In Love with France, At Home In Italy

This is the weirdest kind of fan letter, but I know that you will understand. How many times have I read book reviews in the New York Times that made me want to run right out and read the book, yet I never follow up on it? Well, this time started out as only a minor exception. I was cautious. I asked the library to buy the book so I could see if my instinct that we were meant for each other was right. As a so-called writing expert and specialist in French literature, I do not give my writing heart up to just anyone. But the evidence that you might be the one was there. As I think back to that article I'm trying to recall just what it was that snared me. Was it the lavender? I never actually thought I'd like its scent, but now that I have become a newborn in Italy, I have a special relationship with this flower whose relaxing and sleep-inducing properties I have come to appreciate. Or was it all of those references to Marcel Proust? Well he and I have had a thorny relat...

While visiting our old friends B and L for the first time in a long while, I found myself taking a fresh look around. The sheer amount of STUFF everywhere, as beautiful and interesting as it may have been, felt oppressing. I was reminded about how frightening I find the idea of divesting myself of the stuff in my house and office, poised as I am on the cusp of some big life changes. L and I looked through thousands of her photos and she was eager for me to choose some that she would print up for me. There were many beautiful ones, but the sheer quantity of it all was overwhelming. I am trying to understand what it would feel like to produce so many pieces of art in various media without a plan for them to find a home. It's true that we rightly teach kids to value "process over product," but still... I hold back from acquiring more things because to add to my stash reminds me that I am on the wrong side of the life cycle. Unlike many people who enjoy buying new ...

DEAF SENTENCE COMMUTED? This next posting on deafness has a “prequel” that involves my gorgeous mother-in-law who, even at 91, still looked like a million bucks. But as for her hearing, that started to go long before any of her other faculties. Despite her quite perfect figure (she worked out at the gym regularly, well into her 80’s), one of her most endearing characteristics was her lifelong enthusiasm for food. One summer when she was visiting us at the Squam Lake bungalow we rented for many years, we were sitting around the dinner table chowing down on burgers when my husband and son mumbled something to each other that she could not hear. That was well before she had reluctantly agreed to having her hearing tested. In attempting to smooth over the situation, I piped up with something that was true: “I also have trouble hearing the TIMBRE of their voice.” She brightened right up, and quipped, “What? More hamburger?” We all laughed, her included, and from that moment, whe...

This posting should come under the heading of "Unmentionables." I've been sitting on it since my first encounter with an Italian toilet, which means many flushes ago. Most of us are creatures of habit who have been using a toilet for quite a while. But Italian toilets hold many pitfalls for unsuspecting Americans. They require a certain flexibility of position that does not come easily to everyone. There is a definite learning curve to using them. This being Italy, where style is king, Italian toilets come in many different designs. Regardless of the toilet's shape or style (the one our son and daughter-in-law chose is actually square--perfect for those with square posteriors), the Italian toilet requires the successful user to adapt to a position that may well be unfamiliar. The leaning-back-to-rest-on-your-laurels approach is NOT going to work. Have a square posterior? No problem! Yes, here in Italy, we have designer toilets that cater to all shapes and size...

I will be heading back to the States soon to start another academic year. How do I know this? I have two pillboxes that I fill at the same time, which in this timeless place, is a reminder of what day of the week it is. Having just found one of these conveniently labeled pillboxes empty, I know that today is Monday, and that on Saturday I will be heading back to one of my other countries. So the Countdown to that transition has begun. On the theme of time flying, my college roommate and friend for almost 5 decades just turned 65, which must mean that I am not the spring chicken I like to think I am. Even the letters are wearing out on this poor old pillbox. Fortunately they are raised, so that even after my eyes go, I will be able to tell what day it is. My original Mephisto sandals that have been worn day in and day out in every season, however, look even worse. But they are tough customers, having been rebuilt several times and survived having the main strap eaten by my dog...

A TWIST ON THE PROUST QUESTIONNAIRE Q:What's your favorite Italian purchase? A:My beaded curtain To me, this looks like a shimmering veil of Jujubes. And if you are too young to know what a Jujube candy is, even though I only like to imagine myself a Principessa, your teeth probably have far fewer crowns than mine. My friend who is married to an Italian and who heads Italian Language Program where I teach said she loved this photo because "it SCREAMS Italy." Q:How do you spend your time in the Umbrian countryside? A:Cupping bugs with a plastic Michelin cup and a postcard from one of my French students.(see July post, "Jiminy Cricket No Longer Lives Here") Q:We understand that you write a blog called “In Love with France, At Home in Italy.” What is your work station like? A.We invested in some beautiful old furniture well before our former ruin was renovated. At the dealer’s, I was looking with curiosity at an old, iron, mirrored wash stand that was mi...

"How many languages does he speak?", she gushes, admiringly, as if this were a matter of the Foreign Language Fairy Godmother waving her magic wand and intoning, in her own inscrutable language, "bibbity, bobbity, boo!" The true answer: "he speaks a number of them, none very correctly, but nobody seems to mind, especially not here in Italy." I am going to stick my neck out and say something outrageous like, "some people have the foreign language-learning gene, while others do not." Now that could be high sacrilege, coming as it does from a French prof. who has been reinventing herself as an Italian. But I am not suggesting that to be missing that gene condemns anyone to befuddlement. That is entirely up to the would-be speaker. The foreign-language gene can only get you so far. To speak a new language takes a willingness to risk making mistakes and the energy and discipline to observe and mimic native speakers, to read and watch even the ...