Simple Joys

My Honey and I took a stroll through our town with friends. Summer weather, sunny and dry, is here to enjoy. We sat for awhile on a bench in a new square just built and planted. I love the old wall next to the newly painted one and the sculpture in the center. We have sculptures all over town. We ate gelato and admired the flowers. That's all. Seems like I've absorbed some of the Italian lifestyle.

It was our first gelato of the season from one of our cafes. I sat on the bench next to the profusion of flowers in the photo. Such lovely colors.

When we returned home my Honey made baked stuffed zucchini and salad with orange and fennel, served with a local white wine. Delicious. La dolce vita.

Wishing you summer's abundance and simple pleasures.

So Much has Changed

The windows are open since the temps are warm this September. I'm sitting looking at the verdant hills surrounding me and taking stock of all the has happened since my last post. I guess I needed a break to digest and integrate it. The biggest change is that my Honey and I put our Italian apartment/ condo on the market after nearly five years living here. We plan to move back to the states once it sells and relocate to Jacksonville, FL. The decision bubbled up after our vacation there in July/ August, being with family and having our grands (now 11 and 7 1/2) on our own for two weeks.

The easy reason to point to is the realization that I'm too far away from those who mean the most to me. Add to that the growing surety that Italians, as much as I have felt welcomed by them, enjoyed them and learned important life lessons from them, are not my tribe. I'm ready to volunteer in something I find meaningful and I'd like to have options that fit my skills, my perspectives, and can be expressed and understood without translation, figuratively and literally speaking. I might be able to shape such an endeavor here but it seems more monumental than I'd like at this time in my life. When I think about where I'd like to grow old and die, I know in my heart of hearts it's not here.

Sinking down a level, I want to be where those around me reflect the diversity in my own family. I want my family to feel at home when they visit, feel met and mirrored, feel comfortable. In my immediate family that means more people of color, bi-racial couples and mixed race kids. In my extended family it means more openly, comfortably gay individuals and couples and more complex families with fostered, adopted, blended and special needs kids. More basically, I'd like to be where my extended family can afford to visit. I cherish the diversity in my own family and I want to have that around me day to day.

There's more, I suspect, in the inner restlessness and eagerness to be living differently, more authentically. I, nonetheless, feel surprised by this change. I was going along feeling happy and delighted and then I wasn't. Makes me sad given how much I've loved living here and the good friends I've made. How does this just change from one day to another?

                                            (photo by Grazian Romanelli of our city and its dragon)

Some Things That Happened in June

New plants on the balcony with clouds sitting on them.

Lunch with good friends to celebrate a birthday.

A new tablecloth with colors of the Italian countryside to brighten the balcony.

A new (to us) view of Cittá Sant'Angelo, our fair city

A new home for the bougainvillea so it can eventually tumble over the railing

New scents mingling on our balcony from new placement of jasmine, lavender and rosemary in proximity

Herbs and hot peppers thriving on the other end of the balcony. The basil is post- harvesting of two huge batches for pesto.

An old olive tree with new trim for its leaves located not far from our house.

Discovering new places with an old friend in Luxembourg Gardens, Paris.

Post- pruning magnificence of the coleus and its myriad colors.

New blooms on the plant who loves the light if not the sun and lives indoors next to the french doors.

I'm marveling at and enjoying the abundance of summer in my little corner of the world. How about you?

Cittá Sant'Angelo, My Fair City

http://youtu.be/c5xMDZVjrGM

To enjoy on this summer Sunday- a video by Bruno Rugiere with scenes from my lovely, medieval town, Cittá Sant'Angelo in Abruzzo, Italy.

Any Morning - William Stafford

Just lying on the couch and being happy.
Only humming a little, the quiet sound in the head.
Trouble is busy elsewhere at the moment, it has
so much to do in the world.

People who might judge are mostly asleep; they can't
monitor you all the time, and sometimes they forget.
When dawn flows over the hedge you can
get up and act busy.

Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
People won't even see that you have them,
they are so light and easy to hide.

Later in the day you can act like the others.
You can shake your head. You can frown.

"Any Morning" by William Stafford from The Way It Is. © Graywolf Press, 1999.

Posted by Garrison Keillor on The Writers Almanac on November 26, 2012 which was my father's 96th birthday. This poem embodies my father's attitude to which I aspire. These are photos from yesterday morning as spring emerges here in my little corner of the world and the mornings are so perfectly lovely.

Be happy, hum a little, pick up pieces of heaven and save them. Good advice.

Where I Live

I'm from the town at the top of the hill
in a far away province of Italy,
a medieval town with ancient stones lining the streets
holding the traces of footsteps for a thousand years
reminding me of my place in the scheme of things-
one of them, humans together, trying to walk straight on crooked paths;
small alleys off the main street echo summers of shouts, out the windows,
down the lanes, while cooking smells waft overhead and people gather on stoops,
stairs, squares always urgent with the need to connect.

I'm from where Dolorata calls from her stand on market day: "Bella! Come stai?",
where Gianni parks his van with fresh fish every Wednesday and Friday and kisses
me and my husband on both cheeks and marvels that our names are John and Mary
and he's Gianni and his wife is Maria and we're from different countries
and aren't we lucky to have met and live here now? I'm from where I can see
the Apennine mountains around three sides of town while the Adriatic hugs the fourth,
where traditions are handed down like cherished family recipes, all meant to nourish,
where transitory has to do with crops and existential struggle describes weather
as friend or foe of the agriculture that sustains our region, its olives and grapes,
dirt and rain, trees and vines cut back after last season to grow again in this one
and be reaped to feed us all and slake our thirst.

I'm from where art and architecture generations old are held as humanity's treasures,
where people greet children with smiles and hugs and swing them gaily around,
hold them, too, as humanity's treasures; where yearly festas celebrate every saint,
crop, flower or historical accomplishment of our region to encode children's memories
in celebration. I've thrown in my lot with these folks in this town to live, to learn,
to expand my definition of where I'm from.

This is in response to Pamela Sayers request at dVerse Poets Pub to write about the places we live.

Returning Home

It's a particularly splendid day after the torrents of rain of the past few days. The flowers continue to flourish, the table invites a sit to take in the view and enjoy the warmth.

While I've been away the hot peppers matured from green to bright red and have already been shared with eager neighbors. The little ones from Thailand are extra zippy. The bigger Italian ones don't skimp on the heat, though, and are plumped out well. All are grown from seed this year and thrive in this southern exposure.

The air is fragrant with lavender as the flowers not picked die back and scatter grains of scent on the balcony near the table. A good book (I'm currently re-reading The Hobbit and The Lord of The Rings trilogy), a cup of tea, Bocelli and Brightman singing in the background and a slant of sun under the awning complete the scene. Ahhh, it's good to be home.

And dusk falls.