Dark Days, Light Heart

We are only a few days away from the winter solstice, the darkest time of the year, which also means we are well into the holiday season.  In America, the Christmas holiday season officially begins with Black Friday, the day following Thanksgiving, and that offers sales galore for shoppers.  In Italy, the Christmas season officially begins the day of Immaculate Conception, December 8. The streets are lit with Christmas lights and decorations. Christmas festivals fill piazzas. Stores here also are busy with holiday shoppers.  The hustle-bustle of the holiday season has taken hold.


This time of year can be emotionally challenging and stressful for many of us. Many people can grow disconsolate, even despondent.  I am one. I find the holiday season to be especially trying, as my family and long-standing friends are scattered around the world with the greater majority in California.  I am in Florence, Italy.  My newer friends here have mostly all returned to their "homes" wherever those might be. An Italian family has yet to adopt me.  As a result, this time of year can feel very dark, just like the winter solstice.


In a time of gift-giving and romance and great cheer and spirits, it is unnerving to be alone and apart no matter how beautiful and memorable your surrounding environment.  Florence is that beautiful and memorable.  The choice is clear, even stark:  We can focus on what we do not have or lack rather than what we do have. 


I choose to be grateful for what I do have this season.  Though my situation is not exactly how I envisioned it would be this year at this age, I make the most of what it is.  In addition to my general good health is where I live.  And I have work.  I moan and whine about having to work. (At my core, I am a lazy slug.)  But having work not only earns some money, it keeps me involved in my career and it makes me accountable to someone somewhere and helps keep me out of trouble.  I have people in my life that matter to me, and I know I matter to my family and friends.  This year I stick to my routines and rituals, which ebb and flow. However, the last couple months I am in the flow.  It feels good to do some of the things that support my emotional, physical, and spiritual health.


In only a few days we will be on the other side of the solstice, and the days will begin to get lighter and brighter and so will the spirit.  During some of the down time during the holidays, I make it a practice to reflect on the year now past and map out where I want to go and what I want to accomplish for the year ahead.  I note my specific and clear intentions on paper.  I look forward to that project, which requires my attention and diligence and is positive in direction and result.


What holiday / year end / new year rituals and practices do you engage in?

Day After Day in Florence, Italy

I hope the day never arrives when I take Florence for granted, that it becomes ordinary. Because Florence is not ordinary, it is not plain, it is not just another city.  I never want to stop noticing this city's beauty. Florence, for me, is magical.

  Costa de' Magnoli

This morning I attempted to capture, in a photograph, that feeling of magic Florence inspires in me.  The scene above is one I walk past several times each day, and each time its beauty takes my breath away. 


In the morning light, a patinaed wall takes on a softer shade of orange, the brilliance of pink bougainvillea stretching towards the sunlight and groping an ancient wall, the curves of an ancient cobblestone street, the bombardment of light just beyond the tiny, dark tunnel....  Simple, I know.  Perhaps it is unordinary in an ordinary way, and so extraordinary. See what I mean?  The total effect equals beauty. Spectacular.  Magical. 


Perhaps you agree.

Blogger Meets Reader

An interesting thing happened on our way home the other night.


Mabel and I were out for our evening stroll.  We passed our gelateria, Cantina del Gelato, near home. Giuseppe, one of the two owners, was running into the pizzeria next door, saw me in the distance and shouted that he would be right back.  "Wait for me!" he said.  Mabel and I had no plans to go for gelato, not this evening.  We often stop by just to say hi, though, as both owners are now friends.

 Cantina del Gelato

When Mabel and I entered, a couple were choosing their gelato.  The woman turned around, looked at Mabel, looked at me, did a double-take, and then asked me, "Are you the woman who wrote about this place on her blog?" 


"I am.  How did you know?"


Turns out she recognized Mabel from the photos on this site.  (I tell you, my dog is world famous!)  She told me, "Thanks to your blog post, my husband and I have been here twice a day each day we have been in Florence.  We love the gelato, and we go home tomorrow."  


Seems her Google search for gelato in Florence led to my post.  Not only that, but it was the first on the page. (I am proud to learn that bit of news.)

The entire experience was very cool. Purely by chance I met a reader of my blog -- from Finland! -- in the very place I recommended readers should visit. Thank you, Coppia Finlandese (a couple from Finland), for recognizing Mabel, me, and saying hello. You made my day!  

Mirtillo (Wild blueberries.  Mmmm...)

I even merited a gelato on the house, and that always makes me happy.

Roots

Two years ago today Mabel and I said goodbye to L.A. and hello to Florence, Italy, when we boarded the plane for our flight to our new home.

Leaving Los Angeles, one last ride in our car

I worried about her traveling for so long in the cargo hold below me: the noise, darkness, items shifting about.  After all, my brother's dog, Sparky, made a similar flight from L.A. to Brugge, Belgium, a few years earlier.  He went deaf from the flight but enjoyed the best year of his life living in Europe.  A dog's life is pretty good here because people in Europe welcome dogs to go almost everywhere.  No need to leave them behind anywhere.


Mabel is a real trooper.  She acclimated immediately to her new environs.  Never will I forget the picture I keep in my head when two airport employees hand-delivered Mabel to me, still in her crate, at the Florence airport.  She was pert and alert.  In the taxi ride to our new digs, Mabel rooted her tushy to the seat of the car between the taxi driver and me as she extended herself as tall as possible to look over the dashboard and out the window at all she would soon get to explore. She quickly spotted sights and smells centuries old that she filed away for future exploration.  

Jetlagged, Mabel naps with her baby after arriving to Italy

Mabel is a lucky girl.  Everyone does their part to spoil her, and she is adored by all.


It can be an exciting and scary adventure to uproot yourself from everyone you know and everything that is familiar and comfortable and transplant yourself to a different country with a foreign language. To move to and live in a city that welcomes thousands of tourists every day makes getting close to the locals even more of a challenge because the locals measure their roots by generations, not days. Why invest in a friendship with people who come but do not stay?


Not every day is la dolce vita (the sweet life/the good life), of course, but the obstacles and challenges are, for me, worth the deeply felt gratitude, joy, and happiness I now experience. Sure, I continue to find my way here.  Slowly and con calma, everything begins to fall into place.  The life of the expat has its own process and rigors to endure -- many days present new and different challenges -- but its objective remains true to our passion: to arrive safely on the other side of the wide chasm that separates our past lives from the future we envision and strive to create.

Radici (Roots)

My roots grow deeper as I make Florence, Italy, my home.

Giro in Bicicletta / Bike Ride

I used to be pretty sportive, but life got busy.  Always more work to be done, other responsibilities that require my attention. I got tired of working to pay the rent and having little energy and less money left over to do the things that really mattered to me.  We do not realize how much we miss a certain something when we have not done that something for a long time.  We wake up one day and wonder what the hell happened to our dreams.  

That is what happened to me.  And that has everything to do with what brought me to Italy, a grand dream of mine.  I live a much less complicated lifestyle now, and lessons are regularly presented to me to learn how to live in a new, different, and more meaningful (to me) way.  I never had dreams to become a professional cyclist, but I had, and still have, other dreams.  It has been way too many years since this girl rode a bicycle, but I did these last couple days ... and it felt great.

My friend and I have talked for a good long while about doing some cycling together. She has a few days off from work for spring break, and so we ventured out on the bicycles.  The first day we did a flat ride through the park to Signa. Yesterday we first cycled out of town to a bike store where a very cute guy helped fit and sell me a helmet.  Buying a helmet was a smart investment since we decided to tackle the hill to Fiesole, which is about 300 meters (almost 1,000 feet) uphill from Florence -- straight uphill to Fiesole and then straight downhill to Florence. Surprisingly, I did well aerobically.  It was my out-of-condition muscles that were screaming at me as we climbed that long hill. Technically, we went to Fiesole, but truth is we decided to end our climb in Maiano and eat a panino (sandwich) at Fattoria di Maiano, about a third of the distance shy of Fiesole proper, because the traffic became heavy and the road got steeper.

Today was to be the third day of our cycling trilogy -- cycle to Greve in Chianti, one of the closer Chianti towns to Florence -- but we decided to postpone since it was raining this morning and the streets were wet and slippery.

I smile contentedly as I follow my heart and do good things for myself.  Perhaps a bit saddle sore, but that pain is temporary and more than offset by a wonderful friendship that continues to blossom into an even deeper friendship.  

I Came, I Saw, I Conquered

Currently in Los Angeles with many important things to do, today I accomplished an important task of another type:  outlet mall shopping.  Many of my friends know I have been fiending for the outlet mall, one of a few places I miss in Italy.  I am not the average petite Italian size, which makes clothes shopping in Italy a bit of a challenge for me.  I was in need of some new clothes.

Jennifer, my oldest girlfriend in the world -- we have been friends since we both were 5, and we have been through a lot together -- and I went to the outlet mall together.  We had a blast shopping, reminiscing, sharing stories of what we have been through and what we go through separately and together, helping each other make decisions with blatant honesty as to which clothing fits well and which makes our butts look too big.  It is such a joy to spend an entire day with someone so close and who knows the other person so well.  Not only was it fun for the two of us, we also definitely brightened the day for many salesclerks, who became a large part of our fun and who had fun along with us two crazy girls.

Look how cute we are in the dressing room in matching sailor outfits.  Yes, we each bought our Bobbsey Twin outfits ... only to be worn in two different countries.

With our playful personalities and charm, we were fortunate to have salesclerks who were delighted to play along with us, with all our bantering and teasing. The salesclerks parked themselves in the Esprit store fitting room with us encouraging and enticing more of our goofy fun.

Following his brief war with Pharnaces II of Pontus in 47 BC, Julius Caesar claimed, "Veni, Vidi, Vici." Today, April 1, I came, I saw, I conquered.  Caesar's war, whatever.  My conquering was a blast!

--Josslyn, Camarillo Outlet Mall, California, USA

La Festa delle Donne / Women's Day

Since my fascination for Italy began, I have heard about a day in Italy when women are celebrated.  I have been told the men give flowers to the women in their lives -- not only their wives, mothers, daughters, and lovers but also to their bankers, bariste (barmaids), bosses, shopkeepers, and even to women passing on the street in appreciation for all we represent, sometimes even laying a mimosa branch at her feet.  

My thought was Wow!  Italian men are known for their passion for women, and I couldn't wait to experience such an expression of exuberance.  

The day is March 8, just passed. I did receive a number of buona festa greetings and kisses.  No mimosa (sold at 8 Euro a branch) laid at my feet nor in my hand.  

The day of celebration actually began in America back in 1908 when some textile workers protested against their unfair treatment and went on strike.  The bosses locked the gates and trapped the women in the building.  A few days later, the building was lit on fire, and 129 workers died.  As women began demanding rights, politically and socially, the day caught on globally and has been known as International Women's Day.

Over the years much of the historical flavor has been forgotten, and though the day is still celebrated in much of the world, there is the tendency for it to be more commercial, like a Valentine's Day for women.

In Florence, the state museums offered free entrance to women.  A friend and I toured the Medici Chapel. At the canoe club, women-only teams were on the Arno in a dragon canoe.

Three male friends of varying ages told me this is the day to celebrate women, but that tonight all the men stay home with the telecomando (remote control) in hand while the women are out at the pizzeria with their women friends.

Thank you to the women before me that fought, suffered, and died fighting for fairness, equality, and women's rights, paving the way for a much better life for all of us women today.

Buona Domenica / Good Sunday

Good Sunday is a greeting said to one another in Italy.  Often it is said at the end of a workweek to someone you will unlikely see again until after the weekend has passed.  Sunday is the only day of the week addressed in this manner.  

Buona domenica.  (Days of the week and months in Italian are lower case.)  Today, this particular Sunday, is perfect in my little world, a day overflowing with simple pleasures and gratitude.  A light rain began late last night and has yet to cease.  I am not complaining because I love the rain, and I know before long the heat and humidity will arrive and most likely, too, my lamenting at how I feel like a wilted flower.

Mabel, freshly bathed and with fur fluffier and softer than silk or satin, and I went out this morning for a long walk along the Lungarno. We visited with some of our usual morning contacts.  Later I had a few conversations about our plans for the upcoming week.  I enjoyed a gentle restorative yoga practice. A bit of homework as well as a bit of work for pay were done in the morning hours.  My home is clean and orderly.

Like every other day, I have my list of "Things To Do."  I have more work to do, but it is a manageable amount.  Many days I am easily distracted and boondoggle the day away in spite of my intentions. And when a day like today comes along where everything is perfectly aligned and I can do whatever I choose without obligations and deadlines looming over my head, often I am too tired, the choices too many, and I become paralyzed, in a sense, as to what is it I really want to do with this "free day" because it is only one day, and there are so many things I could do ... and what happens?  I end up doing something unplanned, not even desirable, and fritter away the time.  In Los Angeles, I cried for days like today.  My life was stressful in corporate America.  Even in Italy it can be a struggle to have a day like today.

Not today!  I am enjoying a well-balanced, quiet, soul-nurturing day in my home.  Sweet Mabel is nearby.  She keeps her eyes on me at all times.  She makes no demands; she just lets me know she needs and loves me. Loving her is the easiest thing in the world.  I feel comfy and cozy inside and out. Comfortable clothes wrap my body. Recently, I have experienced some small mental/emotional/perhaps even spiritual shifts and feel great.  Various things need my attention, but there are no major projects that need to be accomplished today. I took a break from my work to come downstairs and read about women that are creative and the space in which they create. Inspirational, instrumental music plays in the background. Periodically, I look up from what I am doing, make eye contact with Mabel, and watch the rain.  

Creating a great day, for me, begins with adequate and restful sleep.  Since I was a child, I found it difficult to end my days, and the morning is my favorite time of day.  Needless to say, I rarely get enough sleep.  Last night I had a solid six and a half hours of sleep and woke up feeling like a new person.

Today I am enjoying each and every minute, consciously making the choice of what I want to be doing, free of guilt and anxiety.  I feel love and loved and completely at peace and at ease in my own skin. There is no where else I would rather be and no one else I would rather be with in this moment.  Today is perfect just the way it is.

My personal experience of this particular Sunday may not sound like much to get excited about, and it may even sound as if I am having a lazy day.  But for me, this is what life is about, the simple pleasures, gratitude, love, self-acceptance, conscious choices. Instead of "doing," today is about just simply "being."

To you, I bid a "Buona domenica!"

Reflections

From the age of two Los Angeles is where I was raised and lived, yet it never felt like my home. Until I began traveling abroad, I believed I had a midwesterner's heart because I desired a simpler, slower, and less transient lifestyle.  Not to say it doesn't exist in L.A., but what I sought didn't exist for me in L.A.  In fact, I've often thought I was born in the wrong era. Perhaps the Renaissance?  Lorenzo de' Medici is the person that comes to my mind when I think of that question that goes around the Internet: If you could have lunch with anyone, who would you choose?  However, lunch wouldn't be enough time to satisfy me. 

Don't get me wrong.  I love Los Angeles and California.  It's a gorgeous state, and both the city and state have much to offer.  Probably the best climate in the world can be found in various parts of California, and the state is like a country unto its own with the varying geologic and geographic terrain barely an hour away in any direction.

We are taught in the society within which we live what we are "supposed to" do, think, say, look like, dress like, feel, desire, achieve, and buy. Some of us (I) end up having internal conflicts over following our heart versus following what we were taught.  Operating more on emotion, spirit, and inspired action rather than rational, conventional thinking has been the result of my unorthodox life.  Depending on my perspective (it constantly vascilates), I can feel like I've missed out on so much, or I can feel gratitude for the freedom to take the risks I choose.  More often than I'd like to admit, my life feels lonely because the paths I take are less traveled.

Since a child, I have loved meeting people from other cultures and have had a ravenous appetite to learn about the people from other parts of the world.  In high school I used to watch the foreign exchange students in awe, desiring to be like one of them in a foreign land exploring and experiencing the differences and similarities of human beings, customs, and cultures.  Growing up in an unhappy household, there was a lack of guidance, direction, and support to branch out from mainstream conventionalism.

My brother used to tell me that at around the age of 18 to my early 20s is when I would figure out who I am and what I'm all about.  Am I retarded?  I'm still asking myself those questions and more.  For many years, I believed I wasn't even from this planet, that I'm some sort of alien.  Being painfully shy, socially inept, a misfit, clumsy, unloved by the ones I wanted to love me, I felt such deep solitude and loneliness.  (Only occasionally do I fall back into that state nowadays and not for long.  Not to worry.)  Everyone else in a group seemed to have a connection, but I wasn't connected.  I remember as a teenager, smoking dust and driving a car full of kids around, and my car and my body feeling like they were astroplaning (no, I don't mean hydroplaing), and parking and walking a few inches above the ground   I wasn't even connected to the earth.

Traveling Abroad:  It was a romance with a wonderful, special Dutchman that finally got me to Europe my first time in 1994. Before and after that first trip to Europe, trips were in the planning stages with friends.  They would flake for any number of reasons, excuses, and fears.  I quickly grew tired of waiting on others and not taking the trips I wanted and started taking responsibility for my own happiness and realizing my personal dreams.  It took only one trip abroad to learn how much I love traveling solo.  Sure, I enjoy having shared stories, memories, experiences, laughs, mishaps. And at the same time, traveling solo, the opportunity to meet the locals is so much greater.

Once I felt the earth under my feet in Europe, I realized I was honing in my home, and it's not the Midwest of the U.S. Before Italy, I didn't like to travel to the same place twice because there is so much to see in the world and wanted to see something I hadn't before seen.  That changed when I discovered Italy.  I know many people share this sentiment:  "I feel I belong here" or "I found home."  I hear people say it all too often.  Excuse me.  But there isn't room for all of America and England here.  Italy is my home.  Can we close the borders now and stop allowing into the country the expats that continue to come here since my arrival?  

I was especially impressed with Italy when I returned my second and subsequent trips.  To be chased down in Piazza Navona, Rome, where there are thousands of tourists 365 days a year, or a small village or in the streets of Florence and welcomed back in Italy and remembered where we met, when we met, what city I come from, and even coming close to remembering my name is damn impressive to me.  Even years later, I am still stopped in Florence by people I think I've never before seen that tell me "it's been three years last April" since they last saw me.  How do they remember when there are millions of us flooding their towns and cities every day, year after year?  But that is only a small piece of what impresses me about Italy and why I call it home.

I spent about five weeks living in a cupboard between our lease ending and my moving into my new, amazing home last Wednesday.  The temporary place started out fine but got harder daily at about week three and a half.  Tired of working on a stool, having one burner to cook with, a convection oven that looked brand new but didn't work, and a TV that also didn't work was the framework for a monastic five weeks. Joking that the most spacious part of my monolocale was the shower is barely an exaggeration.

Still finding my way, still asking myself some of those same questions, I know I've come a long way from who I used to be -- that shy, insecure person still pops her head out.  It's built into my DNA -- because I have the courage to act on inspiration (it comes from within, and I get more as I evolve).  I am proud of what I have achieved in such a short time and love the paths I currently travel.  The view is amazing.

-- Josslyn "Giosalina"

Firenze, Italia

La Festa del Ringraziamento ("Thanksgiving")

Created by Pilgrims to celebrate a bountiful feast in the New World, Thanksgiving is an American holiday, not one celebrated by Italians.  But I'm in Italy!

My friend and housemate is house-sitting at an old villa in Chianti.  Mabel (see photo) and I joined her at the villa in the country on 33 acres of land. Mabel had a smile on her face the whole day running through the olive groves, chasing pheasant, bunnies, and a pregnant cat.  We enjoyed a non-traditional Thanksgiving meal including a risotto with carciofi tenero ("tender baby artichokes") and an Italian version of torta delle carote e cannella ("carrot cake").

The opportunity for friends and family to gather together round the table for a feast, sharing old stories, and laughing is why Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday.  This year we were a small gathering celebrating in a new way.  The ingredients used, as tasty as they are, is secondary to the value of being with the people we care about the most. It's also a time to reflect, count our blessings, and give thanks for all that we have.

Traveling back to Florence on the bus, Mabel, who is not a lap dog, sat calmly and tenderly cradled in my lap and arms. Simple pleasure and gratitude.  Thank you!

-- Josslyn 'Giosalina'
Chianti, Italy