On April 25th, Italians celebrate their freedom from the Nazis. By celebration, I mean food and family. For us American students, family means the Italian friends we've made and food means pasta. We gathered together at a friends country home in the hills of Tuscania for Spaghetti con frutti di mare (muscles and baby shrimp).
Our original plan was to conclude the evening on the beach with a falò, bonfire (not to be confused with fallo, pronounced deceptively similar), but our idea was squelched by the tramontana north wind ever plaguing the area this time of year.
Spiaggia di Tarquinia The Beach in Tarquinia
Regardless, It was therapy to my Southern California soul to smell the salt air and hear waves, no matter how piddly they were.
Mia Famiglia Italia My Italian Family
Monday, April 28, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Monday April 14th 2008 ~ Reflections written on a park bench
A soft Spring breeze touches my arms with a slight coolness, ruffling the pages of the Bible open on my lap. The pungent smell of freshly trimmed grass arrests my nose. A gravelly old voice drifts over the park as its owner walks steadily on the path, discoursing with his companion, probably about yesterday's election. I've lost count of the rounds they made. What a glorious day to be class free and in Italy.
I found it hard to untangle myself from the pudgey covers and plot of my book this morning after I had settled back into bed when breakfast was over. The lure of a peaceful Spring day compelled me out of Sierra's fictional world and into the shower. Slipping my bare feet into the straps of sandals mom had brought me, I reveled in the fact that I could pull on capris and a short sleeve blouse.
A tour group has just piled into the opposite end of the park, admiring the stunning valley below San Pietro. Mr. Mower can't be inconvenienced by the newcomers and continues to noisily cut the green spaces down to size. A group of young men are forced to roll out of comfortable formation on the lawn as the machine rumbles close to their backs, flinging mulch into the conversation.
Large marshmallow clouds have seemingly appeared out of nowhere, creeping stealthily into the azure landscape above me; however, such pure fluff is anything but threatening. I'm hoping some of the sun's golden rays will choose to linger in my darkening tresses.
at 7:24 AM