recent events

Danny played in the regional youth basketball tournament last Saturday. He was so thrilled to have been chosen to play, only half of his class group was allowed to participate. And they won four games out of four! They even got a real plastic medal for their efforts! It was a big experience for him. He is also loving his flute lessons. He actually plays a recorder - they call it "straight flute" in Italian.

Our local pro basketball team made it to the playoff finals and have won the first two games. They have to win three out of five games to win the championship. Forza Virtus!

Gabri was invited to his friend Lara's house this afternoon. They sit together at school (first grade). Lara apparently has a crush on Gabri. She told him that he was a "giant Oro-ciok" - which is her favourite kind of chocolate covered cookie. That really cracked me up! I mean, that has to be a BIG compliment coming from a 6-year old! Her mother tells me that the date for Lara's birthday party depends on Gabri's availability . . . she wanted to know when we were leaving for the States so she could plan the party!!! She suggested either the 10th or 14th of June and I said that she had better make it the 14th (hey, that's MY birthday, now that I think of it!) because we will celebrate Danny's birthday on the 10th! Gabri says he likes Lara, but he doesn't LOVE her. They are very cute . . .

We are bogged down in house details . . . we spent 3 and a half hours last Saturday choosing and ordering tiles for our kitchen and bathrooms. We actually only finished working out the kitchen and a bathroom and a half in that time. This Saturday will be wasted on finishing the other bathroom and a half. Then maybe we will change the kitchen completely, so all that work will get thrown out of the window. I do not have patience with this kind of thing. Yes, I want my house to be nice . . . but the details drive me crazy! I think it's a good thing that I am going away this summer. Poor Francesco, left to deal with it all, but at least he won't also have to deal with me on the verge of a nervous breakdown!

Which reminds me, Francesco and I went out to the movies Monday night and saw "Volver" by Almodovar (who also made the movie "Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown"). I enjoyed it very much. No car chases, no explosions, very nice. Sunday night I went out with my friend, Svetlana, to see "The Da Vinci Code," which I did NOT enjoy. I did NOT enjoy the book either, I thought the writing was abominable!!!, but I hoped that they would have improved it in the movie version. Wrong . . . it was identical to the book, but with less attention paid to the theories (which were the only interesting part of the book, IMHO). Too many murders, car chases, albinos jumping out from stage right . . . bleh.

Danny the flautist

My older son Danny (soon to be 9) has been going to musictherapy classes since January. He is not autistic, or dysfunctional or any of the things I've seen musictherapy recommended for. He's just rather high-strung and has had a hard time dealing with his emotions. His MO was to be generally rather explosive and verbally abusive to those around him. Anyway, we have been going to musictherapy sessions and making all kinds of progress. I can't say enough about the people at the school were we have been going. They love music, children and what they do. And they communicate all that to the kids. Danny has had no idea that he was going to "musictherapy," he just thinks that that's what you do at music school.

Anyway, last Thursday the teachers announced that they think Danny is ready to leave off musictherapy and take up an instrument. He was happy and excited to hear this. They asked him to choose between voice, piano or guitar. So, he chose . . . flute! He has a friend who studies flute at this school - he is the only student of flute at this school - but now Danny will be the second one. I was really surprised because Danny loves improvising songs and often sang his songs as part of our musictherapy sessions, so I was sure he would have said voice.

In any case, I don't care what instrument he chooses. The important thing is that he has an idea and wants to go ahead with it. I'll keep you posted on his progress!

First Day of Summer

Today is the first day of summer. No, I know the calendars don't say so, nor do my children who still have to go to school till June 9, nor does my work schedule which goes on through June . . . but it's the first day of summer for me.

Yesterday a hot scirocco wind blew in and changed the weather completely. We had been having temperate days of about 25° celsius. Long sleeves with a light jacket, or no jacket at midday, were working fine. Other people had broken out the short sleeves, but I wasn't convinced yet . . . And then, all of a sudden, badaboom (as they say here) the heat arrived. It must have been around 35° yesterday and today.

However, what makes it really summer is that today I went to the beach. I only live 2 blocks from the beach, so you could argue that I'm always at the beach. But I mean that I went to the beach, stripped down to my bikini, lay on a beach towel, applied suntan lotion and . . . most importantly, went for a swim in the sea. Two swims, actually! The water was cold getting in, but once I swam around a bit it felt just right. And it was clean. That's not a given around here. We often have algae, or garbage, or nonspecific sludge, or foamy white bubbles that float on the top of the water. Anyway, it was exhilirating!

It happens this way every year. You don't get enough time to get used to going out without your winter coat before it's suddenly too hot. Last night I finally took the fleece blanket off the bed . . . and today we turned on the air-conditioner!

Lina

Lina is the "cleaning lady" who has been working for my husband's family for at least the past 41 years. Francesco's first memory of her dates back to when he was five years old and went to answer the door with his sister F., who was seven at the time. He remembers the horror he felt when they opened the door and a real live witch was standing on the threshold! I don't know what she looked like 41 years ago, but if you looked at her today, you would get the same impression that he got back then. I have seen pictures of her from 25 years ago and she does look more or less the same as now . . .

Anyway, Lina is a poor, unfortunate soul. She was born into a poor and ignorant family who have never done anything but treat her badly and take advantage of her. She may have gone to school through 3rd grade, but I doubt it. She is able to pick out words, letter by letter, but I have never seen her write anything. She can't speak Italian, nor can she speak the local dialect. She speaks her own mixed-up version of a little bit of both with her own nonsensical original inventions. Francesco calls it Lina-esque. She is nosy, she's a gossip, she has to butt into everything and constantly bothers everyone with her annoying ways. She doesn't know how to behave appropriately, ever. She constantly fights with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law. She even smells bad, really bad.

So, why has she been part of my husbands' family for practically forever? Well, because for many years my mil took her on as a sort of project. She kept thinking that she could explain things to her, teach her better manners, refine her somehow. But, the years went by and no dent was made in the Lina-ness of Lina. She has been sent away a hundred times, but a hundred times she has returned. The thing is that she loves Francesco's family -- deeply, intensely. She worships my mother-in-law and is jealous of any other hired help that ever comes along. When she has been sent away, she threatens to jump off a bridge or in front of a train in desperation.

And then, by now she is a part of the family history. Francesco has so many memories that include her. Sometimes in elementary school, some bullies would chase him home teasing and threatening him (why this happened is another long story involving his psychotic teacher). Lina would run out of the apartment building and whack the kids in the head to chase them away! Then when he was in high school, his house backed up against the school's courtyard. Lina would make fresh focaccia every morning and pass it down to him, in a basket that hung down from the balcony on a string, for his mid-morning snack . . . Over the years they have developed a sort of begrudging affection for her, despite her many defects.

And if you know something about her life story, you can't help but feel sorry for her . . . When she was young, her family decided that it was time she got married and moved out of the house, so they "arranged" a marriage for her. What that entailed was her sister sent her down into the basement, then sent down her chosen "groom" (chosen by the family, Lina had no say in the matter) and then locked the door. The guy then proceeded to rape Lina, who couldn't do much about it being locked in the basement with no one upstairs who had any intention of coming to help her . . . which sealed the deal. Back then (we're talking about 50 years ago) once a man and woman of a certain social class had sex, whether it was consentual or not, they were considered man and wife and there was little to nothing the woman could do about. That was her husband, like it or not.

So, Lina was married and went to live with her new husband. One fine day, her husband came home with another young lady. He told Lina that this girl was all alone in the world, had nowhere to live and so they had to take her in. Of course, since there was only one bed in the miserable room they lived in, the girl had to sleep in the bed with them. One night Lina woke up to sounds she recognised for what they were -- to her outrage the girl and her husband were fast at it! Well, Lina, being nobody's fool, ran straight out of the house and down to the local Carabiniere station and had her husband thrown in jail for adultery! Of course, that doesn't mean he didn't come back home once he got out . . .

Then there's the very sad story of Lina's baby. Lina got pregnant (see the husband was still around) and after the usual amount of time, went to the hospital to give birth. Delivery was what delivery is . . . and a baby boy was born. The next day the nurse told Lina that her baby boy had died, so Lina went home alone. Alone, but with a great doubt . . . and if the baby hadn't really died? And if it was all just a plot and really the hospital had been in cohorts with the doctor whose house Lina cleaned at the time and really the baby had been perfectly healthy and they just told her it was dead, while in the meantime they had sold him to another family??? Lina firmly believes this version of the events to this day. Why is she so sure? Because they never showed her the dead baby. So, how can she know he really died? I don't know what local hospital policy was way back then, but maybe they never showed dead babies to the family. Francesco and his family say the theory is possible, but not probable.

Another day I'll have to write about how her family has continued to torment her through the years.

Mother's Day

My Mother's Day actually started on Saturday. When the boys got home from school they couldn't wait to present me with their school projects. Danny recited a very nice poem. The thing that was really nice about that was the way he got all emotional about saying it to me and then covered me with hugs and kisses while blushing. Aw, whatta sweetie. He had also made a small ceramic plate with raised roses and leaves. He said that he set the mold and painted the plate with glue so that the paint would stick on, but that the teachers had actually painted the roses. Very honest, no taking credit where it's not due! Gabri didn't remember his poem (as usual), but very proudly presented me with a recipe book that they had all made in class. It's not the gifts that really mean anything to me, but the emotion with which they give them to me that makes me feel loved!

On Sunday, we went out to lunch with F's sister, her two daughters, his mother and his mother's live-in companion (a Polish lady named Margherita, or the Polish version of it!). We went to the stables, or what used to be the stables. They don't keep other people's horses now, but have thrown all their energy into being a sort of agriturism restaurant. It's a very lovely place. We ate outside on an enormous green lawn (such a rare thing in this part of Italy). Danny found a gang of kids to play soccer with and Gabri made friends with the little boy at the next table, so they were happy. We had good food and everyone was in a good mood, so the day was a success. It's funny for me to go there and see the changes in the place. I taught English to their 3 kids and some other kids there one summer about 12 years ago. The daughter was 5 years old then . . . so, obviously, she's grown . . . Makes me wonder what my boys will be like when they're older.

Then in the evening we went to see the local basketball team play. They are in the playoffs now. We have become big fans since Danny started playing basketball - his coaches are players on the team - and never miss a home game. We hope that they'll win because if they do they will be promoted to B2, the next level up. I don't quite understand the organisation of Italian sports, they have various series. Ok, so I'm not up on the technicalities of US sports either, but I seem to remember that there are larger divisions, like the pros and the semi-pros, the major and the minor leagues . . . Whereas here there seem to be infinite divisions A1, A2, B1, B2, C1, C2, C3, D1, D2, Promotion, etc. Anyway, from my rather vague grasp of the matter, I do understand that moving up is a good thing and moving down is bad. So, I hope we make it to B2. If only to make Danny happy . . .

Illustrious guests

So, the other day, just when I had organised for the babysitter to keep the boys all afternoon so I could plug away at this gigantic translation that I will never get finished on time . . . Francesco says "Ylljet is coming to Bari this afternoon with his wife and wants to come over to visit us." Oh great, my productive afternoon disappeared just like that - poof! Not that I wasn't happy at the thought of seeing Ylljet again. He is a great guy and, apparently, has had success as a writer of short stories since we last met. It's just that I get my brain all set on a particular course and when things get derailed it takes me a couple of minutes to reorganise . . . I don't think I'm rigid or limited or anything miserable like that. I just need the time to say, oh, okay, things are going to be different than I thought they were . . . ok . . . new plan!

Anyway, Ylljet Alickaj is a very nice Albanian man who we met several years ago while Francesco and his brother (Gaetano, the painter/sculptor) were organising an Italian-Albanian art exhibit (called Radio Tirana Fax) in Tirana. I don't know exactly how the contact was made, but Ylljet was briefly the Albanian Minister of Culture (maybe around 1997) and so was no doubt involved in cultural stuff in general. Since then we have kept in touch and he has come to visit us several times, for work or when just passing through. He has published a few books of short stories and a film was made based on one of his stories. The film was called Slogans and was a French-Albanian production. It apparently won an award at Cannes! His most recent book is called "I Compagni di Pietra" ("Stone Comrades" in English, don't ask me the original title in Albanian!) and it seems that another film is going to be made based on one of the stories in this book. He's hoping to make some money this time, because the French producer of Slogans had him sign away his rights and he has earned nothing from it.

We had a nice visit -- I spent the whole afternoon cleaning the house and making a chocolate cake for them. But, it was worth it because they are extremely pleasant and interesting people and it was a pleasure to spend some time with them. In the evening they flew off to Germany where Ylljet was invited to speak at a library (or book fair?) about "Stone Comrades."

Some day I'll get around to my translation . . . :-)

work

I don't like to write about my work, because I don't really even like to think about it. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, I love teaching English to Italian university students. It's fun and challenging and I feel I do it well, so it's generally satisfying. It's not the job itself that's the problem. It's all the stuff around the actual teaching that drives me nuts. Well, not literally, and I do want to make that specifically clear, because there are a lot of my colleagues who are actually nuts! We can ponder the age-old question of the chicken and the egg . . . were they already nuts before they got into teaching at the university -- hence the hypothesis would be that EFL university teaching posts attract the mentally unstable . . . or did working in the Italian university system drive them nuts -- hence the hypothesis that the system itself is inherently destabilising? I would propose the idea that many language teachers are, shall we say, "different." Perhaps more sensitive souls? And, in any case, I do think that if a person chooses of their own free will to abandon their own country and immerse themselves in the life and culture of another country, perhaps they didn't feel quite at home when they were "at home" in their native country. Or perhaps I'm just reading too much into it all and really those of us who teach abroad are just looking for a bit of adventure and then somehow get stuck where we are. Most of the foreigners I know here have gotten "stuck" through involvement in a romantic relationship with a local. That's my story, although I will admit to a bit of my other proposals being true for me as well . . .

All that to work up to talking about work (see, I really don't want to do it!). Anyway, there's a chance that I may be teaching in the second year "Intermediazione" course next year. The professor who's going to lead the course has asked me to come with her and I am ready for a change. I've been teaching first year for just about forever, it seems. So, a change would be welcome. However, as much as this professor wants me to come with her (and has asked me to choose my course books, etc.) she can't actually tell me if I will be working with her in the second year or not. Not yet. Because, she is really only a researcher who will be taking on the role of a professor next year - and therefore the responsibilities - but since she isn't actually a real professor, she doesn't have the political clout to say "I want Sara to work with me and that's that!" She can only express a preference and the real professors will decide the bottom line. Well, at least she gets to express a preference. We language teachers are just shuffled around like so many cards at the whim of the great professors!

This is only one minor example of many, many that I could use to illustrate what I don't like about my job. There are many other, far more important issues involved that I really don't have the heart to get into. Not now, anyway. But, just imagine from this little example what it must be like to work for years and years in a place where you have no say, no control over so many aspects of your work, a miserable paycheck, you are ignored, talked down to and treated like a nothing, etc, etc. . . . and then rethink the chicken and egg quandry I mentioned before.

Busy, busy, busy

I have been so busy lately . . . I have a big translation job that I'm doing now. It's really big and I have to finish by June 10 and I'm not sure how I'm going to make it! At least it's interesting: it's a bunch of information sheets on the Maremma area near Siena. I'm learning more than I ever wanted to know about the area! That's the thing I like about translating - you always learn something new. Then you might forget it the next day, but at least your brain was thinking about something different for a while. I think general concepts remain, although I am no good at remembering details!

I also have my job at the university, plus the housework, cooking, running the kids around. Truly there is never a moment of pause. Sometimes I marvel when I think back to the days when I had SO MUCH time on my hands. I used to lie on the bed and stare at the wall and just think . . . and I didn't even feel one little bit guilty about it! WOW, that seems so decadent now. I think motherhood is to blame. One child fills up your day with things to do . . . two even more so. I have noticed that the more you have to do, the more you get done!

I tried to add a picture here, but to no avail. Will have to ask Francesco to help, he's the computer expert. He can do everything with computers . . . if he doesn't know how, he finds out how! I'm very computer illiterate compared to him. Unfortunately, he's busy, busy, busy, too, following the work on our new house. I barely see him an hour at lunch and briefly in the evening . . .

Physical Fitness

Well, so much for my resolution to write more often! What's that saying . . . about good intentions paving the road to hell? Hmm . . .

Anyway! My burning passion recently has been physical fitness, or better, getting back into shape, or even BETTER, getting back into my clothes that don't quite fit anymore . . . well, I can squeeze myself into some of them, but they don't look the way I would like them to! But seriously, after the five weeks I spent in bed this winter with pneumonia, I was really out of shape!

I love to run and have been doing body-building this past year at the gym. Ok, now you're wondering - what is this 40-something couch potato doing picking up body-building at this late stage in the game? And well you might ask, especially considering that I have never been what you would call the athletic type. I tried swimming in junior high, but wasn't very good at it. After that there was a long stretch of complete inactivity until I started running (jogging is more like it) at around age 30, but I was never very consistent about it. There was one spring about 10 years ago when Francesco and I did a lot of biking around Puglia . . . but that's about it.

Then, last year my younger son, Gabri, took up Taikwondo. He has it 3 times a week for an hour and last year his hour followed another hour of watching Danny play basketball. Two hours of doing nothing was just too boring, so I started going to the gym downstairs from Taekwondo to kill time. At first, I just did what they call CardioFitness, which means running on a treadmill, pedaling on a stationary bike, climbing the stair machine, etc. Then I slowly started using a few weight machines, doing what they call just plain old Fitness. And I started to like it, but if something else came up in that hour I felt no remorse about skipping the gym.

Last fall when we started back with the Taekwondo/gym routine they gave me a form to fill out asking what my goals were in the gym and I chose "muscle definition" as my option. Little did I know what I had got myself into! Suddenly I was thrust into the world of body-building! My workout program changed radically, the machines and exercises were completely different and . . . . I liked it! Now, I'm completely addicted . . . I never miss a day and if I can squeeze in an extra day, I do! I haven't seen any great change in my body -- don't expect to see me all muscle-bound or anything -- but I really enjoy the workout. I also like the personal attention from the trainers who follow you around and help you if you can't finish a series of repetitions. And NO! they're not cute! One is an ex-boxer who miraculously survived a terrible car crash and has black teeth! The other is bald with Dumbo floppy ears! But they are both nice guys and give me support while I'm working out.

Then there's running . . . it's something I really enjoy. When I do it well, I mean when I can run and feel strong in my legs and lungs, it's the best feeling in the world. My running experience has been revolutionized since I bought an MP3 player. It is teeny tiny and has a clip on it, so I can clip it to my pants while I jog. Running to music is a completely different experience than running without . . . you can run to the rhythm! I have worked back up to 5 kilometres (at first, after I was sick, I could only run a couple of blocks at a time) four times a week and am happy with that for the meantime. Last year I was running 9.5 kilometres, but my knees started to hurt.

When people ask me why I do body-building I always talk about the history of osteoporosis in my family. I also have scoliosis, so anything that helps to strengthen my bones is welcome. But, it's really so much more than that. How can I explain the satisfaction of being able to lift more weight this time than I did the last time? It's just nice to feel physically fit!