The Hills Were Alive....With Three Canadian Women

     Recently two wonderful friends came to visit.  Neither had been to Italy before.  Our days were filled with fun and joy.  The joy of just being together, and the joy of making memories together.  There is nothing like laughing with girlfriends.  I will never forget the night that we were returning home very late and as we walked along the Arno we laughed so hard that, well lets just say I was very glad that I had previously had "that 15 minute operation".  Those of you that have had children know the operation that I mean.  

     As part of our adventure together we bravely rented a car and headed out to the countryside.  Brave because Italian drivers can be a little crazy by North American standards, and even braver because I forgot my glasses at home.  I drove, only being able to see about 10 feet past the nose of the car, Brenda was in charge of reading the signs that I could not see, and Cathy was in charge of following the little blue dot on her IPhone map application.  Blue has become my new favourite colour.  Never have I sung the praises of technology as I did on this trip, especially as we were at times going around in circles in a roundabout not quite sure which exit to take.  That glorious little blue dot saved us from being "officially" lost on more then one occasion.

     First stop on the trip was the beautiful winery Vignamaggio.  While the 400 acre estate is spectacularly beautiful with its manicured gardens and views overlooking the hills of Tuscany, it is also fraught with history.  Leonardo da Vinci grew up just a few miles from the estate, and Monna Lisa was born at Vignamaggio in 1479.  

     I was looking forward to returning to this winery as it produces delicious olive oil.  When we arrived, we were disappointed to find out that it was closed until the beginning of April.  Determined to get my olive oil, Libby and I set out to find someone on the grounds.  I figured that with a winery of this size someone had to be around.  Leaving my friends in the car, I ventured out on a mission to secure olive oil.  Sometimes determination pays off.  I did indeed find an employee who warmly greeted me.  After informing me that the winery and estate was closed, he told me that we were free to wander the grounds if we wanted.  I told him that what I really wanted was some of their magnificent olive oil; of course with a big smile on my face and batting my eyelashes.  A girl has to do what a girl has to do to get her olive oil.  Oh, how Italian men like to please women.  Off to the warehouse he went to get me olive oil.

               

     Mission accomplished, we set out for Cortona for an Under the Tuscan Sun experience.  Driving through the hills of Tuscany was a much different experience for me, compared to my last trip three summers ago.  This time the air was crisp, the sunflowers had not yet broken ground and the grapevines were still laying dormant.  Still with every twist in the road one was greeted with scenery, well that movies are made from.  

  

     Cortona was quiet this time of year.  The outdoor cafes were not yet set up, and the streets felt as though something was missing without the energy of all the tourists.  Many of the shops had not yet opened up for the season, but Snoopy's was open.  Snoopy's was where Liz, the kids and I indulged ourselves once, sometimes twice a day, with scrumptiously creamy gelato when we were last in Cortona.  On the hot summer days we would enjoy our gelato, while sitting on the steps and watching the people go by.  We would call it "our moment".  The "moment" didn't quite feel the same without them.  I was reminded that some moments are special, and forever treasured, not so much because of the place but because of the people that you shared them with.    

Preview

            

     I enjoyed showing my friends the buildings that they had become so familiar with from watching Under The Tuscan Sun.  I don't know a woman that hasn't watched that movie at least three times.  A movie that women have a strong connection with, not because they have delusions of renovating a villa in Tuscany, but because it reminds us that inherent in being a woman is being a survivor, that we are often stronger then we give ourselves credit for, and that we can rebuild our lives after experiencing great turmoil and find happiness again.  Women are drawn to this movie because it celebrates the rebirth of a woman's life, after choosing to not stay broken after experiencing heartache.           

     Our day's journey ended with me driving my friends to Francis Mayes' actual villa.  While her life story is actually quite different from the movie, her villa has nevertheless become a symbol of rebirth and happiness to come for the throngs of women that drive by every year.  I was having trouble finding it.  I knew there was a turn that I had to take, but I just could not remember exactly where it was.  As I was driving slowly I pulled over so that the car behind me could pass.  It turned out to be a police car and it pulled up beside us.  I explained to the very dashing officer that we were three Canadian women lost and looking for the villa of Francis Mayes.  Only in Italy would you get a friendly police escort.  

      

     When we returned to the apartment after our day in the hills of Tuscany, we savoured a glass of red wine just as we had savoured every moment of our day together.  A day that celebrated being a woman, being a survivor, our strength, the power of friendship and the rebuilding of our lives.  While it is unlikely that any of us will be renovating a villa in the future, we are certain that our future will bring happiness because we have been brave enough to dream and even braver to take steps to make our dreams a reality.   

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Laundry Karma????

     I am not sure if there is such a thing as laundry karma, but I am sure feeling like it has bit me in the ass.  

     When I lived in Canada my friends use to sing the praises of hanging their laundry on the line to dry.  I heard all about how it was better for the environment, how the sun naturally brightened their whites and they went on and on about how fresh their clothes smelled.  While they were professing the benefits of hanging their clothes on what I perceived (and verbalized quite openly) was a tacky clothes line, I was professing how the days of "Little House on the Prairie" were gone and how I liked my warm and fluffy clothes out of my $2000 high tech dryer just fine.  Truth be told, I would call my friends in jest a few not so nice names related to them hanging clothes on the line, but at least I did it to their faces.  Subtlety is not one of my strong suits.  On many occasions I have stated that hell would freeze over before I would get a clothes line.  Well, Florence did have the worst snow storm this past winter that it has had in 25 years.  Does that count?

     While I had been taking my clothes to the laundromat, I finally decided to cross over to the dark side and wash my clothes with an Italian washing machine and yes, hang them out to dry on a line.  I am sure a few of my friends back in Canada are picking themselves up off the floor laughing right about now.

     First step was to figure how to use the machine.  Washing machines here tend to be very small, but I am told are more efficient than North American machines.  They also tend to be in the weirdest of spots, like under a stove or beside the dishwasher.  No laundry rooms here.  There is a better chance of finding the washing machine outside, then for a home to have a laundry room like we are use to having in Canada. 

     Clothes loaded in the machine, soap in the dispenser, the only thing left to do was to pick the cycle and then turn it on.  That is where my Italian clothes washing experience went downhill, and downhill fast.  Very quickly I realized that it was not going to be as simple as turning a dial to a cycle.  There were multiple buttons and two dials.  The buttons had words under them so I was able to easily google what they meant.  The one dial I could tell was for water temperature, but the other dial had letters.  How on earth would I figure out what they meant?  I decided to go ask a neighbour that I knew spoke english.  Her washing machine had numbers instead of letters.  She did tell me that it was important to figure it out as there is a cycle that can last 90 minutes, and with the cost of electricity here you would not want that.  Back to my apartment I went, feeling frustrated.  

     I sat down in front of the machine on a chair staring at it, as if it would somehow talk to me and tell me what to do.  While the machine did not talk to me, I did find myself talking to it saying with conviction...."I am a highly educated and intelligent woman, I am going to figure you out".  Okay there might of been a bad word or two in there too.  Then it came to me.  I had an epiphany.  I got my computer and googled Italian washing machines.  Sure enough there was a sight that explained to visitors of Italy how to use a washing machine similar to mine.  On the site, beside each letter, was an explanation in english what the cycle type was.  I did it!  The sound of water filling the machine was music to my ears.  Oh, I almost forgot to share with you that during this process I had to email a friend to ask when you add the liquid fabric softener.  I have never used fabric softener.  I have always been a lover of Bounce.  Such a lover of Bounce that it made the short list of things to bring to Italy, just in case I couldn't find it here.  To make the short list says a lot given that I only brought four suitcases.  Seems I am not going to be needing that Bounce now.  My wonderfully supportive friend said she had to stop laughing long enough to be able to type a response, as you see she was one of those dear friends that I chastised for years for hanging her clothes on a line to dry.  I think she found herself laughing so hard because she knew what was to come.

     Yes, karma got me, and I found myself hanging my underwear on a laundry hanger on the terrace to dry.  There they were, blowing in the breeze for everyone to see.  My sheets, I hung over the rails.  I was worried about my clothes being crunchy and wrinkly, but they weren't.  And here I go, brace yourself as it is coming and you are not going to believe that I am saying this but........when I put my head down on the pillow to sleep, I loved the fresh smell!  I take back every nasty word I ever said about hanging laundry on a line to dry.  My new attitude....Happy Hanging!  Whoever said an old dog can't learn new tricks obviously didn't have to learn to adapt to life in Italy.  

      
      
      

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The Italian Diet.....The Joy Of Being In A Size 7 Skirt Again

  
     One of the biggest adjustments to living in Florence is the fact that I walk everywhere.....and I mean everywhere.  Every day I walk several kilometres, and that is on top of what I have come to call the "run from hell" that I do five mornings a week.  While one can take a bus around the city, I am not sure why anyone does as the traffic in the streets is so congested that I am sure that it is faster to walk than to travel on an overcrowded bus that slowly makes it's way through the streets.  

     I recently had friends stay with me and I warned them prior to coming about the walking and the importance of bringing comfortable shoes.  They had no idea what they were in store for.  Florence is not the place to bring your sexy high heals.  After just 24 hours here my friends' legs ached in ways that I don't think they have ever experienced, judging by the moans.  And it didn't get much better as the days passed.  I must admit that I took sick pleasure in watching them go through the painful adjustment that I did when I first arrived.  The only thing that made them feel better was our ritual glass of Prosecco every afternoon.  I think that this is the only holiday that they have had where they have actually lost weight, despite indulging in the Italian culture and by that I mean the gelato, the wine, the pastries, the hot chocolate, the pasta and I cannot forget the mouth watering pizza.  Not a day went by that my girlfriends did not have a comment or two about all the walking.  Well, actually it was probably more like four or five comments a day.  I would just chuckle and keep on going, and they would follow behind me like little ducklings.  Every once and a while I would hear Brenda utter the words, "Dorothy we are not in Kansas".        

     When my friends arrived they immediately noticed that I have lost weight.  Why is it that when you look at yourself in the mirror each day you don't notice something good like weight loss, but we are sure to notice all of our flaws?  It is funny that when I stopped being so obsessed about my weight, and stopped stepping on the scale each day, that is when I really began to lose weight.  Over the past year I have really tried to consciously shift my thinking from focusing on my weight to focusing on taking care of me and being good to me.  Women are horrible for not taking the time to take care of themselves.  It is like we are programmed to give all of ourselves to others, and if we do anything for ourselves then somehow that is being selfish.  If we do dare to take some time for ourselves oh how the guilt overtakes us, and we quickly get back into our thinking that there is something in the day that just has to get done for someone else, as if the world would come to an end if it didn't.  Taking time for ourselves to be good to ourselves seems to easily become unimportant.  Being a good wife, or partner or mother should not mean not being good to ourselves.  We can and should have both.          

     My friend Cathy commented, shortly after arriving, that I have a sparkle in my eyes that she has not seen before.  As she shared in my life here in Florence she came to understand why.  Living here is just emotionally and physically healthier for me.  While I am sure that this sparkle is in part a result of replacing a life full of stress and chaos with faith, hope and certainty that good things are to come, I  also think that this sparkle in my eyes is as a result of now taking time to take care of me like I never have ever before in my life.  While I still have to live in the "real" world and I wake up each morning with responsibilities to face (Oh, how I wish I would win the lottery), I for the past year have made it a priority to take time each day to be good to me.  Here in Florence this may be as simple as taking the time to walk to the market to buy fresh vegetables and talking to the venders who have come to know my face and insist that it is now time that I only speak Italian to them.  My butcher affectionately refers to me as "Made in Canada", my usual vegetable and fruit venders now throw in a little something extra as a present and my cheese man calls me Miss America.  I use to hate grocery shopping, but now it feels like a visit with friends.  And somehow the food just tastes better because of this experience.  The oranges are juicier, the basil is full of flavour and the chicken is moister.  Perhaps it is because of the food being grown locally, rather than being shipped in from some far off country, but I also think that remembering the smiling face of the vender that you bought it from earlier in the day somehow magically just makes it taste better.  And I deceptively work in exercise as I stroll through the beautiful streets with my backpack full of food on my back.  I am of the belief that the best exercise is when we don't even know we are doing it.  I am the kind of person that when I am conscious that I am doing exercise then I immediately hate every minute of it.  The more distractions from that bad, very bad, "E" word the better.  Walking the kilometre to buy food here just somehow does not seem as painful as when I use to run around and around, like a mouse on a wheel, the same boring blocks back in Canada.  This is especially the case if I see my handsome Giorgio in my travels.    

  
     So while I may not be in Kansas any more,  I could not help but think as slipped on my new size 7 skirt that something about my "Italian Diet" sure is agreeing with me.  And I did take the time to look in the mirror and notice the beautiful woman looking back at me.  That is after I jumped up and down with joy.  I am excited to share my life here with the people that I love as they come to visit me.  Don't forget to bring comfortable shoes, and I promise that you will not put on any weight.          

                        

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