Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Black-Eyed Susan

That's the funny name to my state's "floral emblem" or state flower. Growing up in Maryland the Black-eyed Susan was as much a symbol of summer as sweet Queen Anne's corn or those Chesapeake Bay Blue Crabs we like to consume by the bushel.

My mother has a pot of them sitting on her back deck. The other day just before dusk I caught sight of their golden rod petals glowing in the fading light. The pop of color was so startling I went straight for my camera. I guess I should be thankful my fascination with the prideful plant has stayed strong all these years. After all, it's image has been tattooed on my backside for over 16 of them!

Sunday, July 5, 2009

A Festive Fourth

Our first family fourth of July celebration in years included Chesapeake Bay Blue Crabs on the porch along with homemade popsicles and a mini (illegal) fireworks display.

Happy Birthday America!

Thursday, June 25, 2009

American Breakfast


This morning after dropping my husband off at the bus stop (at 5:50am!) I decided to swing by Dunkin Donuts. I know my daughter has never had a donut in her life and I'm pretty certain my son only knows the Italian version, la bomba. Needless to say, sugar glazed cake in the morning was an instant hit. My daughter put finger to cheek signing buonissimo and began shouting, "Palla! Palla! Palla!" which means ball in Italian.

I have to tell you, my trip to Dunkin Donuts was a bit curious. All the employees had name tags several syllables long that had many Ks, Vs, and Ys repeating in between a few As and Os. They were all young, fair skin, blue-eyed and pretty good looking. Plus, they all had unique accents. I desperately wanted to ask where the were from but thought I would sound like an ass so I stopped myself. Still, it was curious. Did a group of Ukrainian teens come to America and open a Dunkin Donuts? That's pretty cool.

About yesterday's tick, it was disgusting and thankfully my mother extracted it without need of my assistance. And about my husband's commute, the bus broke down on US 50. It took him 2 hours to get to work via public transportation. And the fox? He was back again this morning, hunting something in the woods out that window. Through the leaves and down the hill is a river that feeds into the Chesapeake Bay. I had no idea foxes made such strange noises. Initially I thought it was a hurt duck out there, but then I saw the fox dart through the trees, intent on catching some other poor woodland critter. Maybe I should have tossed him a donut.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Goodbye Volcano


"Goodbye Volcano!" my 4 year-old son screamed as we climbed up into the air, away from Naples and into our new life. It was only a mere 16 hours later that we touched down in Washington DC. Since then it's been go-go-go. We are currently staying with my mom in Annapolis which means my husband has to commute to work. Today was his first day. As we have no car yet he is riding the bus into the city and will take the Metro to work. We are hoping this system goes smooth so that we can stay a one car family. We'll see. As for me, this morning I'm trying to catch my breath. (Holy! as I'm typing a fox just ran by the window!-- so much for catching my breath, instead I'm holding it till he passes! How wild is that?!)

Thanks for all the warm comments on my last post from Italy. I promise to keep you updated as we transition to our new life. My husband, who is from California, claims he is having 2x the culture shock: not only is he adjusting to life in the US, but East Coast living. For me it's not so strange since I'm from Annapolis, but still, there are adjustments...but more on that later. Right now I have to research "tick removal." Apparently my nephew picked up a new friend-- in his ear no less. Foxes and ticks! Yes, I really am back home!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

This Is It

In less than 24 hours we will be in transit and our life in Italy will be over. That’s not to sound fatalistic but realistic. It’s true that after tomorrow we will no longer live in Italy but that’s not to say Italy will no longer live within us. It has to, or else there would be no reason to travel, no reason to try new things, gather new experiences. We do all these things to enhance ourselves, open our minds. Plus, I refuse to go into my new life a sappy mess. I will not be listing all the things I will so desperately miss because surely anyone who has been to Italy knows what they are. And to list all the things I really dislike about Italy would only be my desperate attempt to numb myself against the first list.


So what about the blog?

No lo so, I don't know.


A few months back I stressed over this very question, what to do with South of Rome? I came up with all sorts of plans, but when it came right down to it I decided to wait and see, in other words, no rigid plans. No rigid plans mean no closed doors. I would like to organize some of my posts a bit and fill in many of the missing blanks. There were so many places we went, restaurants we tried, and experiences we had that just never made it to the blog. Fortunately, I am under no strict obligations from my publisher to continue blogging. Rather she has presented me with an interesting new opportunity (which I will share once all the details have been worked out) and is encouraging me to pursue my growing obsession.

(Storekeeper in Matera packing up wine for us.)

I’ve always had a passing interest in photography but could never justify the cost of a decent camera. Fortunately technology has pushed forward and made this one time high-brow hobby available to the masses. Even point and shoots can take fantastic shots. Sometimes their small size means they can go stealth capturing images I would never consider going for with my large Nikon.

(Bustling port of Pozzuoli, north of Naples)

My introduction to the real world of photography started in Sicily when my son fatally sunk my small pocket camera in an ice-chest filled with water, the ice had melted. At the time I had no idea this would be a turning point in my life. But the death of my camera was my introduction to world of high-end digital photography (Grazie, mio figlio!). I love, love, love taking photos and agonize over my shots. In truth, this is one reason I am happy to be returning to the US. Ok, so I’ll miss all the subject matter here, but the opportunity to learn more about the art and science of photo taking excites me.

(Storm clouds gather over Amalfi)

So, this is it, my last blog from Italy. I’m leaving with a healthy dose of sadness (it is ok to cry, or so I keep assuring myself!) and I’m moving forward with enthusiasm, eager to take on our next challenge.

No goodbye, just ci vediamo… dopo, see you later.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

Last Night


It's the last night in our house, last night in Santa Maria Capua Vetere. To celebrate? A toast to the last load of laundry. It’s the last time I will carefully hang my sheets, taking care the edges don't drag across the ground, necessitating a redo. Last time I will have to search for an errant sock that may need to be plucked from a tree or snagged with a hanger off the roof tiles. Last time I will have to sprint up the marble staircase to the balcony when the wind picks up and the clouds scuttle in, indicating a storm brewing. Which, tonight, never did arrive.

Arrivederci bucato Italiano. (Goodbye Italian laundry.)

To be fair though, there is a lot about you I’m really going to miss.

Tomorrow the movers come to collect the odds and ends and ship them, express, back to the US. This coming week we'll spend in a hotel that may, or may not, have good access to the Internet. Could this be my last post from Italy? Hope not! But there are only 4 days to go...


*Photo: Colorful socks hanging in Matera*

Thursday, June 11, 2009

7 Days

I have seven days left living in Italy. I feel, after almost 4 years, that I should be spending my time reflecting, reminiscing about our first days in Sicily, the fantastic friends we met along the way who continue to motivate and inspire me or even how Italy itself has changed me, altered me in some fundamental way. I feel that somehow I should have something meaningful and deep to share, some sort of meaning of life statement, something. But I don’t. Or as my son says, “I do, but I don’t."

(My first "new" car ever. We bought it right after arriving in Sicily. I logged some serious miles in my VW. I wonder how it will adjust to DC driving?)

There are brief bursts of introspection but those thoughts are quickly snuffed out. Right now I feel like we are hunkering down, entering into pure survival mode. For a military family like my own this cycle of uprooting is very normal if not natural. In six years we have lived in three very unique places: Okinawa (Japan), Sicily (Italy), and Naples (Italy). This return to the United States marks the fourth enormous shift in our lives in a very short time span. In each place we have made our home, conformed in small ways, and attempted to understand the strange new culture we found ourselves in.


Thus, one would think a return to the United States, a return to home, would be easy. But it is not. I am filled with anxiety. I have strange fears that grip me for no clear, discernible reason. I have, in my opinion, traveled the world (Japan, China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Kuala Lumpur, Spain, Italy, Germany, France, Switzerland, Austria, Slovenia, Mexico, Panama, Guatemala, and I’m sure there are spots I’m forgetting.*Updating* While cleaning the bathrooms I remembered 5 more! Taiwan, Morocco, Gibraltar, Dominican Republic, and Greece!). So, why then, am I nervous about making some cultural faux pas in my own country? I actually feel as if all this travel has somehow blurred my thinking, mushed all these places into one, where I can no longer recall correct protocol when it comes to ordering coffee in any country.

(Inside the cup it reads, "il desiderio Espresso".)

Our return is also made more complicated by the difficult process of extracting ourselves. It is my firm belief that our bodies, our minds, work over time to trick ourselves into making it ok to leave. Defense mechanisms that have been built up quickly break down.


Take Italian driving for example. What I once thought of as a quirky cultural difference, I now regard with a level of agitation I have never before experienced. This, coupled with a household stripped to the bare bones and an increasingly cranky family, I believe is all a necessary part of the leaving process, a way for you to move on without feeling your heart break. Because, there have been moments, instances where I have considered throwing myself on the ground, gripping the land with my hands, and never letting go.

But I'd probably get run over by an old lady in a Fiat 500.