three things

This is the general structure of a triglyceride. Yea, we're chemists here and we like this freaky stuff. Scary looking bugger. All grabby with those long arms and itchy little double bond Os. (Now I KNOW you're starting to doubt that I'm a chemist).

Well, if you're up on your tryglycerides, then you know that

The National Cholesterol Education Program guidelines for triglycerides are:

Normal	Less than 150 mg/dL
Borderline-high	150 to 199 mg/dL
High	200 to 499 mg/dL
Very high	500 mg/dL or higher
These are based on fasting plasma triglyceride levels.

Of course.

My point? you ask...

Yeah... well, getting to that.

Here's the First Thing. My hubby just found out that his level is 1200.

Normal	Less than 150 mg/dL
Borderline-high	150 to 199 mg/dL
High	200 to 499 mg/dL
Very high	500 mg/dL or higher

Look back at that handy dandy table... normal levels, 150... huh?

No. I didn't mis-type that. It's TWELVE HUNDRED!

He's a freak of nature. Or a walking heart attack. We've got to take better care of hubby. No more Marlboro Man Sandwiches. I guess you have to actually be a cowboy to eat those regularly.


Second Thing...

Nice bike. If you see it around this very north of northern Italian towns, beat the person riding it with your Italian Vogue. Jerk stole it from said hubby from inside our building.

Poor hubby. What is the world coming to!!! Now he can't even continue biking those 10 miles a day to keep his triglycerides in check.


Third Thing.

We get a call from our internet provider that our usage is exceptionally high this month. Well, we've been using it for a year and a half... nothing's new. So, what the...?

Turns out they have not billed us (in a year and a half) and we actually have a plan where we need to pay 2 euros/hour during the week. Weekends are free. That's why they've named it the FREE plan.

telephone guy: you've got the "Free" plan, right?
hubby: yea, that sounds right.
telephone guy: ok, well, that's 2 euros/hour.

Wait. What the ...?



So, later, hubby, distressed says... "oh, what's next... I'm dying, my bikes been stolen, we owe thousands of euros to the internet slime balls... what else is going to happen?!?!"

And this is where, I assuredly tell him, with my all american good sense,

That's three things. Nothing else bad is going to happen. These things come in threes, of course, as all we optimistic gomer smiling, good americans all know. You're done. Kaput. That's it. Finito! Not so bad, right?



Could be worse...
Could be raining...

present history

I wash myself with the warm morning sun
Herding the punks off to school
Through palace doors
Over marble floors
We do things like take out the trash
Well child check-ups
Shoe laces tied in double knots
Mop up milky cheerios
And shake the sand out of our shoes
Shuttered charm and markets
Sustain the modern buzz
of iPhones and pilates
Tempering it well with organic sustenance
Feeding that part of us that we didn't think we needed
Like the dust from backward small towns left behind
Italy doesn't give you that option
There's no leaving behind, no forgetting
And the whole of time stays with you

finding your tribe

When strangers meet, there is that nervous anticipation. Wondering what this person will be like when they open their mouth. When they meet your eyes. The online forum where you met suggested that you should have some of the same ideals, after all, how many shades of breastfeeding, co-sleeping mothers are there? Rainbows! You're screaming inside. Nervous excitement. Hope. You realize how alone you've felt since you moved abroad. You're nervous that you're pinning too many hopes on the kismet coincidence that this woman happens to be passing through the same town you've run off to. After all, you don't want to scare her away with over-eagerness. She might think you're some kind of freak.

Scanning faces for that look. Not knowing what she looks like at all, but only that you've decided to meet in this park. The kids take in the playground and you take in the scattered mothers. No one meets you with that same look of expectation and they're quickly dismissed.

And then you see her walking toward you from across the grass. Like an angel. She and her papoose in a scarlet wrap and the three older children move with her like ducklings. And you adore her already.

Some friendships grow with time, linger and it's the sum of experience that builds their importance in your life. But this one erupted with intensity and passion. You permit yourself to be consumed and savor every moment of it. Her strength and beauty. That smile that comes from happiness of years gone by, so genuine it pierces you. We shared in our trials and joys at natural parenting, marriage to non-American men, and living abroad. Language and education and exploring this mad world with our children.

3 months passes fast in love. The purest of feel good hugs. Calling across the park with our final goodbyes. And that melancholic sigh when we realize our schedules are suddenly empty once again.

grinnin' ear to ear

Just a quick hello to say what an amazing day it is today here in the very far north of northern Italy.

I'm not one to complain too much about winter and cold and gray skies. These things always seem to give me a little buzz of latent childhood excitement. But WOW, this warm fresh air, windows open, short sleeves and skirts kind of weather is AWESOME.


It makes me want to exercise.
It makes me sing to myself as I zip through the streets.
I find myself tossing 2 euro coins in musician's baskets.
Playing hide-and-seek with wild abandon.
And literally hopping out of bed in the morning cause I'm so thrilled to see the bright blue sky.

found the fun factor

Well, I'm always having fun, right!?!

But we went to Milan yesterday. The weather was beautifully crappy... snowy, wet, but not too cold. We were going there to get a new passport for Punkette. I tried to add as much excitement as possible to the adventure by filling out the application in the car on the way there, realizing that I didn't have her social security number nor did I remember the address of her emergency contact. Weee!!!

And getting into the embassy was SO MUCH FUN!!! You can't bring ANYTHING in with you. Seriously, we had to go find a Mailboxes Etc. to lock up my purse for an hour. Punkone had to put his chapstick in a little locker. Ok, they did let us keep our clothes on and enter with only the (incomplete) application and our passports. It was a riot.

The guys on the inside were soft (wiggle, jiggle) as jello though. I was really expecting much more of the third degree, but they were all super nice and let us get away with all kinds of silliness. I think they've got the guards fooled as to what really goes on in there.

And I made this goofy video. No, nothing remotely related to the embassy... I really wasn't interested in finding out what might happen if I attempted something like that. No way. It's just some fun randomness and discovery. Hope you like it.

extended weekend

The passing and use of time. It's become such a dominant topic of contemplation. At first it was a daily slap in the face as I repeatedly managed to arrive at places when they were closed. Time and time again, after seemingly maticulous care in getting the timing right, I'd get it wrong. But we're past that now.

And we're past acceptance. That point when the quirky hours have finally registered and we just learn to deal. The time when we remind ourselves to do some extra shopping on Saturday to carry us through to Monday afternoon. The time when I was still aware of the shift in temporal dynamics and felt a great sense of accomplishment in having discovered the proper strokes to get my boat with the flow.

Now we're here. And here is something more pleasurable. The peace in my body when my mind resisters chores piling up by Sunday night, after a weekend of homework and random family fun. A ease that registers from knowing that there's Monday for housework. Because it knows nothing else can be done, no shopping, errands or anything from outside the house really. It's all closed, and time is decidedly down time.

Just like Sunday has shifted to family. We're here, taking pleasure in these pockets of time that seem to have presented themselves from nothing. Perhaps a forced hand that carries the lingering stench of Catholic righteousness... but a result that finds me enjoying a better use of time.

gelato returns

What a beautiful place, this northern Italian city... where you mark the passage of time by the opening and closing of the gelateria. With carnival and the promise of spring, they open now after a four month hibernation. One by one, day by day you spy the random person walking down the street sucking up the sweet nectar of a drippy cone of gelato. And even though it's still cold, the four of us went out for our inaugural treat Monday night. We arrived a bit late, the doors having just been closed, bins being put away. But the gelato lady saw our four pairs of wide gelato eyes staring through the window and waved for us to wait, she'd let us in. Four delicious cones served up and she even knocked a few euros off the price. And we walked that slow lick by lick walk through the quiet streets. And a cold night somehow seemed warmer.

happiness

Since a few have asked to see the picture I was talking about yesterday, I decided to dig it out. It was taken pre-digital camera, and I actually haven't physically seen it in a long time, but carried the image around in my head. So here it is...


I know there was nothing exceptional going that day, so I think I always had that energy. By nothing exceptional, I mean something like a birthday or a holiday or something. That said, it was in general an exceptional time in my life.

It's taken in our home... our sailboat. And I'm about 7 months pregnant. We were living on the boat, working on a post-doc and writing a thesis. Waking to the characteristic sound of the port. The clanging of chains, creaking of dock lines.

There was a bath house at the marina that we used... no shower on board and we used the toilet only in dire midnight emergencies. You can imagine how many dire mid-night emergencies a 7 month pregnant woman might have ;) We had no oven or stove and cooked all of our on board meals in a coffee pot. Things like raman noodles and instant oatmeal.

And it was January. Granted, January in the San Francisco Bay isn't too bad, but it can get a tad nippy at times. We had a little portable electric space heater when we were home at night. This was great motivation for me to go hang out on the university campus during the day.

There were pelicans. And in the channel out to the bay, sea lions. And in all this, there I am. Couldn't be happier. In the middle of doing something... who knows what. I turned around and M snapped this photo. Just perfect.

let's step outside

Ever see a snap shot of yourself that you didn't know was being taken? Your beaming smile, that joyful gleam in your eye. There was a story you didn't even realize being told to the world. A romantic adventure of a beautiful soulful girl ready for anything. Arms open. She moved through every day with that infectious passion for life. She lit up the room and made things sparkle.

I have a picture like that of myself. Maybe it sounds conceited. But when I see that picture I want to dance. I feel thrilled. In love. Yea... just like being swept up in the arms of someone who loves you.

And I want to be the present version of that girl. I don't mind changing, but I'd like to always be inspired by what I see in that snapshot.

As you carry yourself through life... be it the mundane or a wild new adventure... step outside of yourself and take a look at that snapshot. The one for right then and there. And what do you see? Are you surprised? Proud? Does the joy bubble up from your gut?

That's what I wish. For you and for me.

the sidewalks are filled with fossils and when they are wet they turn red

a downward spiral for my attention
the spirals in the sidewalk
wet and reflecting a sky that is bright white
no sun, no blue but what a sight
reminds me of an exercise
painting with bleach on black
and the sidewalk is my two minute splash of color
before teacher takes the brushes away
(how long have you got? well,
maybe that's all you really need)
and we tromp back and forth
pounding pounding on something that's felt so much more
than the insignificant pitter patters
of minuscule feet
just look at the size of it!
the prehistoric beast
and the time so long ago
in another world
yet
here it is
in ours
pounding up on our feet
shocking the world still
spirals in stone
that reflect the white sky when it snows

bounce

Ever feel like "bouncing back" feels more like being dragged behind a car on a gravel road? Sometimes we soar out of those pits and other times we dig our nails in and claw our way out. Fight tooth and nail. Smile first thing in the morning. Hug and kiss your kids. Check your posture in the shop windows. Smile at yourself. Sparkle and shine from within. Burst with joy, even if you don't know what for.

And why? Because it feels good to feel good.



So what kind of day are you having?

... the tip of your nose is always the same

A string of lights snakes its way along the highway. There's something grounding for me about driving through the night. Traveling the land through light speckled blackness. The passenger train makes it's way through the mountains beside us. And I feel exactly the same here as I have on so many other night drives. Different car, different country... even different company... but my core settles into that same comfortable place. It softens and forgets where it is for a while.

Maybe that's why I find myself staring too closely at the most common things. The world at the tip of your nose is always the same. At least that's how it strikes me. Like I'm staring at elements. Same carbon, same hydrogen. The way water droplets form on spiderwebs. Grains in the stone and plaster. Leaves. Empty bag of chips.

And city lights in the night. The blackness of night hides the landscape, so shockingly different. Or shockingly the same. Night is night is night. And lit windows from a passenger train.

and finally... ... ... joy

The blues seem to have haunted me this year
Exercising their grip at my throat
A weight on my back
Making me restless
Withdrawn
and, well, forced.
And I've been pounding at it
With markets
And baking
And music
A tree
Smiles
Hugs
Kisses
Bang
Bang
Bang
bang
And it's stayed cemented right there.
Damn blues.

But today
Something is different
Lifted, l i g h t e r .
It's more than
Presents wrapped a smile in M's eye snow boots cards singing celebration laughter and knowing you love me
More than these things
I wish I knew what
I feel like love finally won
And has taken over my heart
Painting my face with a victory smile
Dancing with joy and bursting with light
I feel like finally I can say... and feel most sincerely
I Merry love Christmas you

See you again in 2010.
-Strange Pilgram

waiting in the sun

It's cool. And I love how even the bright sun looks cool in November. So I planted my back against the sun baked wall of the school building and just soaked it up. I had to wait there yesterday. I didn't mind waiting. In fact, I was enjoying it so much I thought I'd try to show you why...













Seriously. I had cabbage fields to stare at outside my school. The sun that reaches into this valley in late November is absolutely sublime. Wow, what a dream.

Think Green Thanksgiving Soak it up. All the beauty in the world. Cabbage fields too. ;)

waiting

Last night.
After four stories and lights out and waiting, meditating in the dark, one hand for each, shushing, and waiting and shushing. And then sleep.

After making a tea, ginger lemon.
After starting to watch "Something About Mary," in Italian (Tutti Pazzi per Mary).
After lying, no, stretching, on the sofa.


Punkone wakes up.

He can't sleep. He feels hot. He feels sick. He's itchy. He teetering on the edge he always falls over.

I can only be calm.

Bathroom. Water.
Remove covers. Turn off heat.
Perhaps a tea?

We sit in the empty kitchen. The tea is steeping and I start thumbing through a Penzeys Spice catalog. He sits, calmer. "Have a sip," I suggest. More moaning. More silent waiting.

Back in bed. He's itchy. Eczema. And some medicine for the wheezing. He wants to sleep but can't and tosses and itches and is frustrated as his sister sleeps soundly. As she always does. I sit on his bed, just waiting.

And he finally grows calmer. Cooler. But he can't sleep. And I bring him my iPod to listen to. This helps. Seems to.

As I sit with him in the dark, listening to the sounds outside, seeing his eyes grow heavy, and breathing, he turns again, and starts quietly to cry. And through tears he says he's sorry. He's sorry for disturbing my movie. He's sorry I had to make a tea he didn't drink. He's sorry I have to wait...


A hug is all I can do. And a kiss, a sigh, And waiting. But what am I waiting for? To have my tea? Lie on an empty sofa? Oh. Maybe waiting isn't what I really meant. Because sitting in the dark, with my hand on your shoulder... it isn't a burden at all... it's simply my way to be.

the happy ballad of a strange pilgram

I have a big heart, bursting with achy spaces and joy. Sectioned off into dozens, maybe hundreds of little rooms. And really just one person in the world holds the keys. One person who makes me laugh and cry at all the right moments. One person brave enough to stick around. One person I can stand to see walk away on distant adventures and who I know will understand as I embark on mine.

So come in dear children, husband, mom and dad. Sweet friends and family from far away and those new ones close at hand. I have an ample heart and it's mostly fit for loving. How?, I'm learning day by day. For it was just one, lucky, incredible chance that my eyes were open at just the right time and saw one person there who needed me to save the world and whose exhistence and love also saved mine.

a saturday afternoon

Winding our way north on the autostrada, we're on our way to explore the hills and valleys between Bolzano and Merano, Itay. This is not far from where we live, but given that we don't own a car and seldom venture outside the city, it feels like another world.

We leave at 12:30 and just 45 minutes later, find ourselves in a small bar in the little town of Appiano for lunch. They have a hearty orzo soup on the stove, perfect with the bread and cold cuts... speck, salami, and prosciutto.



We then head out to explore:

Stunning steeple, you'll see it again later from the Boymont Castle tower.

some other expats exploring the area

a farmer taking in the apple harvest

can you get any more quaint?

For some reason, we enjoy walking through cemeteries. This one is full of German surnames due to the fact that this part of Italy was part of Austria before World War I. In fact, there is a separatist movement here and German is the first language of the region.


We then enjoyed an hour long hike up to one of the many castles.

click to enlarge if you would like to read the text

I love photographs through windows... imagining how long this view has been captured in this way...



From the top of the tower you can see the layout of the castle ruins and the beautiful surrounding country side.





From here, we went to Merano, which was absolutely gorgeous... but I left my camera in the car. I guess you'll just have to go there yourself. ;)

Marchesa means Dutchess

A good day. Kitchen's been cleaned since breakfast. The fruit bowl is full of fresh selections from the market. Even a load of laundry has been hung.

Has been hung... sort of has a nice ring to it.
And bells, now have been rung.
Has been hung... ring... rung. It's amazing that I get anything done.

I realize that I'm gazing out the window into the open space, enclosed by my kitchen window and the walls of the neighboring buildings. An open space that, by definition, goes up to the sky, but also down, to the patio below. Just one floor below.

Oh yes, I realize. Time to get the kids.
Out the door for horse drawn carriages and down the street I stroll.
Faccio due passi as I learned to say one day ago.


Kids, bikes, and two packs on my back. We need to stop by home.
About this home... have I told you?

It's a palazzo. Palazzo Parisi and the Marchesa herself lives there still.
She's old and crippled and has a nasty bite.
Everything is wrong and nothing is right.
I don't like this crabby old woman... but let's not be impolite...

I can't remember the Italian but she complains.
Complains for wrappers left on the floor that blew in from carnival 8 months before.
Wrappers from candy we do not eat, but I pick them up from under her feet.

More yelling as I put away bikes.
What can this be? What have I done?
Ah... the lights. I've turned on two when I should only use one.
I make the mistake to try and point out... and words from me only cause her to shout.

What waste I have made!
She pays the bills!
And what an expense!
There's a light in the room!
You don't need the one in the hall!
And as she screams on... I decide to stop listening.



My home brings me joy and I'm glad when I'm there
High ceilings and large windows that let in fresh air
Climb up marble stairs with an old iron railing
Just ignore the old hag that never stops wailing

rock steady mamma

One of the pros of not having our own yard: I am forced to go outside and play too. I'm forced to sit down, smell the breeze, and not be productive for at least an hour. And, I am joined by every other mother of every other child at the park.

This usually means chit-chat. I've become fairly fluent at Italian chit-chat... generally about school, kids activities, and what to cook for dinner. It generally degrades to complaining about how tired you and/or the children are or some insane new thing the school/teachers are trying.

It's not that I'm a big whiner, just that Italian mothers are genuinely curious about all the details of other people's family life... aka nosy.

This is a varied bunch of women. Young, punk, middle aged, grey haired, slacked and skirted. My favorite is the mother of twins. Rock steady mamma.

I LOVE talking to this woman. Nothing worries her. She is not hurried, annoyed, nor too ecstatic about anything. She is dressed casually, not sloppy. Not overdone or overattentive or negligent. The perfect balance. And no matter what I have to say, comment on, complain about, her response is always steady and encouraging.

This is in contrast to the vast majority of the other mothers at the park. The arms flying, eyes rolling, exasperated gasps. Heads shaking, hands slapping, calling and waving frantically at children, exploding over a grass stain or lamenting at a scraped knee.

I'll hide in the shadows with rock steady mamma. Average works out just fine in this case. Rock on mamma.

soup spoon

The transition from summer to fall has caused an upturn of the contents of my head. I've always been a soup of contradictions but usually manage to show only what rises to the top and let everything else just simmer. Not now. Things are turned up and it's hard to get through the hour without feeling like a crazy person.

I hate you. I love you. I can do this. I can't. Things are good. They're bad. I'm ready. I'm sick with worry. Say it five times fast.

If I've learned anything in 36 years it's that I can't chug down a pot of soup. Even a bowl will scald my mouth and spill half it's contents down the front of my shirt. But I am brilliant with a spoonful. That tiny little bit, just a small portion, carrying the flavor of the whole, but sipped and savored just for itself.

I need a spoon.