some green of one’s own

My bare feet touched grass.

Last Friday after teaching, Lexie and I went to the rose garden near San Niccolo. It is only open for 3 weeks in May, so we both finally made it. And in spite of the fact I was drained after the classes, I really needed it. The roses were nice, but sitting in the shade on a super hot day looking at Florence below us and surrounded by nature made the experience. It saved me.

All the worry of the last few weeks seemed to have been left behind the moment I heard birds singing. No, not the cooing of pigeons. Actual birds, singing. Ants tickled my toes. And it being Italy, she and I brought a bottle of wine into the garden and talked, caught up, and were two southern girls enjoying a rare glimpse of the green in the city of stone. (odd that I have to catch up with my room mate, but that is because we both are working constantly)

Hope you all had a safe Memorial Day weekend. Let me know how life is going.

Roethke Wednesday

Lot’s going on. Busy, busy, busy. Classes ending. Old friends contacting. New friends leaving. The cycle always. (and I have the energy of a snail) Anyway, I woke up this morning with some lines from this poem by Roethke and thought I’d share. If you like him, there is a small sampling of his at this web site. Click here.

The Waking

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.
We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.

Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me, so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.

This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.

Chiuso

The world is trying to tell me something.

What I didn’t mention on my blog is that after being locked out of my apartment the other weekend, I then proceeded to get locked out of work — the same day. It seemed too bizarre to mention. But I was talking to some friends about it and realized that there was a lesson there, I just had to try and uncover it.

Clearly I did not learn my lesson.

This morning, on my first opening day alone at the bookstore, my key did not work. Actually, that is wrong, the door did not work. It seems the girl who closed the night before shut the power off to the entrance. And power is needed.

After several minutes of me trying to get in touch with fellow workers, my boss and her husband happened to stroll by walking their dog. Chance is also needed. They too could not get the door to work. I had a coffee, waited for some instruction, and an hour later after much tugging and pushing and phone calls and lots of suppressed laughter on my part — the door opened.

Force is sometimes needed.

And a sense of humor makes it all worth while.

Still don’t know the lesson. Any ideas?

(Chiuso means closed.)

Wrappers

Collecting has always fascinated me. What drives people to want to focus on an item and repeat it over and over? Why that object? Why the repetition? Baseball cards, stamps, PEZ dispensers, snow globes. When I was little it was hand bells. I loved little porcelain and, some times, metal bells. Love the sound still. And as a girl, the delicacy intrigued me. Little painted flowers. Or even better, the ones that had vines and flowers in the texture of the bells. The metal ones sounded better (of course) but the fragility of the others . . . well, I liked to take care of them.

And books, that is obvious, but I never collected them so much as they were just a staple in my life. Books were friends to my lonely self. They still are.

But my room mate, Lexie, has been collecting something else. Orange wrappers. Each farmer or grower has their own special wrapper for oranges. Not all oranges are wrapped, just a few. In her case it is the color and design. Usually they have red, often blue and lots of gold. Mermaids, magicians, lion cubs, explorers, all make an impression. So they are spreading. She has been framing them and hanging them around the house. It is lovely. These flimsy paper items most people just throw away without looking, now warming the kitchen. Everything is coming alive. The cold walls of winter are changing. Collecting color, changing place, saying something quietly in frame.

Thank god for the artists and their eyes.

spirit rising

Conversing with Shelby about her gardening and other things, she helped me realize an obvious thing I am sorely lacking which has contributed to my overall (um, should we say) whiny-ness.

See, some people have god, God, the Buddha, Allah, you name it, they have it. I am one of those that has nature. The slap of green, soft earth, lightening, rain, sunlit leaves, rolling thunder on a summer afternoon, wind that energizes and breezes that soothe — you know, Nature. And in order for my spiritual self to wake up and take part of the world around me, I need (yes, need — not want) those natural elements. They are a core part of me.

And no, I’m not saying I have to go Thoreau on everyone and live in the wild. I just think that some tranquil time with some grass under foot helps remind me who I am. Shelby seems to think that I can just roll by it all on the train en route to teaching, and yes the poppies, the Italian cypress, the green fields and hills and all the excessive beauty is great to see. (OK, great is an understatement. I really need to be pinched at times.) Still, I think I need the actual contact. So, my project for myself is to try and make the time for a physical encounter with Earth at least twice a week.

Find you bliss and share at will.

the kindness of strangers

Yes, no one can ever really leave the South. Even here I become the occasional Flannery character.

First, I’ll give you a bit of the mental. It is the middle of May (almost) and everything does tend to happen now. This year is no different. Having heard news of my ex last night and having a bit of a personal anniversary today, I was a tad preoccupied when I realized I was hungry. Very hungry. And naturally I thought of going to the store and as I pulled the door to and heard it click, 2 thoughts went through my mind: I don’t have my cell phone; I don’t have the keys to the apartment.

Should I even bother mentioning that my roomies are out of town?

So, I did what any good Southern woman would do. Rang the bell of a stranger and hoped for the best. This bell belongs to an artist named Luigi Doni. He does not speak English. Why would he? And, like any good Italian man, he knew to tell me to calm down while he called the Fire Brigade.

Yes, the Fire Brigade and an Italian artist saved me.

It took 5 of them and lots of noise, but the nut was finally cracked and I was allowed back into my little bit of Julia space. All’s well and I even managed to make it to the store for some grub before getting ready to work. So, I’m beginning to think that Kathe did this to me so I could experience the absurd of reality. (Next time wish money and time to reign down on me.) Although, this little episode did make me smile more than once.

As a side note, my upstairs neighbor seems to be a delightful woman and has offered to keep a spare set of my keys for me. She heard the noise and came to investigate and smiled with me at the sheer number and efforts of the Vigili del Fuoco. I couldn’t help but notice that they seemed to be using old x-ray film as the means to pick a lock. Interesting method that eventually was effective. But I bet it sucked to be the person with the broken rib.

And now I need to figure out how to repay an artist for his time and patience. A bottle of wine — or better yet, no more unexpected bell-ringing incidents?

this is not my beautiful life

Got another job. I’m sure I’d sound more enthusiastic if I didn’t have the weight of weariness sitting snuggly in my soul. Actually, it is a good one that may allow me to move out into a place of my own. You know, since I’m a big girl and all.

Unfortunately, there is the great vast ugly part of me that just wants time. So, now we get to delve into the age old imbalance of time and space. Which is more important? Both for writing, so I have to give up one or the other anyway. But for psyche? Well. I’m clearly leaning towards space. Space.

If you don’t really know me, then let me explain. Space is my thing. Even when I was in what you people call total love and in a relationship that seemed, well, I want to say complacent now but I’ll be generous and say good, I needed space. My darling artist ex occupied a ton of space even in a 3-bedroom house. For me, that was the most difficult part of the relationship. Each one of us trying to carve out who we were with a limited square footage. I guess for him it was more of a problem of fidelity. Oh well, the knowledge of love is never ending.

And now, sure, I have wonderful flat mates. Umbi and Lexie make me feel fine and they are both a joy to be around. But there is more to me than that. I want to stroll around in my undies. I want to take a bath with the door open. I really, really want to not have to worry about sleeping too late and missing my chance for the bath.

So what do I do? I’m making enough now so that I may be able to afford a place of my own. BUT do I stay here and try to make it until August, get legit, and then come back and get a place?

Advice needed. I’m needy. And yes, I miss my friends.

By the way, this is an important weekend for several people. Me included. So, for those of you passing through and realizing things about your life, know I’m thinking about you. And Mendy, happy birthday.

and the beggers are now dead to me

So, my level of compassion took a blow on Saturday night. While enjoying a lovely dinner with friends, sipping some wine and chatting, a man claiming (via a sign) to need help, etc. approached our table only to then swipe my cell phone away. Oh well, I’d like to think that one incident wouldn’t embitter, but it did. Now, nothing. Compassion lost is a sad state of affairs — something a better person may be able to overcome, but I make no claims to be that person.

And yes, I know it is a material object. Yet, this little cell phone of mine had messages from friends that I cherished. Nothing like reading some of the particularly great ones when having a bad moment. It was a way for me (the girl with no memory) to revisit a time, a situation, and the communication. So, sure, a cell phone easily (ha, for those with money) replaced. But also small snippets of the past. Lost, along with some compassion.

But it’s late now, so off to bed.

my deamon

Below is my daemon. Golden Compass fans will understand. Sorry, I liked mine too much to let you all decide if it was the right one for me. But go and find your own daemon at The Golden Compass site and let me know what you end up being.

hello world

You have to realize that we must communicate in whispers. See, I’m Julia’s new computer, she calls me babymac, but I was hoping for something more imaginative. Oh well, perhaps it was the enthusiasm. I’ve been travelling the Florida panhandle, riding in the plane with Angie, jostled around at 4 a.m. by Julia after she finally retrieved me. We crossed the Arno together, and I thought at that moment that maybe she would call me Lorenzo, at least. With all these famous dead lovely Italian names floating around, and then I hear her sigh, “babymac”. Oh dio, there’s no accounting for taste.

So, she is very quiet now because I’m very quiet. We hardly make a peep together. I’m beginning to see that may be something she likes. Honestly, when I heard her Dell squawking yesterday I was afraid I’d have a lot to live up to. But, she plugged me in and began to smile when she realized I was running at full capacity and not so flashy, whirring, and obnoxious about it. To each his own. But, that is why we are whispering.

Anyway, she has missed you all. It seems that before I came into her life, she was occasionally crying and wanting to fling things out the window (because of the noisy crashing beast — her words, not mine). So, let’s hope we can all work together and see this little blog along. For my self, I’m happy to be here. There were rumours I was going to Dallas, TX and yeah, that isn’t my thing. So Florence Italy with a slightly neurotic frustrated writer suits me just fine.