were not going to be pressed.  All is well. Tutto bene!  No problem.  Situation under control.  No interventions needed.  No Worker's Comp or Employee Relations claims filed.
The response from Pietro came in the following message

"SHE'S TOUGH"

Wine Around

When I say that it's time for "Wine Around" at my home on Cape Cod, it means that a group of us chatty neighbors grab a bottle and meet up at one of our patios for a weekly Summer evening fest.

When I say that Jack, Marie and I went for a "Wine Around" in Umbria.....well, we're not speaking the same language.  In fact, it wasn't about the spoken word at all.  It was ALL about the wine and it was hard to curb my enthusiasm (can you imagine, ME, curbing my enthusiasm?).

Joe and I met Mark and Giselle Stafford during our first trip to Umbria, years ago.  Through FaceBook (that was the only thing nice I can say about social media), I became friends with, first, Gisellle and then Mark, as they crafted their plans and started up their company, Gusto Umbrian Wine Tours.  We came, we met, and we fell in love and the rest is history.  Our first wine tour convinced us, at the time, that one should never come anywhere near this region without calling them for a day out that will be worth every cent.  The Staffords were skilled tour operators from Day One and we were impressed way back then with Gusto! It certainly was a day to remember, especially as Mark drove us back to our accommodation, round and round the bends, head spinning from a bit too much of some very,very fine wines.

"Let's book a wine tour" was my suggestion to my friends before we left home.  And so, on November 16th, Jack's seventieth birthday, off we went in the Gusto! van, Mark at the wheel, off into the countryside that he loves so much and knows of every inch.  We traveled from the Assisi area to the Montefalco area and the entire time, Mark prepped us for what we were going to experience, the
history of wine growing in Italy, the differences between the grapes, vines, tastes, chemistries, and lives of the young wine growers we were about to meet.  Armed with that information, we did our first stop and stepped right up to the vines for more information.  We learned about the entire growth cycle of the grapes before we went into the cantina for our first lesson in how to "taste" the gorgeous fruit of the vintner's family.  This is, always has been, and hopefully always will be, an industry that is placed lovingly from hand to hand in a family.  When the elder members are force to finally slow down, the younger members take over and so the cycle perpetuates.  With advancements in technology, the younger members add a new dimension to the marketing of their products but marketing is not their main goal.  Fine wine, care of the land and an appreciation of what has been entrusted, are far more important. These are not mass-producers we're told.

And so, we sat down, at two cantini.  Met two families of beautiful people.  Tasted with our eyes, noses, entire mouths.  We swirled and sniffed.  Along with our wines,we enjoyed sapori d'Umbira.  Tastings of local cheeses and meats, also produced by the families, for in Italy, wine is not a stand-alone.  Food, the right food, always accompanies wine. (same as our patio parties!).

After our two winery visits, it was off to lunch at a country restaurant, carefully selected by the Staffords.  To our delight, Giselle joined us. A warm and welcoming Umbrian wood fire glowed as we sat and enjoyed course after course of house specialities.  And, of course, more wine!

It goes without saying that Jack was a very special guest and that his birthday did not go by un-noticed or under-celebrated.  A little lava cake with a candle delighted Birthday Boy and we all sang "Buon Compleanno" to him and wished him "Auguri"with joy in our hearts and lots of wine in our heads.

I can't think of a better way to celebrate a landmark birthday, or any birthday, or any day, for that matter!  Oh, and did I mention that the sun was shining?  Yes, it was a brilliant blue sky and sunny all day and we didn't even really need the wine to make that happen.  Love.

This was no Cape Cod, Cranberry Knoll Ladies Wine-Around.  Sorry.

gustowinetours.com

Our Birthday Boy. Auguri Jack!!

Giselle and Mark. I love these people. They always have my back when I'm in Italy. Needless to say, this photo was not taken in Umbria but I think it captures them so well.

Ringraziamento

Our hostess, Tracey

Okay, I'm a few steps behind on the Thanksgiving posting but so much happens every day and I could write a book, never mind a blog post, every day.  I think a lot about what I might like to capture in words and, believe me, I write only about the highlights so you can just imagine.

I thought about penning a few words about the teenagers who get on and off the busses here in town when school gets out, and how they have absolutely no regard for people of any age, who may also wish to get on or off the bus; how when the doors open, they herd on as if they were one solid mass, pressing forward with determination and strength of youth.  This, of course, prevents those who wish to, from exiting and if you don't push and shove, just like the kids do, you will find yourself trapped. But, alas....... today, I must capture a memory, one that (have you heard this before?) will last a lifetime.

Joe and I have spent a few of our Thanksgiving holidays here in Italy.  This is a great month for travel and Thanksgiving is only one day out of the month so we've culturally warped ourselves out of thinking that we have to be present.  However, having said that, let me say that I do love the start of the holiday season and that there is a huge part of me that loves being with friends and family for every holiday. This one was no different.

The Italians, of course, do not celebrate Thanksgiving.  But they do have a word for it. "Ringraziamento" or "giving thanks", and they understand that those of us who come from the land of the pilgrims (pilgrims they do understand - people who journey and seek a good outcome), so they are more than willing to help in marking the day for visitors or expats, of which there are many here.

My current travel-mate-extraordinaire, Barbara, and I chose to have our holiday celebration at a local cafe called "Nonni Nani".  I have been there several times since planting myself on Via Porta Perlici almost five weeks ago, and have grown to love the owner, Tracey and her lovely wait-people.  Tracey is American, married for many years to an Italian, one who's family has been in Assisi for centuries.
Her family is still in the States, a huge presence in the Rutland Vermont area. She speaks English with an Italian accent which she attributes to her long marriage.  Her Thanksgiving menu reflects her roots and her understanding of what's supposed to be on that plate on that day.  So, we enjoyed turkey, imported from Tuscany, along with potatoes and vegetables and her own version of cranberry sauce which exceeded any other we have had, in taste and quality.  She told us that there is not one fresh cranberry to be found in the country so she re-constituted dried berries for starters.  Our plates were filled and after the starter which consisted of fresh cheeses, salumi, prosciutto, etcettera.....it was hard to put a dent into the meal so.....we got leftovers!  The American dream fulfilled.  We were too full for dessert so Tracey graciously extended the invitation to come back the next day for dessert (s)!! and coffee which we did last evening.

Now, there's always more to my stories so here it is and I'm not changing it.  The "help" called in sick.  Tracey had to assume the role of waitress and head of the kitchen.  For some lovely reason, Barbara and I were the only diners for the evening so that allowed for lots more time with the owner. Lots of time to share stories and to "celebrate" together. We talked about traditions, about the history of her restaurant, about ghosts and old grandparents. She apologized for the sweet tears that formed in her eyes as she explained that this year she was feeling a tad bit blue as the holiday approached. We all bonded so beautifully and I KNOW, for a fact, that the spirits of our departed loved ones were at work, that we three were surrounded by an energy that brought us together for the evening and that we have a LOT for which to be thankful.  Here, now, then, in this world and in the "other".

www.nonnanini.com

Recycling, Italian Style

Warning!

If you like to sleep past 5:30 in the morning, this is not the place for you.

First, let me congratulate Italian home designers for the quality of the interior doors.  These apartments in this little peaceful town are centuries old.  They are solid.  The doors are hard wood and when slid shut, a bedroom becomes a dark and quiet habitat.  Wooden shutters complete the dark and cozy atmosphere.

But......

Come 5:30, the action starts.  No, it isn't party time.  It's Refuti time!!!

During my last long stay in Assisi, I fond trash disposal to be incredibly easy.  Each day, I carried a bag of refuse to a set of containers that were steps away from my apartment.  The containers allowed for easy sorting of recyclables by the residents of the street.  Done.  No brainer. No trash collection.

Things have changed in the refuse world.  Now, most of the D.I.Y. centers are either gone or locked so that they can only be used by a handful of residents, usually business owners.  New problems.

So, every morning, almost precisely at 5:30, the trash truck enters my tiny street, lights flashing, engine running, and the trash-of-the-day is collected with a flourish.  Lights, action, noise.  If the bedroom door is not closed, there's no place to run.  The first morning I was here, I thought that there was a murder happening on my doorstep!  Holy cow.  Now, I know better.  Also, it appears that there are specific trucks and specific collectors for each type of trash so if on a particular day, two types (let's say plastics and aluminum) are on the schedule, crash, bash, bang! happens twice in succession. One truck and crew for plastics, another for aluminum for instance.
Mamma Mia!

I am just, just learning the system for refuti collection.  It's taken me this long.  Put the wrong thing out on the doorstep and it won't be collected.  My landlord gave me a copy of the schedule but of course, I still flubbed it.  "Leave your trash with me and I will put it with mine" he offered. Being one strong-willed woman,  not one to let something like a bag of trash take me down, I refused the kind offer and explained that I was accepting the challenge.  So, last night, Barbara and I got ready for action.  The way we finally figured it, today was the day for plastics (a large bag that I had collected over the weeks) and glass.  Not having a big bag for glass, we stuffed smaller bags and hoped for the best. Had I known this was going to be so problematic, I would not have drunk all that wine!!  Not.

This morning, at precisely 5:30, I heard music to my ears.  Clank, clank, bang, clunk......the trash collectors collected what I had placed on the doorstep before going to bed last night. Victory!
I nailed it.

Now, in addition to a new sense of pride, I feel liberated.  The big yellow bag of plastics is gone, the bottles, no longer lined up under the sink, and I do not have to take my "organic" bits on a walk as I did last week.  On that day, the kind clerk in the supermarket took pity on me, the dumb American, when I pointed to the bag of wet garbage that I had hauled in a bigger bag for one mile (I was looking for a D.I.Y.) and I explained to her.....Senora, guarda....oggi sto portando la mia spazzatura per un passagiatta!  "Madam, look....I am taking my trash on a walk today"

She thought this was funny so  she led me to their big bins outside the store and allowed me to dump my own refuti.  Had I real command of the language, I would have joked with her that I was thinking  of taking it to the circus, but I doubt she would have seen the humor.

Cheers!!!!!

There are so many things I will miss when I leave Assisi.  The quiet days, the serene evenings, the aromas - wood fires, roses.  The tastes - new olive oil, chestnuts, cheese. The wine. The wine. The wine......The local products, so pure and exquisite that I know nothing else on Earth will ever reach the bar. The church bells.  The churches.  Aperol spritzes. Rosemary bushes, lavender bushes, chocolate that gives new meaning to the word delicious.  Cappuccino, made by experts and yes, it is perfectly acceptable to have it after eleven o'clock (just not with a meal...ever...it IS a meal!).

But, there is one thing that I will miss, oh so much, above all others, guaranteed.  My mornings at the Cafe Duomo, bells ringing from San Rufino, fresh baked coronetti stinging my olfactory nerve and creating a dance, and the ever-present lovely Isabella, my hostess Migliore!!!  Gorgeous woman. Gracious and sweet.

This morning, Thanksgiving, started out with a downpour.  I wake up so early, just as I do in my home, and there's nothing that will put me back to sleep so I am up and showered, ready for the day, by seven. Don't even begin to offer me advice.  I've tried everything and I'm seventy so it's not going to change and apparently, it serves me well.  I'm digressing....this morning, as I worked my way down the wet cobblestones and got my first glimpse of the lights on at the cafe, I thought to myself......"this is the CHEERS of Assisi!!" Isabella is the female version of Sam Malone and the cast of characters, regulars from the neighborhood who show up every morning like clockwork.  One could almost film a series here called "SALUTI!"

There's the man who comes in for his cafe macchiato, that espresso with a tiny bit of milk.  He's first (after my entrance and cappuch).  He drinks it at the bar, chatting briefly with Isabella.  Soon after, the man with the tie comes in and brings the newspaper.  I can hardly resist shouting "Normmmmm!!"  The next set, an elderly couple, tiny woman who thinks I'm a goddess and hugs me, pinching my cheeks like the friends of my grandmother did when I was a child and we would meet them in the supermarket (I actually dreaded that because it hurt so much).  Now, I welcome it and feel the love in those bony fingers.  He, her more capable-appearing spouse, is the no-nonsense partner, hurries her along and says in Italian, some version of "let's get going, Woman" and she scurries out.  The utility workers are next.  I know them by their jackets.  Quick pausa.  Most of the customers are in and out, few linger as I do.  Their way, of course, is the authentic cafe experience.
A bit later, the group of life-long friends enter and take their seats.  Now, they linger.  One is a retired school teacher, accompanied by her husband.  The others, friends.  A foursome that has been meeting like this for years, at this very spot, at the same time every day with Sunday being the exception.
Lively conversations, smiles. Sharing problems, joys life journeys.

Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got


 I get a huge "Buon Giorno" from these folk. Surely they must wonder what the heck I'm doing here, working on my laptop.  Maybe they think I'm a foreign correspondent.


Ciao, ciao, ciao......people drift in and out.  Patrizia with the nice shoes is probably on her way to work.  Looks like a school teacher. Leonard Cohen on the Isabella's playlist.....OMG, we both love that man!!!! 

Normanoooooooo!!!!!!!

How can I resist capturing these moments?  Me, who loves to study people.  Me, who has made it my point to watch every single re-run episode of CHEERS over the past few months, as if they were brand new.  This is a festival for me and one I cannot replicate when I return.  I'm so pleased at myself for having taken the time. this time.  While I have spent many happy hours in Italy, I have never indulged as well.  I've learned to truly relax, to appreciate moments and to not seek much more than the moment.  This time has been another of those life-investments that I count with each passing day.  I'm well-rehearsed in the art of living simply and loving grandly.  When Joe and I were on our Camino last Spring, I learned the importance of the word "Ultreia".  I made a promise to myself, that the Camino would never end, that I would try my hardest to live the magic and Ultreia defines that.  Continue, rock on.  Never stop. It's a lifestyle that's so worth pursuing. 

Making you way in the world today takes everything you've got.

Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and they're always glad you came.

You wanna be where you can see the troubles are all the same

Mi Chiama Lynn!!!

You wanna be where everybody knows your name.

CHEERS AMICI!!!!

Girls' Day Out -Ragazze Fuori

Benessere.  Translates "Welfare"

In English, we say "Wellness"

We are speaking about one and the same here.

I've already spoken about the Italian spa experience, one that I will revisit next week, my swan song to Assisi, when my gal pal Giselle comes over from her home in Montefalco.  She's been a constant coach during my stay here, telling me over and over to "relax" and to not worry as much as I am prone to do.  She practically took a sledge hammer to me.  But now, I am relaxed and a lot more carefree than I was when I arrived.  She's going to be proud of how well I can do the spa circuit.

For years, during my career, I was considered a "Wellness Subject Matter Expert".  I set up programs for employees and taught assiduously the tenets of total wellness, that it had very little to do with how one felt physically; it was so much more, a combination of physical, mental, spiritual and social.  So, I really am familiar with all the spokes on the wheel.

Yesterday, I practiced what I have been preaching.  Made a date with my friend Silvia, a gorgeous forty year old German woman who, along with a little help from her husband, runs a B&B up in the nether-reaches of Assisi.  More about that later.

Got picked up at the little bus stop bench near the Porta Perlici (aka, the street where I live), and off we went, me and One-of-the-Most-Skillful-Drivers-I've-Ever-Met.  I am totally comfortable in the passenger seat of cars driven by everyone who lives in Umbria.  They make my daughter-in-law, who's been known to speeeeeed, look like Minnie Mouse.  But, for some reason, Silvia has special skills and I own a Volkswagen so what can I tell you.  We zigged and we zagged and before long we arrived in the town of Foligno, a place I had visited years ago but had mostly forgotten everything about.  Two girls on the run, she, after a busy Summer being the perfect hostess, and me, seeking for both of us, a true girlie day.

It all started when Giselle showed up at her birthday party a few days after my arrival and all I could say, after not having seen her in two years was......"WHERE DID YOU GET THAT GLITTER EYELINER??????" Okay, I also did say "Happy Birthday Gorgeous" and then back to the basics....glitter!!  In the U.S., we have Sephora.  In Italy, it's Kiko-Milano.  A smaller chain.  Cheaper too.  But, needless to say, there isn't a shop here in the center of Assisi.  St. Clare would have frowned and from all that I have read (and read, and read), she rarely frowned.

Ah, back to wellness......let me just say that by the time we left the Kiko shop in Foligno, we pretty much looked ready for Las Vegas.  Buy three, get three free (they have embraced "Black Friday" here).  Silver glitter, gold glitter, lipsticks.....Mamma Mia!

Our next wellness stop was lunch at the lovely little Osteria del Teatro where we took care of our physical need to have the most delicate and delicious pastas, prepared by Pierino who put a tiny dent in our bliss when he told us that he wasn't serving the chocolate souffle today.  He felt our pain and compensated with a complimentary chocolate semifreddo.  After our lunch we asked him to show us "the cellar" as I had been advised to do.  Down, down, down we went to a circular, domed, chilly room that he told us was constructed a mere 700 years ago, and used as the refrigerator for what we assumed had been a palazzo.  Not even creepy.

See, I told you it wasn't even creepy

My partner in crime or, the pursuit of benessere

A few errands, a stop at a Eurospin grocery store (where they actually had chestnut flour and zucchini flowers) and then off to Le Ginestre, the fabulous home of Silvia (leginestre-assisi.com) where we were greeted by a fleet of cats and a very happy dog named Mia.  A tour of the beautiful, and I do mean BEEEutiful home, surrounded by an abundant supply of vegetation, terraces, swimming pool and what looks like and I know is, a lot of work for my friend.  It was nearing dusk and time for Mia's walk up, up and up a long trail which led to the most fabulous views.  Not only was Mia a lively companion, so were at least three of the cats who darted in between my legs and played together as we made our way.

The back of Le Ginestere.  Breath-taking views from here.

Our day was absolute perfection.  Two girls looking for a good time, Umbrian style.  I could hardly wait to get up this morning to apply my make up.

Guazzetto or....Stew's the Word

My Italian lesson for the day.

"Isabella, if I say 'tu" when I am addressing you, why does one say 'te adoro?'

"It's a kind of dialect"

Good grief, now I have to learn not only proper Italian but also dialect.  I just recently nailed down  "essere" which is the to-be verb.  Between that and the to-have, "avere", I have very little and io sono trying very hard to enhance my language skills.  I do better with each trip here but will never, ever be fluent and will always remain totally lost when listening to fast- paced Italians.  Piano (slow) piano, I beg.

So, that brings me to Italian T.V.

I rarely watch network television when at home.  I'm a PBS person and that reminds me, I'm way behind on Poldark!!  Re-runs will have a new meaning in my life.  But, I'm alone most evenings here and have succumbed to the habit of using the tube as company.  After several evenings of trying my patience (same commercials over and over just as in the States), I landed on ALICE (pronounced ALeeeechee), the food network.  Okay, so I don't always know what the cooks are saying, but I can watch them and figure it out.  These people have become my dearest friends and they always work in pairs, one cooking, the other entertaining and, most of the young men are quite hunky, making me wonder if they started as chefs or became chefs for the sake of attracting an audience.  Hmmmm.

Simone Rugiati hosts "Rugiati Code' during which he unveils the "codes" of a new kitchen, freewheeling between cuisine and entertainment (they all do, for that matter).  Picture Sting, in the kitchen.  Sort of.

Then, there's Mattia Poggi, adorable host of "La Gola Il Gusto".  Mattia cooks in a different region each show, using different local products to create unusual and new dishes.  Not your mamma's lasagne!

Marco Valletta and his chatty sidekick, Franca Rizzi, host "Casa Alice".  She is demonstrative and amusing in that she is so focused on the camera during their show.  She's like the friend you hate to love.

And then, there's my T.V. friend, Patrizia.  Her show, "Fish Dynasty" is a blend of a short cooking demo by a talented young man who produces the most unusual and easy recipes for the fish that she sells in her shop, located in the heart of Rome.  The show shows us day to day life of a fishmonger from the arrival of the fish to customer service.  We're introduced to friends and family, often getting a glimpse of family celebrations at the home of Patrizia and her husband with whom she appears to be totally in love.  I suppose that's why the show is called "Fish Dynasty". There are lots of family members involved in this production and Patrizia is the "star" of her show. Oh, and the "Dynasty" theme music makes it even more appealing.


Hey, food is a way that we all connect.  Just sitting here this morning, I've been collecting recipes from Isabella and I've gotta say, I'm ready for the market and for making of the ragu!

Te adore Isabella.  In other words, Love YA!

Ahead

Or.....Baby, it's cold out there.......but I'm not going to whine.

Yes, this morning it was cold and windy.  Kind of like a November day on Cape Cod but not as cold or windy as it might be at West Dennis Beach.  The kind of day that makes me glad I brought a warm coat, hat, gloves and scarves.  Good thinking on my part.  When I stopped in the cafe to chat over cappuccino with Isabella, she commented on how she sees people out on the Piazza San Rufino, her doorstep, inappropriately dressed and complaining about how cold they are.  She's right.  What are these people going to do when Winter officially arrives?

I have to make it abundantly clear, that I am not on a "vacation".  I have not taken a break from reality nor have I forgotten for one nanno-second that in two weeks I will return to my home and will take up where I left off.  Since I have been here, I lost a friend to an early and unexpected death, and my father took a fall in his new "home" which we try not to call "the nursing home," with surgery for a fractured hip as the result.  Me here, him, there.  It's been hard but my brother and husband are the newest candidates for sainthood.  I'm here on a mission. Not on a merry-go-round. Not in a hurry.  The only one I'm going to meet is myself.  I'm pretty proud of the person I know I am because I have taken the time.  Strength and courage.  I like the combo.  Pretty good way to finish celebrating my big birthday.

I've had loads of time to think about lots of things. I'm almost ready to come home.  Three more friends are headed here and I look forward to their arrivals but when it's over, it's over and I will return to my home equipped, hopefully, for the Winter.  My love affair with Italy is far from over but this is not my home and this is not my country.  I'm eager to be back on the time clock with which I am familiar, eager to live in only one time zone at a time.  Presently, thanks to technology and FaceTime, I'm living on European and American zones simultaneously and the days are very long.  I'm ready to return to the non-metric way of measuring things, to the non-military-clock way of telling time.  I'm ready for my boring life and my little condo.  I'm ready for the loving arms of my husband and the eye-rolls of my pre-adolescent granddaughters when I tell them stories.

For now, I'm settled in.  It has taken this long to really establish a pattern of behavior that suits me. I have had a constant flow of people, in and out of what has been playfully referred to as "The Guardino Condo, Assisi".  I've done my best to act as an unofficial tour guide and have spent time, made memories, with friends who have joined my heart here.  Not every minute was blissful but every minute was beautiful.  I finally got a list of what days what types of trash get picked up. I know shortcuts to the grocery store. I don't feel the need to be outdoors all day and appreciate my quiet hours, alone. My current life has a little cadence to it and this is exactly what I needed.

For the first time in a long time, I will not be living in fear when I hear the weather forecasts, predicting snow and wind, probable power failures.  I will know that my father is safe and that he will not have to weather any more storms alone. Like it or not, he will be taken care of in his new home.

So, for me, the arrival of the cold here, the little gusts of wind that blow leaves and papers down the tiny streets, remind me that yes, another Winter is begging the Autumn season to let go.  I'm reminded with every whirl of air, every chill that wraps itself in between my layers, that a new season in my life is ahead and that I have done all that I can to prepare my soul for it.

Two Roads

I'm writing this from the cafe down the cobblestoned street from my apartment.  Before coming to Italy, I made a little promise to myself, that I would have cappuccino on as many mornings as possible, and this is my go-to place.  Isabella, the woman who seems to LIVE here, has become a friend.  She teaches me Italian words, expressions and correct pronunciation.  If there is a new poster on the board, advertising a local happening, she helps me with locations as well.  Of all the things I will miss, it will be this place and this person.  She has taught me so much more than words, she has also taught me kindness and trust. Yesterday sucked all of my cash and cash machines are few and far between.  So, this morning, all I had in cash was 1.30Euro.  Just short of a cappuch.  Without missing a beat she told me to stop by any time later and pay when I do, to not worry now -" just have your cappuccino!"

So, this is a warm and friendly place for me to write.  It's not busy, especially early in the morning, and I feel as if I am in the company of someone I've known all my life.

The perfect week, number three, is drawing to a close, today being Saturday.  It was a busy one and the weather, sunshine and blue skies.  It's getting colder, more Winter-like and the tile floors in the apartment hold that cold.  The evening air is filled with that special aroma that comes from wood-burning fireplaces, found in home kitchens and dining rooms in Umbria.  Fuel is expensive here, almost as bad as the taxes the Italians pay on every, every thing. There are times when I question the ability of the people who live here to sustain themselves but then again, this IS Italy and they ARE Italians so what's up with me?

I had and still have, a list of "objectives" for this visit.  Things I really want to nail down, find out more about, savor and enjoy. Some left over stuff from previous visits hang on to that list and beg for my attention.  One of those is the trip through the Bosco di San Francesco that I promised myself. I saved this one for my friend's visit, knowing that they also might enjoy a walk in the woods.

The Bosco (woods) di San Francesco is a "sacred landscape", an area made up of forests, olive groves, cultivated fields, hills, plains, farmhouses and little parish churches. Typically Italian. The entrance is found through an arched opening in a wall that is adjacent to the Basilica.  Posters of informtionin tell visitors that the land was donated to the Fondo Ambiente Italiano, the FAI, Italy's National Trust,in 2008.When the land became available, natural beauty was soon discovered. Acres of land that had not been cared for grew more beautiful once landscape experts and architects found the right balance between the past and the present.  Damages caused by years of neglect were repaired and everything done was done in a way that would allow future visitors to discover the way land lends itself to human life. This is not a simple stroll.  This is one that becomes an interior journey as paths bring you deeper and deeper into the natural showcase.  Sights and sounds of the woods, and only of the woods, allow for meditation and for a full appreciation of the relationship between mankind and the natural world.

We followed the route to the Pont di Santa Croce and, after a break, turned around, backtracking together until we came to a tiny bridge called the Ponte dei Galli.  It was here that I was faced with a choice as I discovered a cut off to the right of the main path.  Should I continue along with my friends, safe in the knowledge that the route would eventually lead back to the starting point or......should I take the low path, the one that I kind of figured would lead "somewhere"?  On a tree at that junction I spotted the red and white trail marker that indicates a path used by the C.A.I. (Club Alpino Italiano). I tossed the idea of going on alone in my head for about thirty seconds and then, from out of nowhere came the voice....."you only live once".  I bid my good-byes to my friends and took off along the dried up river, traversing a very narrow path.  This was not a route for novice hikers.  It twisted, inclined, leveled and took me up some narrow and slippery rock paths.  I bent under tree branches, lost the trail a few times, and finally came out into civilization WAY, far away from the Bosco entrance.  A pee in the woods helped prepare me for the rest of the very long walk back home.  I had not anticipated this whole adventure and had worn a cashmere sweater that morning - it's been getting chilly here.  Bright sunshine forced me to stop along the way and remove the sweater, literally in the middle of a street. That's how warm it got!  You don't need all the details. Trust me, I did not embarrass any American women in the process!

I chose the road less traveled.  It sure did make a difference. This whole experience has been about roads less traveled, about realizing my own strengths and weaknesses.  I have that much more confidence, I have that much more respect for nature and for myself.

Wednesday night found us in Heaven - just another night in Assisi....

A flyer was circulating around Assisi, advertising a free concert at the Basilica of San Francesco.  The Choir of the Cathedral of the Madeleine all the way from Salt Lake City, Utah, would be performing works of Palestrina, Bach and Poulenc in addition to others at six o'clock on Wednesday.

So, Jack, Marie and I set out into the early evening, the sky above us a shade of sapphire blue that only happens up here in the hills.  With tour busses long gone,  Assisi lent herself willingly to all who would appreciate her.  We strolled our  way down to the Piazza San Francesco and entered the magnificent, Gothic-styled thirteenth century Upper Basilica where we took our seats in anticipation of the start of the concert. And then, the organ started, the choir walked in softly and took their places.  Men, and children of all ages, donned in choir robes, fanned out across the front altar of what is considered to be the most beautiful and famous in the world. Powerful voices of young people handled difficult lyrics and hauntingly beautiful music skillfully. What an honor and privilege to be sitting in that seat in one of the world's most beautiful places. Eyes closed. To say it was dream-like would be accurate.  Yikes.

The concert was one of three that this group is giving in Italy as part of the International Pilgrimage/Performance Tour.  Their school is a private, K-8 combination of education and music, and is located in the heart of downtown Salt Lake City.  The choir was established in 1966 with music education fashioned after the European Choir School model.  Acceptance to the school, therefore, includes a process of determining from an early age, a child's vocal abilities as well as academic.  I only hope that the young people in this group realize how very fortunate they are and that they will keep the memory of their visit to Italy in their minds and hearts forever.

A huge thank you to the Choir of the Cathedral of the Madeleine and to the parents and teachers who made this possible.  Travel safe!

I Do Believe

Yesterday, another beautiful gift from the weather-person, my friends Jack, Marie and I, strolled down for their first visit to my beloved San Damiano. I never tire of being there and always find comfort and wisdom from the things I witness at the tiny place where St Clare started her order.  I
enjoy sharing this experience with those who have never been but always warn them that as we descend the hill, please keep in mind that we will eventually ascend.  Never do I venture out without this in mind and without the gentle reminder.

On our way back to Assisi Center, after the ascent and the requisite observance of the olive picking in the grove that lines the road,  we neared the top of the road and I just knew what my friends were thinking.....another set of hills.  It is always at this juncture that I take great pleasure in telling the first timers "I have a wonderful surprise for you!!"  I don't let on until I drag them through a parking lot where tour busses park for the day.  We continue to make our way alongside the paved lot and then  the big reveal happens.....a double set of escalators!  You'd have to be a rock to not be pleased at this sight at that time.  The Italians are clever in that they rarely will waste anything, not least of all, electricity.  So, the escalators appear to not be working until....you step onto the first step and then, magically, the steps start to make their happy movement upwards.

Yesterday, as I, Pied Piper I have turned out to be, led my tiny pack, we took on another member. If you know me, you know I talk to strangers.  An erstwhile friend found that to be one of the things she didn't like about me but instead of ditching the habit, I said farewell to the friend.  New Friend of the day, it turns out, was a lovely American woman from Long Island, formerly from Manhattan.  Okay, game's on!  She quickly joined us in our trek and was just as eager as Jack and Marie to find out what the big deal of the day was going to be. She was equally delighted to learn about the escalator and as we chatted about her Italian visit. What usually happens when women start chatting,  we quickly revealed facts about our lives. Duh, it's me talking here.

I told Joan, my new pal, all about my visit to Assisi in 2012 and found out that she also had been here during that time frame.  She was mourning the death of Erik, her beloved husband of thirty years. I was mourning the death of my mother as previous blog posts attest.  Needless to say, I had to tack on the story of why I am now here for an extended stay.  I gave her the whole Nine Yards about how my father was falling into disrepair slowly (like the church in the 12th Century!) and the time had come for his next step,  an unwilling entry into a nursing home. I elaborated about how difficult it would have been had I been on the scene each day, with his constant pleas to take him home.  (Lynn's coming tomorrow to get me OUT of here!!).  So, my next words after my little diatribe were...."but Joan, it's all good".  Without missing a beat, she rolled up her sleeve and revealed a little white rubber band type of bracelet upon which was printed the words

"IT'S ALL GOOD"

She removed the bracelet, we embraced, and in that instant, the tiny token became mine.  It sat on my wrist when I returned to my little apartment and got the news that my dad had fallen in the nursing home earlier in the day and had broken his hip.  Surgery will be this morning.  My darling husband, our adorable nursing assistant friend and helper, and my brother who has been more than generous with his time and understanding, have all told me not to worry, that it's all covered.  He's in good hands and now will know, beyond a doubt, that he belongs in the care of professionals, something he had great difficulty understanding.

Before our jaunt to S. Damiano, we three attended Mass at the Basilica of St. Francis, one of the most sacred places on Earth, and I made my intention - I asked only that my father find peace in the decision we had to make in placing him in a nursing facility, that a way be found to convince his demented mind of this need.  It was my only prayer for the entire day.  As a nurse, I know, and have told numerous people over the years, that a hip fracture in a person of advanced age, usually starts them on the road to change.  Rarely do they return to their homes and nursing homes become the inevitable next step.

It's out of the hands of the family now.

It's all good.

The angel, Joan, told me in no uncertain words, what I longed to hear. I am, and will be for a long time, wearing the little white bracelet as a constant reminder.

I believe in angels.  This place is LOADED with them.  You just have to open your eyes and in many cases, your mouth.  It's my story, and I'm not changing it.

Honoring

The start of a beautiful day. A crostata and cappuch at Nonna Nini, a cafe owned by a former NH resident!

The bell tower on Santo Stefano, the bells rang on their own when Francis died

The Garden of the Just, built in 2015 at the Bishop's Residence in Assisi

The description of the Garden, the one I found serendipitously and joyfully!

It was Sunday and the first full day I have had on my own since arriving here.  It was lovely sharing my time with my friend Jenny but when it was time for her to depart on the SULGA bus to Rome on Saturday afternoon, we both were ready for some independent travel.

My day started with Mass at the tiny church of San Stefano, Chiesa di Santo Stefano (say it this way..KEY-A-Sa DE Santo STAYfano), The Church of Saint Stephen.  I made a special intention to honor our friend Steve who passed away a week ago today.  The tiny church, built sometime early in the 13th century, is typically Umbrian and rustic.  The interior has maintained much of the original medieval appearance.  According to the Franciscan tradition, the bells of Santo Stefano were heard to ring on their own accord at the moment of the saint's death on October 3,1226.  I thought it a fitting setting and perfect way for me to pay my respects to Steve.

A blue, blue sky and warmth from the Umbrian sky set me off on a day in which I walked several miles.  After treating myself to my beloved cappuccino and the most heavenly apricot crostata (it was a special day!), I wandered and wandered and wandered some more, discovering pathways and shortcuts that in all of my previous walks, I had not yet found.  My goal for the day was to walk to every one of the ten gates to the city, knows as the "porte" or "portas".  The city is surrounded by walls, so there had to be entrances and these also surround the city.  I am sure that I have already seen, passed by, passed through and under, in addition to having photographed from every angle, each and every one of these already but, I'm still working on those checklists that I started right before my big birthday.  

I got as far down as the beautiful little Piazza Vescovado and the Casa Papa Giovanni, the bishop's residence,and entered a small courtyard to get a better look at the statue that was so obviously yet another bronze of St. Francis. Adjacent to the statue was the description of the garden. I had entered the "Garden of the Just" and was standing before the first of these gardens to have been inaugurated in Umbria.  The Gariwo, I read, is an international network of Gardens of the Just, created by

Gabriele Nissim in honor of those who "still today spend themselves for the good of the others".  This was the reward to the people of Assisi who, in an extraordinary page of history, hospitality and brotherhood, saved three hundred Jewish people during the years 1943-1944.

The story of the "Assisi Underground" is one that is familiar to me.  In fact, I kind of have a weird fixation with it ever since I last spent a block of time here, in an apartment that was mentioned in the book as having been the office of an Italian official who became key to this story.  A few steps away from the garden, and I entered the Museo della Memoria, Assisi 1943-1944 exhibition, there, just waiting for me.  I can't think of too many things that would have made me quite as thrilled.  Had I planned this, it probably would never have happened.  It was a gift.  The museum is small and quiet, I, the only visitor at that time.  After viewing a video, I toured the rooms filled with stories and photos of the people I had come to know from reading the book a few times.  I cried.

In short, the city of Assisi was occupied by the Germans during the war.  Col. Valentin Muller, a doctor by profession and a devout Catholic by good fortune, headed the operations.  It was he who set up Assisi as a hospital city, one protected from the ravages of war. Not one life was lost here and not one area bombed as a result of this decision.  Instead, hospitals cared for those who had been injured in combat.  

During the years between 1943 and 1944, through heroic efforts on the part of the local clergy and citizens, and the never-before or after, opening of the cloisters which housed the nuns of Assisi, Jews seeking safety found it and not one of their lives were lost.  It's a great story, one that should be read before visiting Assisi.  In the story, one finds the names of Padre Rufino Niccacci, Monsignor Giuseppe Placido Nicolini, Don Aldo Brunacci, along with Luigi and Tretno Brizi, the brothers who printed up new identities for each and every refugee.  The Italian cyclist, Gino Bartali who transported documents between Assisi and Florence is honored alongside the brave who never once broke their silence as they cared for and transported to safety the families and individuals in need.

Fitting, that I should have found myself in this place on this, Veteran's Day.  Thousands of American lives were lost during the war, the Italian Campaign lasting from September, 1943 through May 2,1945.  Many older residents still remember that.  I'm proud of my country.

My day was perfect in so many ways and I ended it appropriately, with a visit to the cimitero, probably THE quietest place in Assisi.  A visit to the local cemeteries is always on my list, those and supermarkets.  I found time to reflect and to pay homage to a whole lot of people yesterday.  I gave thanks for their lives and for my own and very special thanks for the feet that carried me from sacred place to sacred place.

Today, it's back to the supermercato.  I'm going to walk down to Santa Maria degli Angeli. It's a short one, only about 3 miles, where I will visit a brand new market and meet my friends Jack and Marie who are due to arrive on the train at 12:27.  

A presto!