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Of course there was drama.

My friend Marta and I decided to get the heck out of dodge as this heatwave is one of the worst on record.  There are no signs of relief.  I understand week or so with these kind of temperatures.  It is, after all, July in Rome.  However, an entire month of highs in the 90s and low 100s is not a good thing.

Did I mention that I don’t have air conditioning? I cannot keep my windows open at night as my pretty side street is filled with demonstrative high school Italian students, and drunk American exchange students until dawn.

I’m waking up at 4:00 a.m. as it’s impossible to sleep.  One of my clients is started a major construction project this week so I cannot work remotely in the mountains or at the beach as some friends have suggested.

All this say Marta and I were READY to get out of here on Saturday but alas, Trenitalia had other plans for us.

It was one of those classic only in Italy moments.  The train was on time but then got stuck on the track just a few yards away from Termini Station.  There was something wrong with the current.  We couldn’t get off the train as we were on the tracks.  There was no place to safely walk.  They worked on the train and tracks for TWO hours.  Mind you, the train ride to Fondi is an hour or so.

At last, the train returns to the station and that’s when all hell broke loose.  Folks were not happy.  One woman was going off on the police.  I thought if she were in the States they probably would’ve tased her, then arrested her.

It’s funny, when we on the train things were pretty calm.  While there was some muttering, “ma che cazzo sta dicendo” (but, what the fuck is he saying?) when the conductor walked through our car to give us updates, people kept reading or chatting with their friends instead of complaining.

They did have another train waiting for us, on a different track, right away.  Trenitalia employees handed out bottles of water, which I thought was a nice touch.

Finally, we were on our way.  Instead of waiting for the bus (at this point we were starving) we hopped into a taxi mini-van with several other women who were going to Sperlonga.  They had been on the same train as us. When we saw the beach, they started clapping.  We kept cracking up because the driver was having a super animated conversation.

In a bizarre way the timing worked out better for us.  We arrived in time for lunch.  The restaurant, Scylla, was on the north side of the Historic Center and we wanted to be on the south side beach.  To climb back and forth wouldn’t have made sense.  So we sat down, had a lovely lunch, and then braved the sun to walk up and over to the other side.

Everyone was snapping photos of this sign.

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I forgot all about the start to our day once we arrived.

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Still thinking about this dish.

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Sperlonga is a Blue Flag beach between Rome and Naples.

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Starting our climb back up to the Historic Center.  I have written about Tiberius’s ruins HERE. It’s a great day trip from Rome.

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A quick aperitivi in the main piazza before returning to Rome.  I didn’t want to leave the fresh air and cool breeze.

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Fantastic signage.

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The view from the bus stop.

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I cannot believe it’s Christmas 2014 already. Where did this year go?

In a sea filled with awful news (I really need to ease up on how much I watch and read everyday), it’s good to be reminded of joyous things.

Last Friday my friend, Gina, invited me to meet her, Rachel, and Elizabeth at their friend Alice’s holiday pop-up bakery.  Alice Is a food stylist and cook.  Her gingerbread cookies were delicious.  I wonder if it’s possible to order some during the off season.  I must investigate.

I loved the simple decorations, the Prosecco, and most importantly, sharing them with friends old and new.

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It’s not easy to be far away from my family during the holidays, but I feel very fortunate to be surrounded by an incredible group of friends.

Merry Christmas!!

 

Many people back in the States have asked me what I’m doing on Thursday.

I’m working.  Thanksgiving is an American holiday.

If I had an oven/kitchen/apartment bigger than a shoebox, I would host a Thanksgiving dinner but on Saturday (which is what the majority of expats do here).

My future apartment will have more space and I will entertain more.

In the meantime, I can admire these lovely plates that would be perfect for my Thanksgiving dinners.

For an informal table:

The Marbury Dinnerware Collection from Crate and Barrel.  You can put a charger underneath with more color or a pattern.

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The Charlotte Street Collection from Kate Spade.  I had to have at least one white plate with blue trim.

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The Eclectique Dinner plate from Williams-Sonoma.   It’s a pretty dish made in France.

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For a more formal table:

The Renaissance Collection by Wedgewood.    A classic.

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Anmut Platinum by Villeroy & Boch.   One word… elegant.

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The American Dinner plate by Hermès.    The blues are gorgeous.

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Hmmm, not seeing a lot of variety here.

I do appreciate china with flowers but for my table I tend to keep it simple because my floral arrangements are colorful.  Also, I like to mix and match my dinnerware.  Having plates in a similar color palette makes the table more cohesive.

For those who are celebrating, I hope you have a fantastic and Happy Thanksgiving.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wish I knew I how to do this.

Trust me, this is not a humblebrag.  You know when you ask someone how they’re doing and they reply, “BUSY!”?  Then they proceed to talk for twenty minutes about how busy they are?

I used to do the BUSY thing all the time when I lived in Los Angeles.  I broke out of that habit after living here a few years.  When Italians ask, “how are you?”, they really want to know.  It’s a conversation starter, not an opportunity to brag about how much work you do.  Nobody wants to hear that mess unless you are at a work conference or something.

While I have calmed down a bit since my big move, I still find myself feeling guilty for not working all the time.  I know there are people who never stop.  I did that during my Hollywood years but had nothing to show for it other than missed weddings back east, stress, and debt.

So I know I wasn’t healthy or happy during that time yet August in Rome continues to freak me out.  This week my vendors are closing up for the summer.  There is nothing I can do regarding deliveries, invoices, my projects, etc.

Last year when I went to Salina, I had a view like this,

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but I was constantly checking my emails and on the phone with my clients. However, that was in June.  August is another story.

In August I’m forced to slow down so why can’t I just chill the heck out without feeling guilty about it?  One of my favorite designers, Erin Gates of ELEMENTS OF STYLE, wrote a fantastic POST about the pressure we Americans put on ourselves to do it all.

It’s madness.  I told myself that this year would be different.   It’s not.  It’s only the 6th and instead of reveling in the summer, I want September to get here already.

My local caffe and many of my favorite restaurants are shutting down this week.  Only the places catering to tourists will be opened.  Most of my friends are gone and the rest are leaving next week.  Tumbleweeds will roll down Lungotevere.

I should try to follow my dad’s example.  He was an incredibly hard worker but he also knew how to relax.  He truly appreciated the little vacation and down time he had.  My mom also worked hard but NEVER relaxed.  Even on her days off from work she was going, going, going.  I used to think I was a combination of the two but no, I’m more like my mom.  There’s always something that must be done.

I have my own company.  You’d think I would be able to give myself a break and/or vacation.  No, instead I think if don’t burn the candle at both ends I won’t be able to succeed, which means I won’t be able to pay my rent, therefore I will end up living under the Ponte Sisto bridge.

Okay, this summer I am going to break the cycle, dammit!  I must do it for my mental, physical, and creative health.

We’ll see how the rest of the year shapes up as I start my quest to partake in the fine Italian tradition of Dolce Far Niente.

Any suggestions?

 

 

 

 

 

 

I can tell Spring is really here despite the cold (actually freezing) mornings and the rain. My allergies are on a different level this year.  I do not approve.

It’s Easter weekend.  When I was very young this meant a new Easter outfit.  We’re talking the full enchilada – dress, shoes, gloves, and a HAT!!!  This also meant going to an extra long Easter Sunday service but usually the coffee hour after (Methodists don’t play) was outstanding.

Like many of our other traditions, this one ended once we moved to the suburbs.  I know one reason was because I was getting older and nobody really dressed up for Easter in our suburb after a certain age.

Another reason for the change was cultural.  Our church in Verona was the complete opposite of our church in New York City.  Very few people in our town would wear an Aretha Franklin type hat to church.

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In the mid 70’s my parents’ friends and relatives starting fleeing the economically devastated and crime ridden City.  Everyone was so spread out.  No longer could we walk, take a cab, or just hop on the subway to visit.  Now there were long car rides to Westchester County, Long Island, Bergen County, etc.

Occasionally, we did make it back into the City.  One of my favorite signs of Spring were the tulips on Park Avenue.  Years later, after college and career number one, I finally made it back to my hometown and would walk up Park as soon as the tulips were in bloom.

Recently I’ve become much more nostalgic during the holidays.  I think it’s because I live so far away from my family.  My siblings now have their own traditions with their families and I don’t.

The forecast calls for rain tomorrow.  I will buy some tulips.

Buon weekend e Buona Pasqua!

Photo: New York City Department of Parks and Recreation

Yesterday the UN, and people all over the world, celebrated International Day of Happiness.

Given all the horrible things happening here on planet Earth, it would be very easy to shrug and think there’s nothing to be happy about.

Sometimes when I’m in a very good mood, I get a little freaked out.  Why am I in a good mood?  I should be cynical, depressed, and anxious.   It’s as if I have no right to be happy.   I meet a lot of expats in Rome.  Many are not happy and are suspicious of those who are.  Being happy is not “keeping it real.”  We end up fueling each others’ fire.

One of my dear friends said I should avoid miserable people.  Why get sucked into their constant negativity and pessimism?   True, we all have bad days, weeks, even months, but as I get older I find I have less patience for people who complain ALL the time but never do anything to change/improve their situation.

I tend to worry a lot, mostly about my future.  How will I pay my bills?  Will my business continue to grow?  Will I ever be fluent in Italian? Why is Drake so popular?   I lie awake at night and dwell on things I have no control over.  This is not healthy and I’m working on it.

When I’m happy it’s not because anything has really changed.  I still have the same bills, worries, and issues.  However, sometimes I do remember that I am extremely fortunate in ways that cannot be measured in dollars or euros.

It won’t be easy but I’m going to try my best to do the opposite of what I normally do, which is to worry and complain.

Another friend proclaimed that this was going to be a great year.  Based on what?  Nothing.  She believes it and therefore is going to do everything in her power to make it so.

I like the why she thinks.

Buon weekend!

(I adore this video.  I have to restrain myself from dancing when I hear this song while jogging.)

Seven years ago I traveled to Rome for the second time.

The first time was a revelation and I fell hard for this crazy city.  It didn’t make sense.  Nobody in my family is Italian and I was not an Italophile by any stretch.

I loved London, Paris, and Amsterdam.  When I was in junior high and high school I just KNEW I would live in Paris or London one day.   I wasn’t thinking about Rome or Italy despite living in a town called Verona .

I thought maybe I had responded to Rome that way because of what was, or wasn’t, going on in my life at that moment.   I had to find out why that one trip had unsettled me so much.

I returned the following year and took a short trip to Florence and Positano.

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The view from my terrace.

It was a pain in the butt to get from Rome to Positano.  First the train to Naples (not bad), then the train to Sorrento (an hour on a local train with many stops), and then finally a bus to Positano.

I walked down the steep hill, followed by a million steps, to reach my hotel.  Once I stepped into the room and opened the large French doors, I saw that view.   My heart skipped a beat.  It was so beautiful it felt unreal, like a movie set.

There is a great hiking trail/path way up in the mountains, Sentiero degli Dei/Path of the Gods.  Early one morning, I went up the mountain.

It was quiet. I saw two German tourists hiking and that was it.  For the first time in years, my mind wasn’t racing a mile a minute, overwhelmed by the things I had not accomplished.

That walk changed everything.

I realized I had to make some serious changes in my life for my mental and physical health.  I wasn’t sure how at that time.

Eventually, I figured it out and moved to Italy two years later.

Buon weekend!

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