Staying, breathing

The other day, my roomie told me she was tired of life outside of the center and was not planning on renewing the lease here with me. So I’ve been preoccupied trying to come to terms with either eventual poverty, moving back into town with her, or the slippery slope of strangers living with me. There are other options, maybe (winning a lottery?) but those seemed to be the ones in my mind. Stress and sleeplessness made it darker than it was. That and the fact that I would have to make a decision and move before I go home in November.

I don’t know if any of you have gathered this from my blog, but I LOVE it out here in the green burbs. The air is cleaner, there is little English spoken, no drunks under my window at night (unless it is me looking for my keys), a short bus ride to work. So I’m staying. Yes, possible financial ruin to follow, but some things are worth it. My piece of mind definitely is. And who knows, maybe there is someone out there that wants the same and can split the rent. I’ll find out in January.  If you are planning on a visit, I may have a spare room for you (for a small fee, of course.)

Ginevra pics

Got lazy and didn’t feel like making an album just yet, so . . . here are some pics from the the trip. My camera is not the best, but try to focus for me.

Ginevra

Last year I met a man who told me that I was like the city of Geneva — elegant and detached. He has since revised his notions of me, but the description had an impact on me. Well, at least the detached part. So this year, for his 41st birthday we went to see if the vision held true.

But there was a road to take first. This particular road carried me through the Alps after a night of driving. Dawn found us with the Alps hovering over us. Climbing up jutting rock met sky. He danced on the morning of his birthday under snow covered peaks. We spoke German for breakfast, slept in the car, then descended into those green valleys with the dog-eared chalets and vineyards. That was an experience of a lifetime. More driving, afternoon came and French was spoken, then Lac Léman (Lake Geneva) and its cloudy cold blue. Cully charmed us around sunset and the autumn leaves put on their best.

Around dark, excited, tired, we came into Geneva. I’m in love with this place. I know the identity with banks and the price of neutrality. I can see the detached. But the elegant. It’s too much to write about here. I took too many pictures to show here. So, give me some time. I’m still getting over the magic.

More ahead.  For now, know I’m back, happy, and rich with connection. Je suis heureux.

Revisiting

I have a terrible memory. So when I occasionally stumble across an image from my past I like to revisit it. In this case it is green pasta and garbanzo beans. Or, to be a bit more specific, Padgett family reunions. My mother is a fantastic cook, now. She probably wasn’t so bad when I was a child, but she was a bit more experimental and budget conscious. In other words, we ate a lot of chicken done in different ways. And pasta, and rice, and beans. Remember too, it was the 70s and casserole was king — at least in my household.

Towards the end of that decade, there came to the Atlanta Kroger store something new, green pasta — then the eventual tri-colored. It was amazing how it matched perfectly the pea-green painted floor and  complimented the mustard tones of the kitchen. Anyway, after the pasta’s introduction into our home, mom thought she would take that show on the road to the Padgett reunion held in the dynamic confines of Ponce de Leon, Florida, or Redbug if you prefer. Stretched out on the picnic table, covered in cellophane, sweating a bit and with a ladle waiting, sat my mother’s pasta salad. Proud in its off hue. Yet, not surprisingly, a bit out of place amidst the potato salads, the plates of chicken, ham, those odd gelatin creations, pots of green beans and field peas, pies of every type and old men with snuff on their chins.

I remember feeling sorry for the green and the bizarre garbanzo beans. My strong chin stuck out and I filled my plate. Moms adoring nephews followed suit. But needless to say, it was one of the few bowls not emptied that day.  I don’t think she cared too much. As a matter of fact, I’m sure she enjoyed a bowl later that evening — probably smiling to herself. Maybe she could see the future, my mother. Maybe she knew one day she would hold them all in the palm of her hand. Because they flock there now. Different men, some of the same women, none of them can deny whatever she decides to cook up. And leftovers, not hardly.

So, I bought myself some fuselli, that is what corkscrew pasta is by the way. It’s not green, I’m no renegade. But I have a can of lentils and am wondering who I could offend mixing the two together.

(cough cough) It’s Friday!

Pathetic land abounds. Actually feeling better now, but for 2 days I have had a slight fever and nasty cough. This did not (thankfully) prevent me from enjoying Mendy’s last few days here. We even managed a trip to Siena (her first) where we had great views, fantastic picci and ravioli, and lots of pictures.

And of course I have some pictures of that trip, as well as my first visit to Pisa with Mendy and another jaunt through Fiesole. However, I want to wait and give her time to get her feet back on the ground in America so she can send me some of hers. (Her camera is much more effective than mine.) That way you’ll have a barrage of Italy views to choose from.

In the meantime, I’m making this my recuperation weekend. Soup, blankets, ordered tv shows on iTunes (Angie and I are going to watch the first 2 seasons of Grey’s.) So, yeah, a few restful days ahead. And I have good news on the job front, but that will have to wait for another post and some more certainty.

Hope everyone has a good one! Wash your hands and take your vitamins. Oh, and mom, hope you feel better too (she is also sick).

Rawhide

Loving to share, I have the theme song to Bonanza stuck in my head. So, enjoy “dum de de dum de de dum de de dum dum, dum de de dum de de dum de de dum de dum dum dum. . . rawhide!”

And if that isn’t enough of songs stuck syndrom, Mendy has stuck in her head Sonic Youth’s “Ca pane pour roi.

Shwaw pah. (whip crack sound)