Crossing the Rubicon, or Beginning the Blog
Sometimes it takes a trip to paradise to realize that you may already live there.
Blog
It's a Love - Hate Thing
There are times I truly, absolutely, viscerally love living in rural Umbria.
Times when I am saturated with gratitude for the strange winds that blew me here. Times when I savor every charmed (and charming) moment, when every fabulous meal is a gift, when every bucolic vista is a discovery, when every lazy summer afternoon an epiphany. Times when I revel in my sons' endearing Italian accent, my husband's Euro-male je ne sai quoi, my mother-in-law's hand rolled pasta. Times when exploring the small, family owned shops is an adventure, navigating a government office in another language is a small victory, and painstakingly nourishing a new friendship with a local is a pleasure.
Yes, my friends, there are times when I love this country with all my heart, body, and soul.
And then there are times when my godd@!n freaking telephone line is out of service for a godd@!n freaking month, including Christmas, and I wonder what the hell I am doing in this godd@!n freaking country.
Harried Here
I'm the mother of two now. Double the pleasure, double the fun.
Fifty bazillion times the guilt.
To Dream the Impossible Dream
We are building our dream house.
We’ve been at it for a little over five years now. So, who out there in the crowd would like to take a stab at guessing where we are, exactly, in the dream house construction? I hear "choosing window treatments" from the back. The little bald guy here in front says "final touches on landscaping". Well, everyone hold that thought, and I’ll get to it in a minute.
The Umbrian Sagra Survival Guide
If you really want to see how the Italians in rural Italy live, your best bet is to head to the nearest sagra.
The Heir and the Spare
When your two and a half year old runs to the john, feigns an attack of vomiting, then looks at you and says with a smile, "Look! Just like Mamma!" there is only one possible explanation.
Yes, folks, we’ve got a bun in the oven.
Life in Bedford Falls, part two
Yes, okay. I know Part Two was supposed to be done a couple of months ago. Now, what was I saying? Right, small town life.
It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye
I have a hobby. I make soap.
I can’t think of a more appropriate hobby for a vegetarian who sometimes reels at the smell of cooking meat than one which, as Step One, lists, "Render suet into tallow." This is a missish way of saying, "Boil a big vat of beef fat on your stove for so long that your home reeks like a turn of the century British tannery and the stench of it has even the dog retching and the neighbors, who live three kilometers away and raise hogs, sniffing the air and wondering if someone has been burning garbage in the woods again."
Umbrian Women don't Burn Bras, They Iron Them
If there’s one thing that really bugs me, it’s blaming the victim. But when it comes to discussing gender relations in my little corner of Italy, I find myself with my back to the wall. There is no other way. The truth must be shouted from the mountaintops.
Umbrian women have made their own beds.
Pomp, Circumstance, and Darn Good Canapés
I got a letter from the United States Ambassador to Italy the other day.
Now I know that what I am about to reveal may cause shock and consternation amongst my readers, but the sad truth is, despite my carefully cultivated image of jet-set refinement, cutting edge culture, and general Glamour Queenliness, I rarely get personal mail from Popes, monarchs, presidents or even diplomats. So it was not without a slight frisson of excitement and trembling hand that I opened my embossed envelope.
