HOW DO YOU SAY

I was going to write a senior project on solitude; one year ago, the proposal was completed and had enthusiastic approval from the department.  But then I went to Italy.  I got on the plane full of solitude, and a semester later I returned home full of love for a lot of people.  That summer I tried to return to the project and found that I'd lost touch with the word, tried to remember my connection to it but could not.  I could focus on little except how badly I needed to return to Italy and undergo more magical transformations.  So I finished college early and I bought a ticket. Here I am.  Funny how thoughts become actions, ain't it? Solitude and I are becoming reacquainted.  We had become strangers, have been strangers for some time now.  I have my host family here, of course, but solitude can flourish just as well admidst company as it does when one is truly alone.  The point is, this time I don't have a group of friends waiting for m...

Election results are in and it looks as though....nothing has changed! How is this possible?  This awesome little op-ed deftly sums it up.  Illusion is the only reality, indeed. I would like to say, though, that this is the country that brought us the Renaissance, and thus a huge part of our own culture and history.  Just about everything it touches is beautiful, and though not always, there is often much depth under that beauty.  Also, it's hardly a country; it's a bunch of loosely cobbled together city-states, and the loose cobbling only happened in 1861.  Many people are born and die in the same city, and some never even travel to many other regions, let alone countries.  Italy is ancient and wise, but it's also a small, small child.  Ya know?  I am on its side. Come on, Italy.  Get it together.

Today (Sunday) and tomorrow: time for Italy to vote.  No one seems very eager about any of it, because it all generally sucks, but it looks like G is going to vote for Beppe Grillo, the comedian.  Which is a vote of protest--an anti-vote. Dinner at family friends' apartment on Saturday, where I consumed a satisfying amount of risotto and took part in a debate about Italian mothers.  A book materialized in the midst of this: "Mamma mia!: La figura della mamma come deterrente nello sviluppo culturale, sociale ed economico dell'Italiana moderna" by Fabrizio Blini.  The men were adamant that clinging, pampering mammas are the cause of Italy's stagnance; the mammas were shaking their heads solemnly.  Later, one of our hosts who is a surgeon treated me to photos of some of his surgeries, including but not limited to a woman who stabbed herself in the chest with a very large knife, and an umbilical hernia.  Cool stuff, man. Walked home late, wine-calmed and co...

I told Vale that I want to learn how to cook, and she said good!  I should join her in the kitchen.  And then she said, in a conspiratorial manner, that it's a "strategy" of Italian women to know how to cook well, because if a man is "goloso" (has lust for, is crazy for a food) and you can cook it well, then, well--you've got him.  So watch out, men :  Julia's about to learn some stuff.  Also, the reason I want to know Italian is that it has words like "goloso." I am golosa for pasta, chocolate, espresso, and salt.  In case you were wondering.  Clearly I am in the right place. English lessons are going swimmingly and our period of shyness is coming to an end.  Some of Ginni's particular favorite language activities are hangman (gioca dell'impiccato) and tongue-twisters (scioglilingua--melt, unravel, release the tongue! I am my own translator...).  "Trentatré Trentini entrarono a Trento, tutti e trentatré, trotterellando." ...

This sign is right outside my front door. It's a joke, right? I don't know whether to feel stupid for thinking it's a joke or for thinking that it could be real. Either way I will not be venturing past that fence. Vale's cousin Roberto came over for dinner last night. He's a photographer and very cool person, teaches photography at the university here and also in New York. We had wine and good food--Roberto said this is the best kitchen in Bologna and I have no reason to doubt him--and then for the first time I got to hear a real, heated conversation about Italian politics. I was so happy that I was smiling widely despite their evident distress. G explained to me that Bersani, who's still leading in the polls, would be bad for his pharmacy because Bersani essentially wants to turn Italy into the U.S.--turn everything into shopping malls instead of Italy's traditional small family businesses. Any way you cut it though, his pharmacy is in danger like th...

Saying yes to a dinner invitation on Saturday night took me on a long drive through the old city and into the hills above, to a beautiful house owned by some kind people who know how to eat.  After the initial pleasantries and meeting their pet squirrel (that's what I said), we got to feasting--all sitting or standing around the kitchen island with paper plates, helping ourselves to awesome formaggio and focaccia.  There was a fireplace casting soft light on everyone, lots of laughter, and rapid torrents of Italian coming from every direction all at once.  There was wine--oho, was there wine.  For primo we had pasta alla bolognese, and then more wine.  For secondo, wild boar, more wine.  For dessert, cake, cannoli, gelato on a stick.  (More wine.)  For a digestivo, the man of the house offered up amaro, whiskey, or grappa, and I jumped at the chance to have some grappa.  That stuff is seriously good and seriously strong.  I figure, ok, I...

Was on my way to San Luca again, camera in hand, with the intention of taking a walk and getting some photos of the spectacular evening light; instead, ended up sipping a macchiato in a cafe with a factory worker.  Welp. I mean, free espresso is almost never a bad thing.  And it was good language practice.  And I guess there's always tomorrow for a walk. Ginni and I are becoming buds.  Same with the dog. Progress.