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"