In Love with France, At Home In Italy

"Catching up with myself": This is what I once answered to an incredulous interlocutor who asked some version of, "well it's all well and good to live out there in middle-of-nowhere Italian paradise, but what do you actually DO there?" Not one ever to get bored (thanks to my busy head), I had to think for a minute about how to respond. That's when the "I'm catching up with myself" popped out. That kind of made sense to the high-powered, sempre-busy Ivy League colleague who posed the question. To catch up with oneself would probably be a pipe dream for anyone who lives and works at our university. And when I return there after having taken baby steps toward my catching-up goal, I happily climb back on my work treadmill and put my nose to the grindstone. Of course it doesn't hurt to be surrounded by challenging bright young minds who figured they'd caught up with themselves just by being accepted to the school of

Maybe this doesn't even need an explanation. Could these photos of nature's own dryer be enough? Even though our Italian washing machine made by the CANDY company has a glass window on it, I still can't fathom what could be going on in there for the many hours it takes to do a load of laundry. But I'm not going to complain. First, nobody forced me to move to the home of the Slow-Food Movement. Secondly, regardless of what that washer is doing, the clothes come out cleaner than in a speedy American machine. We did take the precaution of buying a machine here that has a so-called Ciclo Rapido/Fast setting. But given all the restrictions of what that fast cycle will and won't do, you can tell that their heart was not in it. Anyone in too much of a hurry can NOT expect to put in a full load of anything. Furthermore, you're not going to get the 1000 giri fast-spin that leaves the clothes nearly dry. And no temperature selecti

This was the year of my 50th high school reunion. A milestone? Maybe. But nothing compared to what I found waiting for me in my Italy sock drawer. I admit to getting in a total dither whenever a transition looms, and this departure was worse than usual, since we were, for the first time, hoping to rent our house. This required clearing drawers and closets, as well as the usual packing frenzy. To soothe myself and have the illusion of being prepared to leave, well in advance, I set out my travel uniform: Magic flying shirt that keeps the plane aloft? Check! My No-Jet-Lag homeopathic remedy that keeps me copacetic even in the face of my suspicion that, given all that we are bringing, no airplane could ever get off the ground? Check! Perhaps I should explain. Airplanes, even without my stuff, are very heavy, and it's beyond me how they stay up. I recall in 7th grade General Science class making a diagram of an airplane wing with little arrows going ov