siamo arrivati a roma

Apologies in advance for the blow-by-blow account of my first 24 hours a Roma. It is every bit as wonderful as expected. The driver, Cristian, met me at the airport with a little sign; I've always wanted one of these. I surprised myself by speaking with him in italiano the entire 30min to Rome. We zipped from talk of Virginia (at first you get a blank stare, but then I just say Washington, DC and then people nod knowingly, which is exactly how mid-Westerners acted when I moved from Chicago) to lighthearted things like Italian politics. Here is a map of the Fiumicino airport, which I learned is also called the Leonardo Da Vinci airport. Lido di Ostia is on this map, a beach town I plan to frequent. Me thinks on Thursdays...



When I asked what he enjoys for fun, Cristian had two ready responses: mangiare bene (mon-JAR-ay BAY-nay or eat well) and dancing with his girlfriend/wife/life partner. He said they were a "coppia" which means couple but I couldn't get the image of him at a Xerox machine out of my head, until he said "you know, like with shoes - there are two and they make a pair." It was adorable.

The obtaining of the apartment went well, after I finally found it, which ended up being on foot. I had done a Google street view walk-through so knew what to look for. Cristian had the Rome driving down but must have driven 3-4 circles in search of Piazza di Costaguti before asking a little old Italian man, who said "you can't get there by car." When I found the piazza it was full of cars, like this:



My landlord, Gioia, is one of those beautiful tan Italian women who told me she was 42 and had two teenage children, at which I scoffed and said "no! that's not possible". She showed us how to work the gas in the kitchen and not kill myself, which is molto importante. First you turn on the gas and then you light the stovetop with a little button. After agreeing on the gas/water meter levels, she took almost all my money and departed. Then I went to sleep for 5 hours.

Upon awaking I nested. There is something about making oneself at home in a new place that I love. Even on airplanes, though there are considerably fewer options about how to arrange your possessions when you are folded like a sardine into an airplane seat. Fortunatamente, my flat is larger than that. It is a cute little 2-room apartment, with kitchen/dining area plus random comfy chair, and bedroom/living room.

After all was unpacked I slowly got cleaned up and commenced my first passeggiatta to the Sette Oche restaurant in Trastevere. I learned that "oche" means "geese" because it was all over the menu, as in "Geese First Courses" and "Geese Salad." To say the Italians know what they are doing in the way of food is like saying the Grand Canyon is a rather large ditch. OMG, was it delightful. Here is my dinner:





After dinner, returned to the flat and with the help of a liter of wine managed to sleep until 4am. At which point(10pm EST) I awoke and wrote in my journal and read for an hour. Then was proud of myself for returning to bed until 9:30am. First thing on the agenda today: Campo di fiori, and a bunch of food. Currently my kitchen is equipped with 4 pieces of Geese Bread, 1 nectarine, some Goldfish from CVS, and a bunch of Italian salt. Not for long! Mangiare bene, here I come...

okay, so it's not purple...

For those of you who thought I was bluffing, I hope those words taste yummy. Despite appalled hairdressers whose eyes widened as they said "NO! WHY?", I went in for highlights. Bright punky highlights, when my stylist thought I was getting regular/normal blonde highlights. Having never had my hair colored I didn't realize how stinky it was. Other than that it was a wonderful experience and...to all y'all and the cowardly hairdressers out there: IT GROWS BACK (or out)! Plus, at least I didn't end up looking like this:

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And like I said (c'mon people, read the title!), it didn't out to be purple. After two hairdressers tag-teamed me (apparently there is a new meaning to this word; see above video clip), I decided to go with dark-reddish, since we collectively decided that true purple would either A) wash me out, B) look dirty, or C) both A and B. I was just glad that I was able to convince my wonderful stylist, A the honest and kind Russian woman, that I was "not normal" for today. So I ended up with this, and happily:





Other than a dozen loads of laundry and an 8-hr flight, I'm ready and rarin' to hit the scene in Roma. My zen moment of the day is when A The Honest Russian and I were speculating on why more Europeans dye their head fun colors than Americans (this is not based on data, of course, just my 4 trips over the pond). ATHR replied: "They are not so afraid of everything over there." Too true, and my new goal for...let's just say the indefinite future.

side aches/wormholes

Pretty much every time I go jogging I develop a pain in my side. It feels like this:



When it appears - usually within the first 5-10 minutes - I'm reminded of my skill at ignoring reality. I have an almost unbearable dolore in my side! I should just keep going! Seems like how Donna Reed would behave if someone deposited her at a landfill. "Oh my, the landscape is so varied! Look at all the colors!" Or Rachel in Kingsolver's Poisonwood Bible who focuses on brushing her hair and upright posture, while her family and the entire Congolese village suffer from nutritional deprivation, snakebite, and general hardship of alive-ness.

The most remarkable thing about the side ache situation is that I know the reasons for side stitches and how to prevent them. If I spend 10 minutes (not 5) doing sit-ups beforehand, I can usually avoid the suffering. I've gathered that this has something to do with warming up my abdominal muscles or moving things around so my liver has room to breathe. Qualcosa like that.

So why not do the 10min ahead of time to avoid 30min of annoyance? Well, hmm, I think it is because I am a lazy creature. And again, excellent at ignoring reality, like the most disturbed characters in Donnie Darko. No, not Donnie, but rather, the inspirational speaker by day/porn deviant by night, Jim Cunningham (also one of Patrick Swayze's sleazier and most enjoyable roles). He is the epitome of the compartmentalized/tortured individual.



What I don't get is why it is easy to recognize unhealthy (jogging) behaviors in other people but not in ourselves. For example, if I had a dear friend who complained about side aches every time she went out jogging, I would tell her that she should stretch and do at least 10 minutes of sit-ups beforehand (this should sound familiar since it's review from above). Or, if I were Jim Cunningham and noticed a miserable young person stockpiling sick images and running a kiddie porn ring, I would probably say "You are a prisoner to your fear! Learn to love yourself!" But when it comes to me, ho ho! Just keep running and every now and then jab a palm into my side.

This works for a time, but it doesn't really make the pain go away. Today I found that if I concentrate on my breathing the way I learned in my PVI (personal vocal instruction) from J & M, I can work through it. Also if I do not talk or think or even think about talking or thinking about anything else, it abates a bit. I guess the most painful aspects of life need attention, and need to be accepted just like everything and everyone else. Especially poor Cherita.

Go where your heart takes you

I've been brushing up on my italiano by reading "Va' dove ti porta il cuore" by Susanno Tamaro. This consists of reading each sentence out loud, and then translating it into English, to my best ability. I typically need to look up one word every 2-3 sentences which isn't terribile. Of course, in more than an hour I've read about 6 pages, but who's counting? My mouth needs the exercise, too. Italian words seem rounder: to say cuore or heart, say "coo" like you are a pigeon. Then say "oar" like it's the sexiest word to roll off your lips. Then add a nonchalant "ay" with a slight roll of the r from "oar" and put them all together and remember it's just one word in a whole sentence like that. Gentle, sensual, unconcerned = italia. Would that those elements make their way into our very souls on the trip. I've had my fill of harsh and anxious on this side of the pond.

Another good mouth exercise is singing with my lovely ladies the Sweet Adelines of the Blue Ridge. If you get public TV and live in Virginia and have very little to do with your time, you may enjoy our show, Java Jive, in which we wore these lovely antennae while singing about a poor ugly bug who had no one to love:



When I joined in November I was on an artist's date, Julia Cameron's way of telling you to go spend some quality time with yourself, and found a posting about the Skyline Harmony rehearsal. They were singing xmas carols and were the most welcoming and quirky collection of ladies I've met..ever. In almost a literal sense I owe my life to these women. It's almost too cute the way we end rehearsals in a circle, holding hands and singing songs about friendship and fellowship. When I burst into tears the other week no one blinked but dear gregarious G came over right after and gave me an enormous hug. Then every one else proceeded to tell me all the times that our circle of love ending made them cry. Ah, estrogen and musical fellowship. It doesn't get any better than that!

leisure/leh-zhoor

The USA made two fun goals today. I'm looking forward to becoming a soccer - I mean, futbol, fan in Italia. Hopefully my two teams, USA and Italia, will make it to the quarterfinals or something. My friend R the Roman advises watching the matches in our flat, with a case of beer and lots of snacks, but I chose the 1-bedroom w/out AC over the studio with AC and a deck. This might mean that I will spend molto tempo in cool dark churches or perhaps on hunts for Italian basements.

This trip is a gift, un cadeau - sometimes I remember the French word for things. How infrequently do we pause to take stock of our status. Even when home for the holidays there is bustle and errands and family dinners to occupy the exterior and interior schedules. How would our world be different if we had more leisure time? By "leisure" I do not mean "consuming Cheetos whilst watching daytime television" though I also do not mean to denigrate those who do. But - leisure could mean so much more. It could mean exercising our creativity, which according to the wise Julia Cameron is a part of each one of us. A precious few lucky people have found a profession that feels like creative play. For the others of us - we plant gardens, cook delici-mous meals, make greeting cards, paint on tiny canvasses while we dream of splattering an entire wall with color. Recently one of my favorite expressions of self and creativity was removed from the world - a neighbor's full-size (or perhaps even larger) teepee. Made of tall skinny poles, at least 20 feet tall, there was no cladding so it had the effect of an indoor-outdoor room. Vines grew around the outside and I'm sure the dappled light and shadow effects inside were heavenly. I always wanted to go inside.

That's the other element of creativity: making from naught, and inevitably things return to naught. I recall my mother discussing her bread bowl, a gift from her potter friend, which was irreplaceable in the sense that the potter's wrists were no longer healthy enough to throw such large pieces. Mom noted in the same sentence that while she preferred to wash it - in case it should break, she would only have to resent herself for all eternity - she also recognized the transience of objects, of materials, of our very selves. Enjoy it while you can, is the lesson. Wear the white clothes and use the good dishes. Get out the paint and splatter it. Live your joy.

strikes and gutters

The Dalai Lama was posed a Big Question by a TIME reader this week: "Do you believe your time on earth has been a success?" HHDL: "Hmmm. That's relative. It's so difficult to say. All human life is some part failure and some part achievement."

The Dude said it at least as well, when he (or was it the Stranger?) noted that life is strikes and gutters, ups and downs. In any case, there is a lot of learning to be done in this world, and most of it is painful. Wow tonight must be for linking because my other favorite movie quote (which if you know me, you'll realize is an approximation - I can't remember verbatim anything and it makes my storytelling very meandering, if not actually entertaining)... My other favorite movie, quote, has to do with the prime suffering years of adolescence and how sad it would be to miss out on all that suffering/learning by sleeping, or watching TV, or texting.

It's difficult to imagine anything being worse than 7th grade (and if you're one of those people who thought middle and high school were amazingly wonderful and life has been all downhill from there, please draw mustaches on all the yearbook pictures of yourself because you got seriously ripped off). But, for adults there are complications beyond a bad curling iron and facial features that grow at varying rates. Such as: what if the most economical option (pick your product) is the least available? Take cars, for example. It is technologically possible for automobiles to last a long long time, at least 2 decades. Manufactured obsolescence, however, ensures that we buy a new gas guzzler way more often than that. Contraception (in the USA, at least) is the same way. There are safe, effective means in widespread use across Europe and Asia but a woman can only purchase this item once, instead of over and over again. And that's not good for anyone except the consumer, ahem, human being. Another such product that comes to mind, after watching some punks in a pick-up deposit their flesh-colored poofy chair next to my apartment's dumpster, is dorm room furniture. Crappy college furniture, being designed for <16-month>

How do we make our way in this crazy world, anyway? I suppose we just have to do our best. The last time I was bowling, I was in Kampala, Uganda, and realized on my 9th turn that the little arrows on the lane are to help guide one's throw (did I say "throw"? I meant "roll.") Of course, had I realized this earlier, I could have broken 3-digits. As it was, my score was well below 70 (ok, maybe it was below 50) but the last one was a strike. I learn slowly, but well. Failure, and achievement. Or: failure, failure, failure, failure, failure...

...achievement. Keep on rollin'.

arrivederci SDL

C.B., who is now Dr. C.B., does not believe in saying goodbye - she says "see you later," like the italians. "we will see each other another time." how much weight in these words we choose. i said farewell to my 3-year position in the lab today, commemorated with a lovely lunch at a local french-style place with soft green walls and old old everything. my chair was wrought iron, which looks pretty but despite the cushions had me feeling like the princess with a lot of peas under her bottom. i had champagne pear soup and parmesan bread - YUMMY! - and crab salad with arugula. the best was the peach lemonade which the server kept refilling for us, like they must do in paradise.

what i thought would fill 2-3 boxes took 6-7 instead (doesn't it always go like that?) - books, file folders, papers, my south korean key dish and Gpa E's mirror from his optamology office: a little froggy saying "Smile, I like happy faces." it was very special as a little girl to have one's grandfather check out one's eyes. when your first pair of glasses is prescribed in 2nd grade you'll take any sort of consolation or specialness, to counteract all the little tiny children calling you "four eyes." tomorrow is his 93rd birthday.

3 years in my current job, as it comes to a close. the numbers add up and it's up to us to give them meaning. what next? che cosa ora? continued marching, keep in touch, keep in our hearts all those who went before. arrivederci, see you later.

on travel clothing

Today, my second-to-last day in the lab, I did not do much in the way of Italian preparation. That's not true! I created a packing list and proceeded to plan my wardrobe, 5-7 outfits for one month. When I got to the rule where one should not travel anywhere without a long-sleeved item I became stuck. Hesitant because Rome in July is HOT or as they say, caldissimo. Reviewing my selections I realized I have nothing suitable save a white wrap from GW (one of my mom's finds, she is very talented) and the rule following the one about traveling with something cozy, which is not bringing white things. So.

I set about searching for a travel wrap, something lightweight; wrinklefree; without its proprio color so it matches everything. Ended up here
(not sure if that's how to insert a link; I'm a beginner).

Then my officemate (for one more day) S saved me. She has traveled everywhere including Finland in between moves and Taiwan for 6 months with a new baby, crazy woman, and so she knows from necessary travel gear. I asked her in that leading way "so do you travel with a must-have all-weather all-outfit cardigan that you take everywhere in the world?" thinking she'd say "of course and you can find it at travelsmith.com." No luck. Apparently S, who being the mother of two is highly practical, said that she only needs 2 things, a fleece (which doubles as a pillow) and a sarong which can turn into a sheet or a skirt or a dress or a napkin or, I imagine, a diaper.

To the point: after visiting Uganda I often think of the children with their single outfits and shoeless feet. Of the little girl who arrived onsite in a discarded flower girl dress. Of one of the stars of BT, Ventril, who collects the empty water bottles - not fancy Nalgene or stainless steel, but the thin plastic that we throw away like tissues - and does engineering projects with them. Of the child with whom we were playing duck duck goose, who lost a pocketful of dried corn kernels, which we helped collect because they were precious food. Of our backpacks and sunscreen and different versions of sandals and shoes for a variety of sports. Of all our privilege and manufactured necessity. Do I need the wrap? Not so much.

day 1 of bloglife

welcome to mi chiamo chiara, chiara and everyone else. that's "me key-AH-mo key-ARE-ah" for interested parties. i am traveling to rome, italy in 2 weeks to renovate my interior. am considering starting with the exteriors because i've heard from vygotsky and montessori, waldorf and others that change works from the outside in. so that means back to my short shag cut and a purple streak that i've wanted since graduate school.

in italia i plan to - make few plans. my dear friends G and R the roman have already given me some sweet tips for day trips - lido d'ostia! - and local pubs like senza fondo (bottomless) and 420, yes that's right and they're known for bringing in amazing food from all over italia.

those of you who are aware that i use my cell phone for placing and receiving phone calls and don't know how to work i-tunes may be confused by this new approach. thanks to a friend i didn't have to search around for an appropriate blog site...plus what could be better than spending a month in italy other than documenting it carefully for self and loved ones?

it sounds so glamorous but really, at this moment i'm nursing a summer cold in bed with Francis and listening to Pandora which i've updated with the Be Good Tanyas, a wonderful Canadian (sorry for the redundancy) group my bass friend I suggested. oh and still in pj's, so am definitely hoping for more glamour once arrived in roma.

yesterday i listened to Disc 1 of Italian with Michel Thomas and can say "for me, it is not possible now because i'm very busy" and "what are you drinking?" which are also things you need to say to go on, or avoid, a date. "per me, non e' possibile ora perche' sono molto occupata" e "che cosa beve?" Michel Thomas is the cutest learned man who reminds me frequently than unlike in English, there is no "is-ing and are-ing and were-ing" in italiano.

i can't wait; non posso aspettare. ogni momento che passa è un'altra occasione per trasformare la vostra vita intorno.