Along the Arno

The New York Times today sent me spiraling. Today’s headline makes it clear to me (I mean, really pounds it into my skull) that we live in a time of disparity, fear and uncertainty. Yet what really rubs the salt in the wound and gets my blood boiling, is the fact that my candidate, the person who initially spoke of change, the one who says “Yes we can”, the fantastic speaker and motivator and persuader and uplifter — yes, Barack Obama voted FOR the bill.

Oh you poor poor long ignored Bill of Rights. What happened to you? When was the first time your only view was the sight of our retreating backs? How much abuse can you continue to take before we just declare we are no longer empowered and protected by you?

Of course I’m still voting for Obama, but I’m watching him. Watching him with a heavier heart now. Political posturing is one thing, but voting is another.

Packing so far has resulted in two huge blue IKEA bags full of clothes to donate. Seems simple. I’m the girl that complains about the amount of “stuff” we have, I like to cling to the idea that minimal is better (except for in the case of books, really, that’s still tough for me). And most of you that know me are laughing, right? I mean, I also love little treasures, small tokens of friendship, endearing triggers that help me remember.

Yet, in spite of my hypocrisy (or dichotomy or whatever, split personality) usually when it comes to clothes I am all about donating. And I’m doing it now. With startling results. I mean, come Fall you may find a large chunk of Florentines dressing like middle-aged librarians (probably not though). And yet . . . yeah, I’d forgotten a few snags in my desire for an almost clothes-less state. I am a sentimental creature.

There are 2 items of note that have made it to the “maybe” stack. One is a gray long sleeve t-shirt from the Gap that I bought around 1994. OK. I know. I mean, it is 14 years old now and well past it’s prime. But still, it saw Jane’s Addiction play. I remember the night I wore it to one of Shelle and Patrick’s Halloween parties (because I was lazy and dressed as a movie goer). I also remember Shelby saying that year (1998 I think) “Julia, shouldn’t you retire that?” That gray shirt also went to Ireland with me and my old boyfriend Keith. I’m sure it went to Washington and Oregon with Mark and I. I used to wear flannel shirts over it in the late Fall. The shirt has history, it has been a constant during my adult years.

And then there is the tree outfit. Well, the outfit is down to the blazer part. Called the tree outfit because it is made from tencel. It was the first big thing Mark ever bought me and a gift on my 28th birthday. I know it cost him a lot of money because he bought it at one of those little boutiques in Virginia Highlands. It came in a brown sack with green ink. So earth friendly. He bought a dark brown neck scarf to match it. And I really was touched by the consideration and thrilled by it and wore it to work and well, you know, that is memorable. The first gift by your first love.

So these two things sit waiting judgement. I think I’ll give them away. Having written down the memories here helps (sorry to bore you all). And there are all of these other memories now, all of the things I can’t leave behind. Zoe art. Lori and Shelby letters. My writing angel. Books from Luigi. The list goes on, but you get the idea: stuff.

No fireworks for me yesterday, but I did spend it with good friends. I keep wanting to write about my last month here. Sort of a top 25 things I’ll miss, or just inundate you with pictures and description; but the truth is I’m void of the energy or the will. Instead, I will pick this post to talk about the things I’m looking forward to coming back to or discovering. (friends, family and cats don’t count because that is obvious)

In no particular order:

• Sending text messages to my American and Italian friends. I’m getting a tri band phone so I can communicate with everyone.
• driving down the road and understanding everything on the radio
• air conditioning
• multi-plex theaters
• wide range and variety of restaurants
• public library
• campaigning for Obama
• Publix sub
• Sweetwater Blue beer
• having deep conversations with random people about the state of the world and not worrying about conjugating verbs correctly or being able to argue and complain effectively
• clothes that fit
• shoes that fit
• (keeping my fingers crossed on this one) a job with benefits in a field I’ve actually studied
• going to a Braves game

To some, this may seem like a trite list. It’s not got the depth and desire someone else could come up with. I mean, I could have put hearing Southern accents, and sweet iced tea, and feeling like I was in my element. Maybe I could even share the recent conversations with ex-pat friends about how difficult it is to be here, the futility, the invisibility, the hostility, etc. But really, that is only a part of the picture. And for me to put on the list, say, feeling embraced by my surroundings would make it seem like I’m not appreciated here (and I am). It’s just different. So, my list is only of the things I really can’t have here. Yes, they are superficial things. Then again, you don’t know how deep my love for the Publix sub runs.

Hope everyone celebrated Independence in some form yesterday.

Maybe that’s a bit dramatic considering that I still teach 4 classes. Yet, the fact is I have been working 6 day weeks for so long that this free time is a bit much. Normally, my Thursdays would find me at the bookstore until 1, grab a bite to eat on the way to the train station, teach, then off to the London School for my individual classes in the evening. It had gotten to the point where around Tuesday I was already dreading Thursday.

But not today. My bookstore job ended a week earlier! They expected me to be upset, but at what? Time, luxury, sleep, eating healthy food? No, not me. Money is not important at this point in my stay here. (Well, sure the $203 would have helped.) But time and pleasure rule my day. So today, on this hot hot hot Thursday, I was on the back of an electric scooter on my way to the post office in order to prepare the first box of shipping stuff home. Wind up my skirt and bare legged to the world. Much better than work. Work is sooo last Thursday. Today I can cook, do laundry, clean house, ramble through memorabilia, you know — the good work. 

But for the rest of you: buon lavoro!

PS Not sure if it will open in the states, but if you get a chance, go see Gomorrah. It’s based on Roberto Saviano’s book detailing the Napoleon mob. Disturbing, yes. But depicts a picture of modern day Italy I think everyone should at least be aware of (the evils of the fashion industry, illegal dumping, drugs, etc). And it really does stand as a microcosm for all the corrupt political and social structures world wide. A stellar film. (and the author plays a character in it.)

—Unfortunately (or fortunately) living without a television has me sensitized to violence and the sound of gunfire is foreign to me now. So a good bit of the movie I was a bit jumpy and would occasionally close my eyes.

Saturday was Notte Bianca in Florence, which coincides with the summer solstice (and Luigi’s namesday). It also was one of Samantha’s last nights here. A bit tired after work, we all meet at Lexie and Umberto’s for a great pasta dinner and then some prosecco strolling with the masses, music, and nuns with guns (very funny street performers/ merrymakers). It was a good night, but Sam and I left the group early to catch a bus and to sleep. The bus never came, but after a taxi ride I finally did sleep.

And now she is gone. Well, I’m meeting her at the train station today for a “last sip” of coffee before she heads to Rome. But her bags and her person are no longer here. So once more, here I am in this big white space. Breathing in the reflective mood while looking forward to my last month here. There is the promise of some travel and adventure, surely some celebration of my new friendships, and maybe even a bit of planning for what’s next (I must be getting old if I think I know what’s next). It will be busy, emotional, beautiful.

Unfortunately, probably a few tears will appear. But they are dumb, short-sighted tears. They are tears that do not grasp the potential of space and time. These silly tears have boundaries and are limited. Boundaries and limitations, two things I would rather live without. I’ll remind myself of that.

In the meantime, so much, so little whiteness. What will I do with it all—with all of this nothing? With all of this everything? I have a few good ideas . . .

And so, here we have it.

Deciding to go home (again) has spun me into a dizzy emotional carnival ride. I’ve been told I am “quitting the country” and most days this does feel like breaking up with a place. I listen to the advice of my mother “take it one month at a time” and my friends “you can always return” and my boyfriend “you need more than being another working poor of Italy” and know that they are wise.

Unfortunately, they do not have to think about packing.

And having been here on and off for almost 3 years, I have a lot to pack.

Envisioning all of the tokens of my life here, lined up on the spare bed with my suitcase open, I immediately feel sick. Not just sick, full. After Thanksgiving dinner full. Eating a kebab and drinking a beer full. Dark chocolate and potato chips at 3 a.m. full. I want to vomit.

And that desire has lead me here to this working Saturday with a bit of clarity and some regret (regret being the ugliest word in the English language). I have to loose weight. Not just physically, though that would help, but all of my items are weighing me down with their importance (real or imagined). So I have to let it go. And not just them, all of the little things I haven’t and will not get to. I want to let them all go. Book ideas, sets of sheets, fantastic novels, travel plans, beauty products, little stones gathered here and there, tacky jewelry, market bought clothes, chance encounters, familiarity afar, tolling bells — I just need to let them go. Because the memories and the friendships and the honest connections I’ve made with this place and most of all the bizarrely beautiful love that I’ve found, well that is more than I need.

And for once, I’m going to trust my memory and life to keep giving the good stuff back to me.

Impulse will take you places. Last week I had an unexpected few days off and Cinque Terre beckoned. Initially, we were going to check out a restaurant but when the weather turned nice, Luigi and I opted for my first visit to Genoa.There was a pit stop at a neat place over looking the sea in between. We found ginger and rum drinks and some of the preppy and bit too chatty clientele. But the view was great and the music was Ben Harper, so we hung out on the edge and in between so-to-speak.

Genoa found us at after midnight and the hotel situation was a bit scarce. There was another bar open and this time the locals seemed an appropriate blend of entertaining. The bar, was 28 Erbe and open late. Genoa seems more vibrant at night than Florence. To me it was great, but one of the ladies at the bar compared it to an Octopus that grabs you and never lets you go. I guess home towns have that effect on everyone.

The next day we went to the Museum of Asian Art which is housed in a nice modern building in a little green forest on a hill that overlooks the city. Walking and riding the bus and looking for information took most of our time but we found some great graffiti, working girls, cafes, and a bustling busy place.

On the way back we stopped in Cinque Terre again to check on hotels for a longer stay in July. I mean really, we were working, not playing — or as one would say “evaluating, considerating*, and calculating.” When you look at t that way, you realize one’s work is never done.

Click this link for pictures.

*Please note that only a non-native speaker of the English language would say considerating. 

Cemetery scenes are an important part of my story. My mother would take us on picnics to Oakland and since then, they have always been one of my favorite places of resting and thinking. San Michele did not disappoint. We arrived there an hour before a light rain and spent our time searching for Ezra Pound and Stravinsky’s grave sights. The failure to find them didn’t really matter in the end because we discovered so many other sights along the way. One scene was in the lush corner where Pound supposedly rests, a mother sea gull was watching over the two fledglings who were trying clumsily to earn their right to fly. I kept my distance (but am fairly certain that is where Pound was hiding). 

Anyway, again, due to time and brain strain, just click on the URL below to see the pictures. The first few pictures are of Murano, the land of the lovely glass. It warrants more said and documented about it, but I have a token I wear around my neck of that place. 

http://picasaweb.google.com/juliapadgett/SanMichele

Yes, Mendy and I had a fantastic time in Venice. It was her first time and will be my last time for a bit. As usual, Mendy brought the sun. It was expected to rain the entire time and instead we had blue skies up until the last 2 hours there.

You can see from the pics that I continue to have a love affair with the guggenheim collection and space. I spent a long time there trying to figure out a way to bind myself to that place. Of course, upon leaving I saw a quote that made me realize perhaps binding is not the strategy. I took a picture of it, so watch for it.

I organized this album in a strange way, so things I viewed as “reflection” “texture” or “color” are lumped together and anachronistic to our journey. Also, Mendy pics and Julia pics are in batches. Sorry for the washed out quality — we must work with what we have and between my bad camera and the little time I have to correct pics, well, you can see the result.

I’ll post the ones from San Michele (the cemetery) separate. (And later.) Look for Mendy’s pics on her blog this weekend.

I hate wordpress. Just click on this URL to see the album. I don’t have time for delicacy and design.

http://picasaweb.google.com/juliapadgett/Venice

Beyond just speaking directly about my mental self (I’ll speak more on why later) I’m also referring to one of those fantastic nights where nothing is easy but everything is good. 

I was invited to the American Consulate which lies next to the Arno in a gorgeous building. For those of you that read my previous blog, yes, I made it on time and not too ruffled from my motorcycle ride. I even beat Luigi there, actually, but not Frank and his crew. 

And the consul was very warm and she danced a bit with Frank’s dad and Luigi and Frank gawked at her beauty and charisma. In the meantime, I broke a champagne glass on a marble mantle, laughed at someone when he told me his name was Marco Polo (and it was Marco Polo) and basically became the brutta figura I know deep down I am. I truly hate swank (and this wasn’t even that swank), but I did it because it was slightly important to two men in my life and at least I was able to drink free bubbly for a bit. Luigi did convince the band to sing a few more songs and he honored me by imitating a great crooner. To top that stage of the evening off, he asked the consul to go to CPA with us sometime. Oh, the CPA, I’ll explain, but needless to say she didn’t go that night but did take Luigi’s card. He has guts, that one.

We ate at Enovino (I think that’s the name) and then taxied (such extravagance) to the other side of the Arno and arrived at CPA. The CPA is a communist party organization that holds movie screenings, bands, talks, etc. for super cheap (and the best bar prices in town). It is, in short, what Americans would call a dive — but with a philosophical core that sets it apart. Once there we watched a movie in Italian, were served small cocktails that tasted like sweet tea, I lectured on the word benediction, we read some poetry written by the bartender’s boyfriend and listened to music. It’s easy for those of you that know me to see which side of the river I prefer.

Can’t really express the great dichotomy between the two worlds we participated in, but pleasure can be found in both. And the music never stops.