This morning I woke up to a rainbow right outside my window. Not that I could see it through the window, but if it was a tangible thing I could have grabbed it. It was stunning.
Today I realized I've been living in Europe for exactly one year. One year ago I landed in Madrid, over slept my alarm and was a few minutes late for my first Pueblo Ingles meeting. 365 days ago I spoke much better Spanish, set my first foot in Europe, and changed my life forever. 12 months ago I didn't speak any Italian, couldn't navigate public transportation, and thought I was moving back to the US in March. It's hard to believe how different my life is from a year ago. I'm now a veteran of transatlantic flights, I am officially an expatriate, and it's been difficult to say the least, but I'm proud of myself. I've made it through a year, only 12 weeks before the big move.

Through

I made it through, all the anxiety for nothing. As much as I wasn't ready to come back I'm so incredibly thankful that I'm here without any problems. Thoroughly uninteresting flights, a good does of a sleeping pill that I haven't quite slept off at this point, and not a second look at passport control. Some one asked me more questions for my 2 hour lay over in Dublin than they did for my 3 month stay in Italy. But that's just fine with me. A few more hours on a train and I can collapse into my bed. I'm ready to stop doing transatlantic flights for a while. It's hard on my body. I need sleep so badly but it's only 12:30, by the time I get home it'll most likely be close to 4:30-5 so if I can just keep myself awake for a couple more hours after that I might be alright. But at this point it could prove quite a task.
Now just to prepare myself for the insanity that will be the next 3 months. Friends I haven't seen in what feels like forever, friends I've yet to meet, stress unknown to me and operating on an inhuman amount of sleep. But this is most likely the last time I'll be able to do something like this. So I've got to soak it up and no matter how much I want one more night of sushi with Scott and Aniko or one last drink with Kelsey, Taylor, and Red, I have to put them all on hold for a bit. These moments that are yet to come this summer are going to be much harder to recreate after these months. The things I wasn't ready to leave at home are my constants and I have to remember that they'll be there when I return.

I can't

I can't do this, the thought of setting foot on that plane takes my breath away for a minute. I'm absolutely uncertain as to what will happen when I step into passport control in Milano. I want to finish what I've started at Agape, but I'm not ready to go back yet. I thought 2 weeks would be enough time to let me basque in the euphoria of home, of speaking English, of seeing old friends, being there for graduation. I thought it would be enough to enjoy those things and long enough to make me ready to go back to Europe. I was wrong...
There was time to enjoy all of those things, but every moment was bitter-sweet. Each second was tainted with the fact that it had to be short lived. That I needed to soak it up because I'd have to live without it for the next 3 months. I spent my time with one foot in the present and the other living in the dread of the immediate future.
I'll spend the entirety of these flights trying to breathe through the anxiety of the visa check in Italy. I don't want to leave everyone stranded for the summer and I know I'll be fine once I get there. Twelve weeks will fly by but I suppose that a move back to the States earlier that expected wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen.
I feel like my whole body could give out any second, I'm so anxious. I just want it to be over. No more 10 hour flights, no more trying to sleep vertical, no more airplane food, and no more worrying about crushing the person who is behind me. I don't want to feel like I live in an airport anymore, I don't want to stress about customs, or visas, or passports, I don't want to think about what's happening to all of my things in storage, I'm ready for some type of stability.

There is a fog, a mist, a heavy down blanket that has taken up residence in our mountains. It has filled all of the valleys, wrapped itself around our houses, and seeped into our thoughts. I can no longer see the village from my window, just as I can no longer see the looming spring in Ohio...I wonder about what is happening in both of these places when I stare into this blank white wall. It is the manifestation of the isolation I sometimes feel living in this place. I know I am alone here, that was my intention. The highs are incredibly high and the lows some of the lowest I've felt in this life. All because I am alone. I have achieved a goal and learned a new language and I know that I've done it on my own. There is support somewhere across the ocean, I know, but I have figured this all out on my own and am the one who has had to stumble, fall, pull myself up, and start climbing again. I am the one who looks at my hands at the end of the day, the hands that are now burned and cut, the hands that may spend the rest of their existances perfumed with onions and garlic. My feet that ache and split from the dry mountain air, and my hair that hasn't been cut in almost a year, because it just isn't a priority. And I know that this is the sacrafice for this adventure. And there is no high higher than knowing I have done this all on my own. But the same goes for the lows. I am all alone in this adventure. And I remember this all as I stare into the opaque cloud that shuts me off from the world. I remember I am alone, and I wonder what it is inside of me that forces me into these places. What drives me to chosen exile, to incredible distance, to seek a life where the unusual is the familiar? And above all, why do I do it alone?

Just like a few months ago the only thing I could write about was the snow, now the wind in invading everything. Trees bend to the point where it appears impossible for them not to break. The top layer of snow whips itself into a frigid, sandstorm, and the mountians refuse to offer us a moment of silence. The insessent howling, the world around us constantly in flux, not in some philosophical or metaphorical sense, but actually and physically in flux. The snow melting, sandstorms beating against the stone of our house, pieces of my world which have been hidden away for months are suddenly emerging. This however does not feel like spring. These pieces that I'm seeing for the first time in months are made from concrete and stone, they are bare and broken tree limbs which have beeen buried for months on end. They do not resemble rebirth. They are gray and broken, they are dead and disfigured, or made of a substance that has no life cycle. They are things that are bruta e morte and are just now coming to light. There is a rebirth of death and maybe this is what the mountains and myself need to flush out of our systems before we can hope to bring anything into a new existance. The dead needs to be exposed, fall away, and become the mulch, the compost, the nutrients, of the things to come. And only in letting it melt away into the Earth can the ugly furnish the beauty that all of us are waiting for.

It seems like I have misplaced just about all of my creative energy for the moment, so I apologize to the 5 of you who regularly read this blog. I suppose a brief update on my life will have to suffice at the moment until I can come up with something better. So here's a brief rundown of activities in my mountains...

1. I finished my first retreat with a school. I haven't been so exhausted in a long time. It was wonderful and frustrating and I perfected the phrase "No, we cannot throw iceballs at our classmates" in Italian. It looks like this "No, non possiamo lanciare palline de ghiaccio a nostra compagni." I'll get to practice it again next week when the next school arrives. On the whole, though it was a good time, I took 25 11 yr olds snow shoeing for the afternoon, I've never been so exhausted after only a 2km hike. I taught some traditional dancing, I love how this task gets deligated to me and I'm not even Italian. It's always fun though, and I really enjoy it, but I'm sure the parents of those children must be confused when they arrive home telling stories about how a tall, blonde, American girl, taught dances from Piemonte.

2. We can the Cena Giovane for all the young people in the village. I was in the kitchen for 10 hours that day but it was worth it. Each of the other residents made a brief apperance to cook something from their country of origin and in the end we had an incredible menu, an abundance of food, and some slightly tipsy chefs. We all ate well and too much that night.

3. The Cassanova has made another brief appearance. We stepped outside for a few minutes after La Cene Giovane, which turned into a couple hours, but who's counting. We had a rather intense converstaion about his fear of being left and why he refuses to have a relationship. This was followed by him telling me that he wanted something different now and that he might like to try to have a relationship with me. I don't know how this potential situation with me inspires less fear seeing as I'm scheduled to leave the continent in 6 months, but who am I to judge. Maybe I'll be like the practice girlfriend before he is ready to start a more serious relationship. I'm not completely convinced of this yet anyway, it could possibly be some elaborate ploy to try to get me into bed. He just doesn't know that I'm smarter than that yet...I suppose he'll find out soon enough. In the meantime we had a make out session that was a bit reminiscent of middle school years and which I thoroughly enjoyed. I'm not really holding out any hope for this whole thing and I doubt there is much potential to feel anything for him, but at least it's entertaining, and I don't really feel bad about just entertaining myself with a Cassanova.

4. My final ski outing is planned for this Friday, but I might be able to squeeze another one in the following week, we'll see how it goes. I'm pretty pumped to see Wolly and hit the slopes. I have a pretty good record of meeting interesting people when we're skiing together (see date in Torino). So who knows maybe luck will strike twice or maybe I'll just have a good time skiing with a good friend. It seems like either way I win and I like those odds. Also it may be a little easier to ski this time around seeing as I don't plan on falling off the roof this Thursday like I did before the last time we went. So all in all it looks like it's gonna be a good day.

5. I don't know that I have a number five, but 4 just seemed like a strange number to leave this at so I guess I'll fill number five with this: I've been rocking out to The Weakerthans alot lately, missing the people and places their music reminds me of, but I've successfully staved off the homesickness it could potentially evoke. So on the whole it's looking good here in the mountains, I'm still looking forward to that trip back to the States in just over 2 months, but the Italian Alps are doing it for me now. I'm finally feeling like I live here, this is my house, and this moment counts as real life too.

Water

Every ounce of water has been sucked out my body, winds storm that swirl my thoughts into physical existance have wiped it all away. They've turned me into a tundra, a desert. I stand in warm rain for what feels like hours and I walk into the world with an insatiable thirst. There are no tears to cry, my eyes have dried up as well. They don't serve me at this point anyway. At this point where my heart is shriveled, cracked, a prune, and refuses to force the sand that was once my blood through my veins. And I try my hardest to find the well. I dig and dig, through sand and dirt and clay in the hopes of finding a tiny stream. But only the cycle of the moon will tell if a flower will spring forth in this desert, if a root will burrow it's way deep enough to find an oasis under the cracked surface.

Just over 2 months until I head back to the States. It seems like it will be insanity here until then: groupls, schools, staff meetings, Italian lessons, and one more round of skiing. The whole thing is just a blur...Ohio for 10 days, 3 days in New York, and then back to Italy for the summer. In theory 2 months seems like a long time, but I know it will fly by. The wind storm outside feels like the content of my head has been set loose on the world. Rushing about, destroying, and reordering the world. Bits and pieces in places you never expected them, but maybe it isn't so bad that they aren't where you originally put them. Maybe I need something to shake up the order of my life.
I've been thinking alot about September today. Feels like the pressure I escaped from my senior year at Denison is coming down on me now. The fear that I have to decide the rest of my life this moment. What will I do? Can I even find a job right now? Where will I live? All of the logisitics associated with finding a job and apartment on the other side of the planet. I know it will work out, the same way the Europe worked out for me, but that doesn't mean there isn't a bit of stress involved. Maybe that's what keeps me on my toes enough to make things work out. I just need to tackle on major life decision at a time, it's that once piece at a time that I'm having trouble with at the moment.

7 years

Today makes seven years...Unfortunately I couldn't place a stone on her gravesite. For one reason, my mother never believed that Jews shouldn't be cremated and instead is happily in the ocean at Salmon Creek, the second being that I can't be at Salmon Creek today seeing as I live in Italy at the moment. So instead today I headed up the mountain, it seemed like the perfect representation of life and death at the moment, my mother in the sea and me on top of the mountain. We live not in contradiction, but in continual relation to the dead, and for me being on top of the mountain, and thinking of that sea somewhere over the horizen was the moment I needed to hold on to her memory and a tiny piece of my sanity. I said my Mourner's Kaddish today in the mountains in Italy rather than on top of the hill behind our house where we used to watch the sunset and I was okay with that. This is the first year I was enable to walk through the day without tears threatening to spill any second, without having to force myself from my bed, without wishing I hadn't woke this morning. Today I relished the idea that she was the water I drank and the breeze that rushed past me, that all of these moments which sustain me in this life are her. That the strength I have to live away from everything I've ever known is her, the appreciation I have for this life is her, and the love I recognize in those around all began with her. And although there is a piece of me that was broken today 7 years ago, a piece that I don't know will ever be mended, I've found a way to work past it. I know she didn't give me this tenacity, this desire for internal peace, and this strength so I could waste it in mourning. And so I'll leave my Mourner's Kaddish here as well...

Magnified and sanctified be G-d's great name in the world which He created according to His will. May he establish His kingdom during our lifetime and during the lifetime of Israel. Let us say, Amen.
May G-d's great name be blessed forever and ever.
Blessed, glorified, honored and extolled, adored and acclaimed be the name of the Holy One, though G-d is beyond all praises and songs of adoration which can be uttered. Let us say, Amen.
May there be peace and life for all of us and for all Israel. Let us say, Amen.
Let He who makes peace in the heavens, grant peace to all of us and to all Israel. Let us say, Amen. Magnified and sanctified be G-d's great name in the world which He created according to His will. May he establish His kingdom during our lifetime and during the lifetime of Israel. Let us say, Amen.
May G-d's great name be blessed forever and ever.
Blessed, glorified, honored and extolled, adored and acclaimed be the name of the Holy One, though G-d is beyond all praises and songs of adoration which can be uttered. Let us say, Amen.
May there be peace and life for all of us and for all Israel. Let us say, Amen.
Let He who makes peace in the heavens, grant peace to all of us and to all Israel. Let us say, Amen

On the upswing

I don't know if I've discovered the cure for homesickness for all Americans living in Italy, but I've found the cure for mine this time around. It starts with a healthy dose of International Women's Day partying with the women in my village, is promptly followed by Purim at home with friends, then a trip to Torino, a date, and finishes with a whirlwind weekend in Milano. And presto you feel like your old self again...
What a week! We finished with the group that was here for the weekend, cleaned the kitchen and the women of my house got dressed like real women, not mountain women, and met about 40 other women for dinner, drinks, and dancing at the local pub. You can read more about that fantastic night here. It was really what I needed to start getting back to my old self. Thankfully I had a day of recovery in between to get ready for Purim. That day in between really resulted in alot of sleeping off of a hang over and sleeping through my fast for the day, but come Tuesday I was ready. I spent the day cooking some of my favorite comfort Jew Food and in the evening we had a really wonderful meal. That fantastic dinner was followed by the drinking of alot of wine, and the playing of silly games, which got more and more ridculous and the night went on. How I love playing board games in a language I've only spoken for 7 months. I had one more day of recovery and the headed to Torino on Thursday morning. I didn't realize how much I needed to be out of the village until I set foot in the city. Just a change of scenery lightened my heart. I headed out to see some friends, made a trip to an international book store, picked up a few Henry Miller books and was really starting to feel like me again.
Which was good seeing as I had a date that night. Not just any date, this date was my first, first date in nearly 5 years. I know it seems rather impossible...but I was with Him for 4 years and that doesn't leave much room for first dates and although I'd been seeing The Gypsy for a couple months there was no official first date involved, it just kind of happened. Needless to say I was feeling a bit nervous at such a prospect, but it went well. I met him after his German class, he cooked me an impressive Italian dinner, and there wasn't a moment of awkward silence through the entirety of the time we were together. Unfortunately I got the ever popular "I just got out of a long relationship and I'm not looking for anything serious right now" line, which we all know means "I'm really just trying to sleep with you tonight". But, I'm still going to count that night as a success.
1. Because I succeeded in having a first date all in Italian with no awkward moments of me not being able to find the word I needed.
2. Because I met and had dinner with some one not associated with Agape in some way and
3. Because all in all I had a good time.
Friday I met up with a couple members of my staff and we all grabbed the train to Milano together. It was so nice to be kicked back with the boys for a change. I know the women I live with aren't your typical women and we don't have crazy petty fights about boys or shoes, but there is something that just puts me at ease when I can kick back say what I want and not have some one competing with me, when I'm with a group of guy friends. And as proud of myself as I am for having met and had a date with some one not associated with the center in some way I was also in needed of some time with those who know Agape and can actually understand what I'm talking about in some aspect. I really needed a couple hours to chat with Fede, with some one who has been a resident, and can say "I understand" and mean it. After our Friday night chat I was ready for the weekend of staff meeting/incredible amount of fun. Lots of wine, lots of laughter, and just being. I know almost everyone thinks that their staff for the summer is fantastic and the best, but I'm sure that mine really is. We all get along well, we laugh, we're creative together, and it's a good support system for me that I was unaware of. I got home last night absolutely exhausted, content to be sleeping in my own bed again, and ready (or so I think) to face the crazy week ahead.

Crying in the shower

It seems I've been dealing with a bout of homesickness, in some form, for about the past month. But the past few days it has hit an all time high, or perhaps that should be low, I'm not sure at this point. All I know is that I terribly miss Ohio and all contained therein. I didn't think I would ever say, or in the case type, those words. There seems to be no cure for this and seeing as I don't have any choice but as to stick it out until the end of May I'm feeling more than disheartened. There are things that should make this go away, friends visitings, ski outtings, up coming travels, and though in the moment I feel wonderful, surrounded by friends, experiencing the world, and always learning about myself, the moment that these things are over I revert back to this feeling of incredible lonliness. In relishing the memories of the day I find myself thinking about all of the people I haven't seen in 6 months, about all of the major life events I've missed, or will be missing, and I'm aching to be back in Ohio.
When I first found out that my mother was terminally ill I would only cry in the shower, I didn't want my emotions distracting from the things that needed to be done and I didn't want my mother to see me be anything but strong. It's took me a long time to break that habit, to admit to myself that it's okay that I have moments when I'm emotionally overwhelmed and that crying is a natural part of being a woman and human being. I found myself heading to the shower last night so that no one could here me crying out for something familiar, crying out for the ability to lay my head in my grandmother's lap, to have a date with my sister, to grumble about my father wanting to take me to dinner at an Italian restaurant. That shower and the one I took this afternoon washed away alot: the sweat and heat from my first run of the season and the tears from my face, but at the end my hands still smelled like onions and garlic from the kitchen and I still had to speak Italian when talking about how far I'd run this afternoon. I don't really know how to deal with this, there is no cure. I know that I am living in a self imposed exile. I don't want to continue to wallow in these emotions but at this point I don't know how to deal with it in a constructive manner. I've read a string of really horrible books solely because they were in English, Nick Hornby fans I'm sorry but I seriously considered not reading every again after finishing one of his books. I've been avoiding journaling and subsequently blogging because I feel like this is the only thing I can write about and in reality I don't want to drag those who read this down with me and I don't want a detailed record of these emotions. This post is a last ditch effort to rid my system of these feelings, to get back to my old self, the person who is happy when confronted with challenges, the girl who loves speaking Italian even if she does so with a Charlie Brown accent, and the girl who is constantly trying to learn from the world around her. That said; letters, post cards, e-mails, facebook messages, are welcome as a way of cheering me out of this slump. Hopefully the next post will be happy, more introspective, and about something much more interesting.

There are few things in the world I enjoy more than a long, hot, shower the morning after a bonfire. The morning when you haven't yet forgotten the heat of the flames on your face, but the memory of that heat is suddenly coupled with the cold of the tile floor infusing into you through bare feet. I love the way I can smell the left over smoke sliding out of my hair and fusing with the water, defusing in the steam and filling the room.
I love crawling back into bed for a bit after that shower and that my thermometer reads 101 because the sun is so intense in the window. At night I watch the stars rise in the same place as the sun sinks behind the mountains. I remember frozen nights at the bio reserve, wondering about the existance of black matter, I remember lying on rice mats with Him in the spring beside the Chapel, sitting secretly and silently, just being. And I remember our first New Years eve together. Absolutely frigid, pressing our bodies together inside a cocoon of blankets. I smile and ache a bit at these memories.

The moment I think I have at least a portion of this life figured out the universe sets me straight. "We can't truly appreciate the good until we understand, until we experience the bad, the ugly..." how many times have I said those words? 10? 100? 1000? I don't want to utter them anymore. I have experienced and I can understand. K is in the hospital with a tumor on her pelvic floor, consultations with oncologists tomorrow. I'm sick of sickness. I want some one to be responsible for all the shit dumped into our water, leeched into our soil, all of the poison in our bodies. Everytime I hear this news I feel like I'm waiting for my turn. And so I've escaped from the house for a bit, writing at the Alpi. I just keep writing, maybe nothing to say, but I need the comfort of the pen, some place where I'm in control, at this point this is the place where I know I have power, where I'm in control of the situation. At the same moment I feel like I'm discovering my power in other aspects of my life I'm rediscoving my powerlessness in others. The inability to do anything for some one I love, my inability to comfort from a distance. I'm discovering my arms are too short, my legs not fast enough to reunite my heart in Ohio with the rest of my body that remains in Italy. Inability...I hate that his word exists in my vocabulary. If it were written I would tear the word. I hate feeling helpless almost as much as I hate the irresponsibility of those who have posioned my world. I hate it. It's not often that I use that word, but I mean each sound to it's fullest. And now I need to end it. Release if from my bdoy, leave it here on the page, close the book, and be finished with it. And so I'll end with the same words I ended this conversations with The Dancer;
D: I got tulips for Valentine's Day
M: I got kisses, and not from Casanova
D: And...?
M: And it's more complicated than Casanova.

It's 5:55 Saturday afternoon, I'm in bed. I could sleep until it was time to go out tonight. The ability to sleep anytime of the day or night is something I've retained from college. I'm rereading my favorite book for the first time in a few years, it affects me differently this time around. I remember reading it lying in bed in India, now I read it lying in bed in Italy. At some point in the future I should read it in the US. I remember the first time I read it thinking Kundera's words were beautiful and unusual, unlike anything I had ever read. I remember them being thought provoking and needing to stop sometimes after reading a paragraph to digest what he was saying. Most of all I remember thinking how much I enjoyed the philosophy but was absolutely distant from the characters. There was no way I could identify with them. How this life has changed. Three years later I find pieces of myself in each of them. The desire for freedom within love of Tomas, the yearning for "something higher" in Tereza, and the saucy mistress, Sarina, the only one in control...I too yearn to be weighed down by the body of a man.

In that desire I'm finding myself to be more irresponsible. La Medica warned me to be careful with the Casanova last night, she knows, she's walked this road before. In reality the advice has really only hightened the intrigue. With the brief exception of The Mason I've never done something I know I shouldn't done it because it feels good in the moment, done it because my ego and my body are leading rather than my head.

"There are only 2 reasons you get involved with a Casanova. 1 you have an inexplicable need to hurt yourself or 2 you want to show him you're more of a Casanova than he is"...I suppose every word is true. I'm not sure what my motive is in this. I'd like to say it's the latter, but in reality I'm not sure I'm capable of it. I suppose perceived capacity hasn't stopped me from trying in the past, why should I let it now. I don't think I'm fighting any masochistic tendencies at the moment, so I'm going to go with showing him I'm more of a Casanova than he is for my motive.

Today I played teacher. I taught English for 2 hours at the school in the village. I can't imagine being the teacher there on a daily basis. After 2 hours I was absolutely exhausted. There were only 9 children in the class from 6-10 yrs. I don't know how one goes about teaching children at all different levels at the same time, in the same room. I suppose it's been done for a long time and continues to be done in small villages around the world. It takes a special person to be able to do that day after day, and today I discovered I can happily teach English for a few hours, but after those couple of hours I was more than ready for a break.

After I finished I decided to head over to the Alpi to grab a coffee while I waited for the tobaccio to open, chat with Casanova a bit, and get a much needed dose of caffeine. The caffeine was the only thing I was expecting that I actually got. I walked in, found that Casanova wasn't working, and sitting at my usual table was The Gypsy. He was in Prali working with some people on the upcoming snow board contest. Needless to day I was a bit surprised, we hadn't spoken since he left for London. Neither one of us said much. I asked about all the travel for work, he seemed less than thrilled about it. He asked if I would be able to help with a bit of translation and pronunciation for an English song one of his artists is working on. I told him "of course". I fought against easily falling into the rhythm of things before, just because it was easy and I liked having some one to fawn over me a bit. It took a bit of effort to remind myself that it wasn't a good place to get emotionally involved. I think it might do us both a bit of could to have a proper conversation. I don't want us to feel uncomfortable around each other, we'll obviously be seeing each other for the rest of my time here. I think I'd feel a bit more settled about the whole thing if we talked, we'll see what happens.

True friends play Rock, Paper Scissors, for your turn at picking up the panini in the morning when you're "occupied" in the evening...oh the joys of learning to be irresponsible at 22.

Melancholy, feeling very melancholy today. Like a have a strange need to cry and be comforted. Nothing particularly bad has happened, nothing even remotely bad has happened. I feel like I feel like I have all of this incredible friendship but no love. Not romantic love, but just regular old run of the mill love. Maybe there is no such thing as regular love, I suppose all love is extraordinary in some way. Whatever the case may be I'm in need of feeling regular or extraordinary love. Just some one to hold onto me for a bit. Let me sink back and not be in charge, to let go, not think and just feel how good it feels to have another human body pressed next to mine. There are times when I think that the only way I can recognize my body, soul, or life, is in relation to someone else; the permanent gaze of the other. And now maybe I don't need so much the gaze but the body of the other to remind me what mine feels like.

This house is filled with too many words sometimes. There are moments I find myseslf wishing for just a bit of silence, or if there must be speech, that it is in familiar English accents. This afternoon felt a bit like existing in and of itself was an effort. I'm in one of those moments when I simply want someone to hold me, brush my hair from my face, and hold me. I struggle with wanting to be alone or in the company of only one other person. But recently it's proving more and more difficult to do and consequently I have begun to feel like I am only part of the group and no an individual person as well. Perhaps this is why I'm finding myself in need of more time alone, in small groups, or with the company of some one for whom I exist as a unique individual and not as part of "grupo residente"

On time

January has quietly slipped by with me taking little notice except to mark a few important days. I find myself constantly amazed at the rate at which time glides by. At one point a single day was the entirety of my existence and since that point it has been infinitely dividing into smaller portions. It seems now that there barely exists enough time in a single day to wake and fall asleep, and there are days when precious little happens between these two obligatory acts. What must if feel like to be 50 or 90. A day will pass in the time you can blink, constitution practically nothing of your life.
At the end of each month that passes I find myself taking a quick count of how many more months until I set eyes on green Ohio, till I'm held in familiar arms, and until I'm forced to confront at least a piece of my past. Four months until I board that long flight and four months since I left. Seven months of living in Europe and seven more to go. Surely those seven months will flash by like the last seven.
The other day something brought to mind, I can't remember what exactly now, a conversation I had with my father the summer before my senior year at Denison. We were sitting outside of Victoria's having breakfast with Kathy in Granville, discussing my life after Denison. I remember, a bit absent-mindedly telling them that I was going to live in Europe for a year or so after I graduated. I don't know that I understood the possibilities contained in that statement, the potential realities that existed therein. I wonder what else I have said in passing without understanding what the suggestion really implies...

Being missed

I think it is a privilege to allow oneself to be missed. I suppose at no point can we control when another thinks about us or what that memory conjures up, but we seem to have the power to decide when we interject our actual presence into the lives from our past. And whether we want to admit it or not that rate at which we interject that presence has a profound effect on the memory.
I'm finding that those who refuse to attempt some effort to force the recollection of memories being to slip away. Each of them consciously or not pushing memories further and further into the abyss of my mind. And like the abyss of the sea there are moments when it seems to spontaneously spring to life with a mysterious light that has no apparent source. It is an effort to cause oneself to be missed, to find a way to call forth an image and longing for yourself, frequently and nostalgically. Oh what a power that exerts, what an influence in the life of another. A power I wish some would make greater use of and others I wish would stop trying, as there effort does little good combined with my effort to forget their attachment to this life.

A list

I haven't made a list like this in a while, so I think I'm in need of one.

Things I love at the moment

1. my personal size teapot
2. tea and biscotti
3. being called "stellina" at least once a day
4. the moment when the sun perches atop the mountain outside my window and finds its way in even through the curtains
5. Beautiful films in bed
6. handwritten letters
7. the sounds of pen against paper
8. the start that replaces the sun at night
9. being coy in Italian
10. being one of the guys
11. being desired
12. teaching some one soemthing
13. finding some one who can teach me something
14. being strong
15. surprise visitors
    

I'm looking forward to one day in the future when I don't shovel snow, when every part of my body doesn't ache. There are moments when I like that my body feels lived in, that the ache reminds me I live inside here, but there are also days when the aches is annoying and I am unable to forget it. I was content with the soreness from skiing, but today I spent the latter part of the morning and the afternoon shoveling snow from the roof. The snow was like rocks after weeks of melting during the day and refreezing during the night and the effort of throwign it away from the house was exhausting. Instead of feeling better, like my muscles are streched and reposed there are just more sore muscles, different muscles than yesterday which effectively makes my entire body hurt. This constant dull ache has become part of my everday existance here, I think the day I wake without some pain in my body I won't know quite what to do. I think this quote from Memoirs of Hadrian sums it up rather well...
"This morning it occured to me for the first time that my body, my faithful companion and friend, truer and better known to me than my own sould, maybe after all only a sly beast who will end by devouring his master"

I've discovered, or perhaps I've known and I'm just now putting into words, that a women needs a few things to live in this place...Strong legs, a strong will, an unnatural lack of fear, and open heart that she is willing to have broken when she leaves here, and the ability to become ambiguously gendered.

On writing

There are moments when I 'm absolutely certain that the only reason I write is to feel the pen against the page, to create something, to see words become manifest. Now I don't know that I have much to say, or anything to say for that matter, but the gentle scratching of my pen against the paper is comforting to my soul. I like to see the page filling up, feel the little bit of resistance as the ink bleeds into the paper. It feels good, feels like home, there is something in the ounce of resistance in that melody of scratching that is the action of my soul. There is always a bit of resistance: to routine, a bit of resistance to change, a bit of resistance to comfort, and a bit to discomfort. But once I've committed I gently bleed into everything and I can no longer imagine myself having not pushed into something. The same way I can no longer imagine the page blank after it has been filled with words. I can always cross them out, I can always change the words, but the page can never go back to being blank.

Siamo in tutti

Adesso siamo intutti. Victoria arrived yesterday and now I live in a house of women, a house of strong capable women. And for the first time I'm okay with that. Those petty figths and jealousy that seem to characterize many of the women I know in the States don't seem to exist in our house. I don't want to chalk it up to cultural differnce, but to that fact that to live successfully in this place those characteristics are less than useful.
Victoria reminds me much of a young Auntie Robin, with a frantic need to move and her hand rolled cigarettes, it makes me miss my favorite hippy. I love now that there are more languages filling our house, it's the essence of this place, difference existing together in a conscious effort, all under one roof. That doesn't mean it's always easy or harmoneous, but thus far it's been working.
I can't imagine how strange it will be to live alone after this. I know I have my own room here, but I haven't been alone in the house since I arrived and I'm okay with that. I like living this life of necessity, but there are moments when I find myself struggling against the mentality of want. Living here helps.

casa nostra

Casa nostra e una casa di abastanza, non troppo, non di bisogno, di abastanza. I spent the eveing eating Uruguan food, listening to French music, smoking shi-sha, and speaking Italian. My life is beautiful and I live with the whole world in one house.
Smoking hookah together took me back ot my final visit to Madison before returning to Europe. To smoking a little blue hookah on His pation, to ultimate relaxation slipping through my veins, and finding its way into all of my limbs and finally to my head. To crawling lazily into His bed and shhing each others laughter as we giggled at the thought of waking the neighbors. I feel such nostalgia for those nights, for the mornings after when He would brush my hair out of my face, kiss my forehead, and leave me slumber as he slipped off to work or to make me pancakes with fresh blueberries...and I wonder about my return.

Always aching

Always this body of mine aches, shoveling snow, skiing, dancing until the wee hours, hunger from the work, or standing all day at the bar. Perhaps it sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm not. It's these aches that make me aware of living inside a body, let me know I'm not just head and heart, but muscle and sinew as well. Some how all of these pieces fit together to make this being. It's good to be reminded of these individual parts, of the way they work together. Although I ache, I have relief unlike a good portion of the world. I have a bed to rest these bones and food to fill the rumble in my stomach. Those things that could be complaints are in reality a reminder of the gifts I've been given.
This week has had a few moments when I needed to remind myself that this life is good. Theoretically I know it is, but I've been missing the familiar a bit lately. It's in these moments I find myself needing to adjust my concept of what is familiar. If feels a bit strange now to have a conversation only in English and I find Italian words slipping in when I stop paying attention. I know in a few short months my phone calls will suddenly mean mess and speck and brei sandwiches won't always be a few steps away. In a few months my life will suddenly be consumed with the activities of being a somewhat conventional adult. And maybe in these moments I'll yearn for the familiarity of waking up to a mountain view, of pasta at nearly every meal, and a house filled with the rest of the world.

Ero la altra donna...lo ha sentita impossible, pero e vero. No lo capito e pui importante no la voglio. Abbiamo finito.

This body is growing hard and stale

rotting from the inside out

stinking of the fish

I've had to fill it with

Wanting desperately to be fished

out of the gaping river

swelling mountains.

This body has become the river

and the fish

and the slime and rotten wood

that sink to the bottom.

It is the rocks that the damned tourists

use to cross.

It's the ice

slapped on the top

keeping the muck from

stinking up the village.

The water is in my eyeballs

and always in my bladder

I can't seem to get rid of it

constantly pushing its way out

yearning, smashing against the banks

against the outside of this corspe

A swollen bloated body

with a putrid stentch

stinking up my river

my body

How do I fish a body

out of my body?

How can I rid it of stagnent

waters and force the spring?

A few things

Since living in Italy I've started marking my books with old dollar bills, ones that had stowed away on this trip in pants and jacket pockets unnoticed. Maybe I'm doing it to remind myself that gobbling down these books is worth something, maybe not at this moment, just like this dollar is worthless in this moment. But at some point I'll go back to the US, maybe not for good, but at some point I'll go back. So maybe all these English words aren't doing me much good at the moment but sometime (maybe in the near future) they'll serve me.

Also I've recently become aware of how many Italian men are inviting themselves to my bed. I know I often complain that American boys are too shy, but this seems to be crossing some sort of line. Maybe it wouldn't seem so strange if they were inviting me to sleep in their beds, but I've never had someone invite themself to my bed. Is this some sort of cultural characteristic I'm not aware of? It doesn't seem to matter that I live in a house with 7 other people and privacy is practically nonexistant. Maybe that is part of the draw, maybe I'm attracting an unusual amount of exhibitionists...Oh the Italians, what's a girl to do except take several lovers and learn how to desire and be desired and equally important be fulfilled in all that desire.

exhaustion

Absolute exhaustion, my hand can barely hold the pen, it aches with every other part of my body. The cycle in Prali continues -- shovel snow all day, eat whatever you can, drink Genipi. Right now I think I"m too tired tto complete the last two parts. I shoveled snow all day and the thought of finding food or making it to the village to drink Genipi is even more exhausting. I'm almost to tired to sleep. I tried to lay down this afternoon for a bit and could only manage and hour or so of fitfull sleep filled with dreams that wouldn't let me rest.

A list

A list we compiled last night at the pub...

Things most discussed in Prali (winter)

1. Food
2. Genipi
3. Snow
4. Avalanche
5. Trees inside of an avalanche
6. Wolves

Things most discussed in Prali (summer)

1. Food
2. Genipi
3. The effects of Genipi
4. Snow from last winter
5. Snow for next winter
6. Wolves

I'm quite sure that the drinkin of Genipi led to the construction of this list but it's true nonetheless.

I feel like all I can write about is the snow. It's relentless and beautiful. The rumble of avalanches fills the valley...all night, throughout the afternoon. The roads are closed, school cancelled, there is no hope of anyone comeing into or leaving the village before Wed and even that looks doubtful. Fra, Jaouad, and Corinne are stranded in various places, which leaves me, Davide, J, and Marianna (the new resident from Uruguay). All goes on as usual. This morning it took the entirety of the morning to clear a sliver of a path from here to the center. The snow is up to my shoulders. This afternoon Davide and J were jumping from the ballcony of the belltower into the ocean of snow below. Fortunately it isn't too cold, on -1 or 2. We're warm and cozy in the house, fireplace crackling, cat napping on the couch...
I remember I time I complained at the thought of moving to Madison because the weather was so foul. Now it seems like a short winter of only 5 months. But despite the incredible about of snow life is still rather pleasant. No intense wind, no bitter cold (at least for now) and fortunately I don't have to make a commute to work. I suppose there are some advantages to living and working in the same place.
Oh how easily we forget the summer. The heat of the sun quickly turns into the heat from the fire. Long nights of parties and dancing simply slip into long dark nights. Summer romances turn into winter cuddle buddies. And when June rolls around these things will once again merge into each other and we will forget the worries of winter, of snow and shovels, the laugher of sled riding in the stree and live fully into the sun and the ability to wear only one pair of clothes. How this life slips one season into the next without anyone noticing until we are in the middle of the next. I suppose the seasons of life and of the year are on in the same...

I sleep under a palm

in a forest of pines

and I know that time will teach me

all I need to know,

let me be possessed

as I pine

While I dress for an expedition

in my bed

under a flock of geese

and a coop of chickens

On Being Known

"Mostly what people want is to feel known" -- Nicole Krauss A Man Walks Into a Room

Do I want a love that is the merging of two souls into one, the same way two bodies glide together in the cover of night. Do I want my soul to gently absorb that of another at the some moment mine is being raptured into a secondary existance? Or do I simply want to be known, known intensely and fully, but known nonetheless...