Viva Italia

Cheering for Italy yesterday in a shoot out for the Euro Cup took me back to 2006 and that glorious summer I once spent in Italy…

My American visitors all find their way home by the middle of June. Temperatures soar and I am continually thankful to live above the city, in the Florentine hills. A steady breeze swirls up from the valley, keeping us sane as the intense heat brings our daily pace to a crawl. The air turns to molasses, and we surrender to summer, letting it carry us along. 

I play hide and seek with the sun every day. My windows never close but shutters are latched up by the time the morning church bells ring out at nine, plunging the apartment into mid-day darkness in a vain attempt to keep the heat at bay. I open them again at twilight to welcome the cooling air that brings relief and watch as the village revives. By trading a few hours of nighttime sleep for siesta naps, I can savor the glorious evenings with late dinners in my neighbor’s garden, then head to Bar Cinque down on the piazza. Even at midnight there is no need for a sweater. My friend admires the best grappa on the shelf, endearing her to the grizzled owner; she sips contentedly while I barely get the fiery liquid down.

It's too muggy not to get wet somehow. The town pool is full, but we remember the invitation from a friend to stop by anytime, grab beach chairs, and sunbathe by the river. The reality is less inviting: a rundown cottage, overgrown weeds, and a little dribble of a creek. Only the sketchy boyfriend is home. He offers to show us a hidden swimming hole just a five-minute drive and short hike away. I'm skeptical, yet surprisingly carefree about the afternoon and so we're off again. Out into the countryside, down a dirt road, we nearly tumble into the ravine. We park with no idea how we'll eventually turn around. Down, down, down the little dirt path we go, laughing as we fairly skip along, our flimsy sandals kicking up dust. Finally, we reach the creek. We wade through it up to the swimming hole. It's deep and ice cold and we're happy. Even in our bikinis and bare feet we could take the boyfriend down if he tries anything funny. We feel safe enough. No need for towels we don't have; we're sweaty and dusty again before we've climbed even halfway to the old vineyard truck. We briefly wonder if it was worth the effort but we know it was. To splash in the water just for a few minutes, to forget the searing heat, we'd do it tomorrow if we could ever find the trail again.

By July the World Cup is approaching its climax and our anticipation grows as the Azzurri advance. Walking home during the semi-final match, the streets are strangely empty and silent, save for the sounds of the game from TVs and radios. We pick up on the changing score as we stroll. Just as I enter my apartment the village erupts in a roar as Italy advances. We make plans for the Final: a table at Pizzeria Etrusca. They’re putting a TV in the bar window so we can all sit on the patio and watch. The big day arrives and the neighbor boys get out their face paint to wear the green, red and white with pride. We troupe down to the piazza, find our table, and nervously pick at pizza slices.  

We hold our breath. My cheeks get decorated with Italian flags, yet France strikes first. 

The boys decides on more paint for my nose and chin, as though we can will a goal with our enthusiasm. Italy answers! Into overtime we go, on the edge of our seats. Zidane gets thrown out—our lucky break! Still tied, we move to penalty kicks. Italy starts 1-0, France ties it up.  

We cross our fingers. Italy is perfect again, but France isn’t ready to concede.  

Italy goes ahead 3-2, then 4-3. The seconds creep by as we can't bear to watch yet cannot look away. And then it happens, off the crossbar, France misses and it's over! It takes only a moment for the triumph to sink in as we finally exhale. We’ve won, vive Italie! Prosecco and kisses all around as madness erupts. Cars and motorbikes stream past, an endless parade of honking and shouting. We must join them. We race back to the house and grab keys. Down, down, down the hill to join the masses in the city below. Round and round Piazza della Beccaria as we yell, honking and waving the flag out the window. We’re crazy, but so is everyone else. We’re all pazza that night. If we ever get to sleep we’ll be dreaming only of victory.

Interactive Intentions

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Be soft in your practice.  Think of the method as a fine silvery stream, not a raging waterfall.  Follow the stream, have faith in its course.  It will go on its own way, meandering here, trickling there.  It will find the grooves, the cracks, the crevices.  Just follow it.  Never let it out of your sight.  It will take you.  - Sheng Yen, Chinese Buddhist Monk 

Happy New Year!  A few years ago I started a habit of taking time to establish my New Year’s resolution.  I generally set the intention in early January to be open to inspiration and then settle on a specific resolution for the Lunar New Year.  Adopting a fluid, rather than rigid, approach is often more helpful more me in the long run.

This year I tried something a little different.  I actually did set my resolution at the beginning of January and have been revisiting as I waited for the Lunar New Year.  In 2018 we've had an extra long time between the two beginnings.  Lunar, or Chinese, New Year arrived last Friday, February 16th.  Why does it change?  Lunar New Year falls on the second day of the new moon between the 21st of January and the 20th of February.

I appreciated the space this gave me to engage with my intention and modify as needed.  I started off with a commitment on January 1 to bring curiosity to my relationships.  I explored this in my writing for the Riveter blog, and community quickly joined curiosity as a focus.  I sat with these two ideas and another word came up for me - connection.  The past eight weeks offered me time to explore these three concepts individually and collectively.  

Curiosity - As a mother of a toddler, I find that I'm fairly starved for adult conversation.  When I sit with this longing, it becomes clear that this often manifests as a desire for adult attention.  I get the chance to interact with the outside world and I talk, alot.  I'm trying to be aware of that and balance my need to tell stories with curiosity about others' lives.  I want to engage in thoughtful ways with people I disagree with - in a manner than honors both of us.  When alone, I hope to wean myself off of mindless downtime like watching favorite shows and listen to more podcasts that engage my brain.  New Year's Intention #1 - ask questions and stimulate my brain.

Community - This winter I'm focused on how to hibernate and still build community, because winter can be a dark and lonely time of year.  Between cold/flu, short days, and traffic/schedule challenges, it's hard to find time and energy to get out of the house and be with people.  I'm working on small things, like meeting friends at a yoga class I'm already going to so we can practice together or get to know another parent at my son's school or take a writing class to remind myself that I'm not the only one passionate about this craft.  New Year's Intention #2 - be in community.

Connection - Speaking of writing classes, I attended one on dialogue last weekend and was amazed at the life lesson hidden in the group exercise.  We had to fill in half of a conversation for an assigned role.  I was given a card with an instruction to write four lines of dialogue as a teenage daughter in an argument with her mother, without discussing it with the mother.  Then I found the woman who wrote the mother lines and we engaged in the dialogue.  As you might expect, since we wrote our sides of the fight separately, we talked past each other.  The surprising aspect of this exercise was how true to life it felt.  Even when we're right in a conversation with another person, we so often have our own agenda to get across and don't listen or respond very well to what the other is saying.  New Year's Intention #3 - listen in order to connect.

Brené Brown summed up my thoughts for 2018 pretty perfectly in a recent interview with Krista Tippet.  She speaks to loneliness stemming from  "counterfeit connection" and "common enemy intimacy."  We've lost our ability to connect and truly belong.

And so this first practice of true belonging is, “People are hard to hate close up. Move in.” When you are really struggling with someone, and it’s someone you’re supposed to hate because of ideology or belief, move in. Get curious. Get closer. Ask questions. Try to connect. Remind yourself of that spiritual belief of inextricable connection: How am I connected to you in a way that is bigger and more primal than our politics?  Stay curious, be kind, and, listen with the exact same amount of passion that you want to be heard.