by Maureen | Sep 15, 2010 | Incredible Locations, Introspection, Journal, Seattle
Who’d have thought that moving BACK to Seattle would be as much a part of the experience as moving TO Milano?! It’s taken me by surprise how daunting and unsettling it has been to move back into my own home.
I’m slowly plodding toward resettlement. Here’s a journal entry from a week ago.
– – –
7 Settembre 2010
Sitting in the silence of the morning hoping to gather and calm my tornado of thoughts… I’m feeling pulled and strewn by personal, emotional, physical and professional imperatives. There truly are many things I “should” do, I must do! I try to keep myself level and focussed, spare in my “priorities”, but still the overwhelming swell builds.
It took me a year to dismantle the structure of my life here, and then a year to begin some semblance of solidity in Milan. It should come as no surprise to me that it could take a year to resettle here!
My body has indeed left Milan and arrived here in Seattle, but my mind/spirit are still hovering midair, somewhere between here and there. I haven’t quite really come back yet!
After a little more than a month back here in Seattle, my house remains spare. Only absolute essentials have been unpacked, brought up out of the basement as I’ve needed something. The walls are bare. And the remaining boxes feel oppressive with their weight and presence. Too much stuff!
My daily routine is not yet routine. It hasn’t yet developed a sustaining, supportive rhythm of waking, sleeping, eating and exercising. Lacking a pattern in my days points out the value of such a pattern.
Seeing family has been a high priority since I returned, and I’ve seen one or another several times. But seeing friends will have to wait. I hope they can be understanding about that delay. There is a list on my desk of a hundred names of people I’ve “got” to see. Tell me: how long will it take to have a rich conversation with 100 people while still settling my house, tending to family AND trying to get some work done?! If they are offended that a month has passed and I haven’t seen them, then apparently they haven’t envisioned the logistics (and I apologize).
The few encounters I have enjoyed have either been long-ago-planned, convenient by proximity (neighbors), spontaneous, satisfying of a need or selfish preference.
And, of course, in the midst of all this, I need to keep my clients satisfied and run my business! I’ve only recently recreated my work space so I can work, but have yet to get my systems back up and functioning. I haven’t even finished reinstalling my desktop computer system and so continue with the simplicity, and limitations, of my laptop.
At any moment, I ask myself “What’s the best thing I could do right now to make headway, putting a dent in my list?” Sometimes the answer is to pick just one box to unpack. At other times, sorting and filing paperwork gets it off my desk finally. And sometimes, just going for a walk is what I most need to do.
In view of “Maslow’s Heirarchy of Needs”, I realize that all of this is a lofty, privileged collection of concerns. The economy is in record crisis. Friends are struggling to find work. Many are faced with genuine issues of survival. “Gee Maureen. You’ve just spent a year in Italy and have now moved back to your home and your life. How tough can that be?” It’s hard to find an empathetic ear. How many understand this state?
In the meantime, I put on my apron, which puts me in the right frame of mind, and just keep moving.
by Maureen | Sep 7, 2010 | Incredible Locations, Introspection, Journal, Quips, Seattle
My neighbors are so wonderful. They show up at my back door with slices of fresh, cold watermelon. They loan me pasta machines. They invite me over to sing camp songs along the shoreline. They tote my garbage and recycling bins up the steep driveway. They chat at the roadside with me, in front of the mailboxes.
God couldn’t have assembled a finer, or more diverse, group of people.
A thousand blessings upon them all!
by Maureen | Sep 6, 2010 | Cheese, Featured Articles, Food!, Incredible Locations, Introspection, Journal, Meals, People, Photos, Seattle, Shopping & Markets
Seattle’s chilly summertime is winding down with scattered sunshine following cloudy mornings. Warm evenings are rare, but, once again, the waterside neighbors initiated a dinnertime potluck along the shoreline last Friday, the start of a holiday weekend. I vowed to bring “something Italianesque”, and told them I likely wouldn’t know what it would be until mere hours before I headed out my back door to cross the street.
I wanted to try my hand at making homemade pasta. Regrettably, over the course of more than a year in Italy, I never took a cooking class! No one ever took me aside to show me how to whisk an egg into a well of flour, bring it up into a dough, knead it sufficiently, roll it out and slice it into handcut noodles.
Feeling intrepid, I located “Uncle Bill’s” web site offering an ingredient list and method for “Homemades” (noodles), and found a YouTube video showing a quicker process, “How to Make Pasta from Scratch in 5 Minutes“ (using a food processor instead of the time-honored flour well). I then called my friend, Sally, and asked to “steal” her hand-crank Marcato Atlas 150 Pasta Maker.
It really did only take 5 minutes to mix up my first ever pasta dough and handcut a bundle of tagliatelle.
Thinking about our neighborhood dinner, I conjured a “Farmers Market Lasagna“? The day before, umbrellaed market stalls had filled the street at Burien’s Town Square and I browsed for a tasty collection of veggies to nestle between wide sheets of fresh pasta. I scouted the best of each vegetable, added them to my shopping bag, then went home to cut, grill, simmer and prepare the following:
- Grilled eggplant
- Roasted, thick-walled, red peppers
- Roma & beefsteak tomatoes, peeled, seeded and cooked down to a chunky sauce
- Caramelized Walla Walla sweet onions
- Freshly-made pesto Genovese of basil, pine nuts, garlic, extra virgin olive oil, salt and some grana padano cheese that I brought back from Milano
- Fresh mozzarella and ricotta
Fresh pesto is vivid green and always scents the kitchen (and the cook’s hands) with the smell of a summer garden. Making a batch, you might as well make enough for friends and the freezer! (Clean the interior surface of the jar after you’ve dished it out, then cover the pesto with a skiff of olive oil. This keeps the pesto from oxidizing and turning black, and from getting moldy. Store it for a week or so in the fridge; for longer storage, keep it in the freezer.)
Not quite jam, pesto is still good when smeared lightly on a slice of Tuscan-style bread!
Look at the silky smooth, beautiful ribbon of pasta, just waiting to be laid down into the lasagne dish! Just a couple more turns through the finer settings on the Atlas and it was ready to go. The Milanese “Amaretti di Saronno” tin has been my flour can for close to 30 years. Prescient.
My maiden noodles were set out to dry a bit while I finished rolling and cutting. I don’t have noodle drying racks, so occasional flipping on the cookie sheets was going to have to suffice. (I love the big mess of a fully-involved kitchen!)
I cooked my pasta sheets in salted, boiling water for only about 2 minutes, drained them, oiled them a bit to prevent their sticking, then started the layering of vegetables and cheeses. (The smaller lasagna went into my freezer for another day. Mmm.)
Since everything was already cooked before it went into the pan, the Farmers Market Lasagna only needed enough heat to melt the cheeses and blend the flavors. When it came out of the oven, I wrapped the dish in my apron, and carried it over to the neighbors. Eight of us enjoyed appetizers in the upper yard before winding down the wooded trail to the bulkhead beach and the rest of our dinner.
Over the course of the evening, we enjoyed an outstanding selection of Italian wines, including a Chianti Classico Riserva, Brunello di Montalcino and a Barolo! The sunset couldn’t have been much prettier.
There’s nothing like a bunch of “grown-ups” sitting around a fire singing camp songs and old hymns. Barbara tried to get us headed in the right direction when singing “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” as a round.
I’ve talked to many people around Seattle that don’t even know their neighbors (let alone eat and sing camp songs with them)! Returning to my neighborhood, and the friends around me here, has been one of the big joys of my homecoming.
by Maureen | Aug 15, 2010 | Featured Articles, Food!, Incredible Locations, Journal, Meals, People, Photos, Quips, Seattle
“We’re having a crab feed on the beach tomorrow night. Do you want to come?” There’s only one answer for that question. “Of course!”
This is a great neighborhood: wonderful people in a beautiful setting. I’m back in this little piece of paradise with longtime friends. (I know few people that actually KNOW their neighbors; I’m fortunate that we all enjoy each other’s company.)
My waterside neighbors have been putting out crab pots lately. They pull up the pots, bring home the catch, and boil ’em up in a bucketful of water right out of Puget Sound. (It keeps the crab flavor sweet and salty.)
A picnic table right at the water’s edge is an ideal gathering spot.
As sunset came on, a glow was added to the scene.
Sparklers are festive any time of year.
What’s nicer than a bonfire at the shoreline on a lovely evening?
S’mores, certainly! Sally and Terry pressed a gooey, golden marshmallow into the chocolate and graham crackers for the classic campfire fare. (How long has that tradition been around? See below*)
Gary has a super-duper flashlight that casts a beam out onto the water to the boats tied there. Pretty powerful!
I can’t believe Terry and Gary sent me home with a whole crab. Can you guess what I ate for breakfast? The WHOLE thing! Those old bent pliers were the perfect crab crackers. I also use them for irrigation in my yard.
S’more appears to be a
contraction of the phrase, “some more”.
[3] While the origin of the dessert is unclear, the first recorded version of the recipe can be found in the publication “Tramping and Trailing with the
Girl Scouts” of 1927.
[4] It is unknown whether the Girl Scouts were the first to make and enjoy s’mores, but there appears to be no earlier claim to this snack. Although it is unknown when the name was shortened, recipes for “Some Mores” are in various Girl Scout publications until at least 1971.
by Maureen | Aug 4, 2010 | Introspection, Journal, Quips
This return is both emotionally and mentally harder than I had expected. I had a LIFE and friends that I left behind. I had my patterns and my joys; I was wide open and received openly. My busy zone in the city held familiarity for me. The unknowns had eased into old-jeans comfort, and the quirks were either treasured or tolerated.
I sought such nestling in, the knowing and being known. Contrary to the anonymity of tourists, I wanted the intimacy of friends. And I received that, more deeply than I could have dreamed when I first imagined making such a move.
So I find myself stirred and mixed. I am nostalgic for a place I left just 3 days ago. I am not finished with Italy and her people. They remain with me.
by Maureen | Aug 2, 2010 | Featured Articles, Food!, Incredible Locations, Introspection, Journal, Meals, People, Photo of the Day, Quips, Seattle
Sunday Morning. August 1.
(I arrived home yesterday in late afternoon.)
Home in the summer chill of Seattle with a 60 degree morning. I slept well with the window open to fresh, cool air. Absolute silence filled the night until the crows started talking as day dawned. No neighbor above me in spike, high heels. No garbage pickup or street cleaning outside my window.
I’m tired, certainly, but calm and relaxed and a bit in a fog. I don’t want to go into a flurry in unpacking and launch into my old routine, but rather be thoughtful and deliberate as I create my renewed life here. I have the gift of a “clean slate with a foundation”. How rare for any of us to have that (without its arising from trauma). I have family, friends, clients, continued work and a home; together they give me a solid base. But the house is nearly empty and I can start from scratch in placing things. I can choose freshly what commitments I make and activities I involve myself in.
– – –
The refrigerator was empty this morning except for a frozen tamale. I heated it up and it sufficed as enough breakfast to take the edge off for a few hours. Late morning, I walked up into Burien (I still don’t own a car) and ate fish tacos for a Sunday brunch. The tastes of spicy guacamole and pico de gallo were welcome changes.
After my morning meal, I went north with my brother and friends to Dad and Arlene’s house. We had a relaxed chat looking out to the bay, then sat for an early dinner. If ever there were a classic American meal concept, perhaps it’s the casserole. Today, our dish was chicken breasts with mushrooms, swiss cheese and a few other goodies that formed a tasty “goop” that begged for a spoon with which to harvest every bit of sauce. Our consciences were appeased by green beans with butter and cut fruit salad (called “Macedonia” in Italian.)
THEN came dessert: Freshly baked rhubarb pie with a crisco crust! What a homecoming! What a welcome! Casserole and pie. (What could be more American?)
by Maureen | Jul 30, 2010 | Featured Articles, Introspection, Journal, People, Photos, Quips
How often do any of us put ourselves in the position to meet so many people in so many ways in so short a time? How readily do we open our lives to the touch of strangers?
I came here to Italy wanting to have relationships and experiences, and to gather images. I have done all of that in greater ways than I could have imagined and I now carry the faces of new friends with me. Their eyes, their voices, our conversations and our laughter will follow me as I leave this place behind. Most I will likely not see again. Some I may. But they have all become a part of my life by stepping into my days here.
Please meet some of the people I’ve met since January.
On New Year’s Eve I wrote about the new friends from my first six months here in Milano.
It is harder to leave them than I had imagined.
MARY – Italian. She’s 85 and has been working at the cemetery for 15 years. She works with the priest in the small chapel, preparing for the memorial masses. Her “Rotondo” handwriting started me on a quest for classic, Italian penmanship samples.
NINNI & AGNESE – Italians, from Sardegna. Dear-hearted, they own the Carlotta Cafe and serve memorable meals.
ANGELO – True Milanese Italian. My “History Buff on Wheels”. He showed me some of the one-lane farmland roads that have become my balm and my delight.
SARA – American. An artist, sculptor and creator studying fashion design in the Summer courses at NABA. Her work is poetic and rich and I anticipate very creative work from her!
MICHELANGELO & TERESA – An Italian and an American, in Venice. They’ve been married for 15 (or more?) years and are the only sellers of the most beautiful glass beads in Venice.
BRUNELLO – Italian. We had a freezing-cold bike ride together in the middle of January. Brrr!
SIGNORA ADA – Italian, and Venetian restaurateur. She’s an imp with a sparkle in her eye.
ALESSANDRO – Italian. He’d love to move to the U.S.
NICOLETTA – Italian. A WOMAN on the bike path! A rare sight, so we talked about it.
ERIK – Italian, with Sardegnan family roots. He served me octopus and potatoes several times.
EWA – Polish. My first independent, spontaneous friend here in Italy.
CLAUDIO – Italian, from Genova. He and his wife, Marina, hosted me for an impromptu city tour and lunch.
LUIGI – Italian. Industrious and resourceful, gathering firewood and compost along the canal to carry home on his bike.
MELTEM – Turkish. One of the “Aperitivi Girls”, we know each other through the Italian language classes.
SANDRA & MATIA – Turkish and Italian. Sandra and I met, like many others, in our Italian language class. With our interests in Art and Design, we have much in common. We traveled to Bologna together, with Matia, for a wintertime, city-wide Arts exhibition.
MAUREEN, BRUNELLO, NOEMI – 1 American and 2 Italians. Brunello and Noemi are with NABA, and there were several of us together at the Mayflower Pub, relaxing at day’s end.
GERRY & CONNIE – Americans. Goofy cousins visiting Milano for one night before they move on to Venice.
ANAIS & HER FRIENDS – French. Anais and I were in Italian language class together. Her friends came over for the weekend to celebrate her birthday.
ASHLEY – American, from Chicago. She’s studying photography at a school nearby.
CARLO & VICENZO – Italians. Dressed like jailbirds and co-guests at an impromptu aperitivo.
ROBERTO – Italian, from Milano. He was our beloved and silly Italian teacher. He made the 3-hour-a-day class a kick-in-the-pants. We all joked a lot.
MARIA – Italian. We met at an ONAV gathering and enjoyed an animated conversation. She’s a dear.
CESARE, MAUREEN, ROBY, VALERIO, ANTONIO – 4 Italians and an American girl. I was surprised to find that I had been seated at a table of men at a wine-tasting event.
NINO – Italian. His oil paintings are exquisite and two of them will hang in my home in Seattle.
MARCELLO & RAFFAELLA – Italians, from Bologna. The three of us have an American friend in common. That bond alone opened their door to me. They invited me in and we talked for hours. A lovely couple offering cooking tours of Italy, through Bluone Cooking Tours.
TANIA – Italian. Leader for NABA’s Fashion Design Program. A fine, bright woman that I’ve only caught a hint of.
EARL & MATHEW – Americans. Long-time family friends, here for a whirlwind tour of Italy and lots of pizza and pastries.
MARINA – Italian, from Genova. We met when I bought hat forms from her at the antiques market along the Naviglio Grande. Later, she and her husband hosted me for a day in Genova.
EMILIO – Italian. A friend from my cycling community.
FEDERICA – Italian. A fellow student from the wine-tasting class.
EUGENIO – Italian. The teller from my bank.
GIUSEPPE – Italian. Another ONAV wine-tasting student.
THE APERITIVI GIRLS – French, Australian, Turkish, American. We are linked by our Italian language studies and have gotten together once-a-month or so. We speak in multiple languages at our table.
HASSAN – Iranian. A fellow language student.
KERYN – Australian/New Zealander. Another of the group of women that meets for aperitivi now and then. We traveled to Verona together for a weekend.
LOREDANO – Italian from Veneto. He’s a painter with a studio along the Naviglio Grande. If you scramble a few letters of his name, you get “Leonardo”.
ZIBBY & HANNAH – Americans, daughters of friends back home in Seattle. We had less than 24 hours together, but they were full of conversation and curiosity.
MAKO & QING SHENG – Chinese. We ate our lunches side-by-side, then strolled the antiques market together, 2 Chinese and 1 American speaking Italian, our common language.
THUSHAN – Sri Lankan. Our “portiere”, Thushan keeps our office/apartment building running smoothly.
MARIO – Italian. One of the regional heads of ONAV, the National Organization of Wine Tasters.
ROBY – Italian. “My favorite bartender”, which makes it sound like I’m always at the bar… but he hosts many of the student social evenings at his Mayflower Pub, so I’ve been there a number of times. Or sometimes, when walking by, I’ll stop just to say “hello”.
MAURO, SANDRA, MAUREEN, SANDRO – 3 Italians and 1 short American. My landlords and a friend of theirs, all from Sanremo on the Italian Riviera. We were in Monaco for the day.
ROCCO & GIANNI – Italian. ONAV wine tasting students. One night, class was getting out very late, close to 11:30 at night, so several of us left early to head to the subway before it closed. Gianni had a nice red wine in his glass still, so he walked down the street, into the subway and onto the train, sipping his red. (Never in the U.S.!)
OZDEN – Turkish. Another friend from my Italian language classes and one that joins the group for aperitivi.
SALLY – American. A dear friend and art lover from Seattle that came for a visit and “Maureen’s Eye View” of Italy.
SALVATORE – Italian. Comically stereotypical while trying to “score” on the 2-hour train ride. He said it was a hot day and that’s why he was unbuttoning his shirt down to his navel. Yeah, right.
VALENTINA – Italian. Another friend from the ONAV wine tasting class.
MAUREEN, QUENTIN, BEATA, PAOLO – 2 Americans, 2 Italians. We met at NABA and ended laughing through the evening and planning a cycling tour of Italy for the future.
OMAR – Italian. Omar sat next to me in the ONAV wine-tasting classes and speaks a bit of English. If I didn’t understand what was said in class, I could glance over at Omar’s notes and see if I could understand what he had written.
PIERO – Italian. We saw each other a couple of times along the street and exchanged a nod and some music.
by Maureen | Jul 30, 2010 | Introspection, Journal, Quips
Tourists don’t feel like this.
I came here wanting to have relationships and experiences, and to gather images. I have done all that… and my imminent departure, tomorrow morning, is harder than I had anticipated. I can’t count the number of people that have said they wished I weren’t leaving.
My heart moves so deeply thinking that, in just a year here, I have created friendships that stir me in such a way. I have made myself wiiiiiiiiiiiide open…and I’m really feeling it right now.
The only consolation is planning my return (whether it’s pretense or for real).
by Maureen | Jul 29, 2010 | Introspection, Journal, Quips
It’s Thursday afternoon. On Saturday morning a car and driver will meet me here at my apartment and drive me, with whatever I’m carrying home to Seattle, to Milano Malpensa Airport. Though I’m not much of a shopper, I still have too much stuff to manage the taxi-train-plane, with all the transfers, on my own. My flight leaves at noon.
Less than two days remain for me in Milano… for now. I’ve eased the panicked voice of “I didn’t go here! I didn’t see this! I didn’t taste that!” And I’ve come to a calm reconciling of all that I didn’t experience in these near-14 months, and am beyond grateful for all that I DID.
…And I’m already talking with friends here about my return sometime next year for a month or two. (Why not?) I’ve had offers of places to stay. I want to see friends here in the north. Travel and do design research in the south. And plan a bike-tour for a week or two in central Italy. (Why not?)
So in these days, as I’m seeing my friends, I give them an Italian kiss on both cheeks and an American hug. (They don’t do that much here.) We’re not saying “goodbye”, but rather “see you later”, or “until the next time”.
“Alla prossima.”
And sometimes I blink away watery eyes.
– – –
(I DID it! I packed up and moved to Italy for over a year!
And I have faces in my mind’s eye to prove it.
It wasn’t always easy, but it was oh-so-worth it!)
by Maureen | Jul 24, 2010 | Aosta, Cogne, Discoveries, Featured Articles, Food!, Incredible Locations, Journal, People, Photo of the Day, Photos, Shopping & Markets
Journal Entry: 24 Luglio
The bus just left Aosta, heading back to Milano. I have been visiting my friends, Ewa and Piotr, in Cogne for two days where the “uniform” is hiking shorts and boots, muscular, suntanned legs, and walking sticks. The street signs are in French [and Italian] and at any time I can hear a half dozen languages.
The buildings have fish-scale, slate rooftops, with an undulating alignment. They all look the part of a Hobbit’s house with stone, scroll-cut wood, lichen patches and shutters.
I like this old couple. I wonder how long they’ve lived in Cogne.
He’s not afraid of cherry red pants!
.
.
.
I have had to remind myself that this, too, is Italy.
– – –
Cogne draws tourists from all over Europe, especially those interested in the many miles of mountain trails and climbing routes ranging from easy-to-difficult. The town is at the start of a valley that leads to the Parco Nazionale di Gran Paradiso, the National Park of “Great Paradise” Mountain.
Attend the Italian School of Skiing here in Cogne.
The town center is a hub of cafés, food stores, services and gift shops. Aosta’s regional bus company, Savda, makes its loop in the area at villages along the valley between Aosta and Cogne. (It also runs to and from Milano.)
Looking north down the valley from our rented house, the view shows the one main road that passes through the few blocks of town. Parking is almost absent in the town center, bowing to the heavy pedestrian traffic, so a lower lot is available for cars and motor homes.
Not surprisingly, the shoe stores in town sell hiking boots and sturdy walking shoes.
The date on the clock on the wall of the Casa dell’Orologio – Clock House – says “1806”.
And someone has an incredible salad garden going!
Here’s the backside of the clock building.
Though visitors fill the town, the locals seem to go right on with their daily lives in this mountain village, chatting with friends, sipping a caffé normale – a simple shot of espresso – or making their passeggiata – daily, walking stroll.
Two women were chatting outside of the small, local fruit and vegetable seller’s shop. They appeared to be locals and long-time friends.
There’s plenty of lodging available, in the center of town and around its edges.
.
Though the town of Cogne is pristine and quaint, that doesn’t seem to be a show put on just for the tourists. I got the impression it’s always looked about like this. It’s not that Cogne is reminiscent of Leavenworth (WA), Leavenworth is reminiscent of Cogne (and other European regions).
This older home is just up the valley in the village of Lillaz, gateway to local waterfalls.
I have seen more sundials in the last year than in all of my life combined. Whether this is really from 1903 or not, it’s quite beautiful wearing its patina.
Ewa and I stopped into the local macelleria – the meat shop – to buy some meat for goulash. (She’s Polish.) The butcher scooped up a spoonful of ground, raw meat, much like a “steak tartare” and presented it to us for sampling. I reached out and grabbed a wad with my hands. It was delicious.
We also asked about the near-black meat in the center, (below), next to the wrapped tongue. The butcher gave us a sample, including a piece for Ewa’s 4-year-old grandson, Filippo. We LOVED it. The meat is raw, yet “processed” by being covered in hot salt. (I had wondered how it compares to Bresaola.) We bought a half dozen slices and Filippo and I fought over them as we ate the meat walking through town, licking our fingers.
I appreciate that a “Certificate of Provenance” for the meat is prominently displayed on the counter. It tells the ID number for the animal; when and where it was born and raised; and when and where it was butchered! The next day I wanted to go back for more of the “salt-cooked” meat.
