Transit, Transition, Construction, Destruction, Rejection, Integration, Calendar Girls and Inspiration on Noisy Buses

photo credit: internet

I didn’t expect to be writing again so soon, but inspiration has been striking a lot lately, mostly while I’m on a noisy bus to work.

I gave up my car in 2005 after 11 years of living in Los Angeles. I used to really love those five lane freeways especially with the windows down and the warm breeze blowing through my hair, whilst singing along with  the Eagles. But I was also quite delighted when I moved to Paris and started using not only the metro but also my own two legs. I soon learned to use public transport including many trains to get to and fro from place to place.

L.A. is “twenty minutes” by car in any direction. But while I was living in Paris I realized the crowded metros and train stations were just as annoying. After that, living in Parma, Italy, I saw people using a bicycle to travel around the city which seemed quite pleasant, until I realized drivers didn’t pay much attention to cyclists, and I heard of a colleague’s student that was killed on his bicycle. So, when I moved to Perugia, which is a medieval town built on a hill, it was simply walking that got me around. Although considering how many hills I needed to climb to get anywhere, this too eventually became less pleasant- even if I was in pretty good shape!

But, here in Alghero, there are no hills and everything is basically a five minute walk, whether it be to work, to yoga, to the grocery store or to the beach. And this I like!

By walking around I have gotten to know my neighbors and the people in the shops. When I returned from the store this morning I ran into my landlord, his son and their friend who runs the store next to theirs. They are all originally from Naples and quite friendly. I stopped to chat for a few minutes and when I left they all said, “buona giornata” in unison. It was a lovely moment. Three guys from Naples hanging out and wishing me a nice day with a smile on their face. Couldn’t ask for more.

Transiting from one place to another requires a form of destruction while moving to a new place means rebuilding from scratch. This I have done many times in my life thus far, and the process has taught me the refinement of integration and rejection. There are many experiences I have not wanted but that have come my way for one reason or another. When these experiences pass and the cycle finishes, they become integrated into the tapestry of our being. There is no longer any need to reject anything, for the very act of rejecting means that we have not yet learned our lesson.

When we start to rebuild on a white canvas without fearing the repetition or the failure of past experiences, we can assume that the very thing we were fearing has now been experienced, broken down, analyzed, digested and finally integrated into our being. When this occurs a certain release comes over us. The very thing we were holding on to no longer interests us. The very thorn that once dug into our side no longer exists. It is the very representation of turning a new page and starting a new chapter. The last chapter will always be part of our story, but when it is time to move on and begin something new, the page must turn.

You’re never too old to be beautiful
As we grow older we tend to think of losing our looks rather than getting more beautiful. Maybe that’s because the skin starts to lose its collagen and begins to follow gravity instead of perking up whenever the sun comes out to shine. When I was 11 going on 12, I was awarded the title of Carnival Princess. It was less of a beauty contest than a popularity contest which was pretty impressive for a pre-pubescent girl who was just beginning to prove herself in the big bad world. After many ups and downs over the years, in the world of winning and losing, I was once again recently awarded a prize - albeit a non-competitive one!

I chuckle as I write this because at this point in my life I probably would not enter any type of contest, which makes this prize even more delicious. One of my English students took it upon herself to proffer me with the “most beautiful teacher in the school” honor, or the “Miss English Teacher” title. I graciously accepted mainly because she made it up but also because she handed it to me with such kindness. Also, because I don’t like competing (or rather I don’t like losing) which made this an easy contest. There is something really sweet about winning a non-existing, non-competitive beauty contest 30 years after your first win. Maybe because it can be nothing less than sincere. And also because my female colleagues are also quite lovely themselves. In any case, I would probably be the kind of winner to hand the crown over to a runner-up, as I do with everything else. Giving just feels so much better than receiving.

The following class I asked my female students (who are also quite lovely) if they wanted to do a "Miss English Students" calendar. They were instantly interested and selected their preferred months. I thought such a project could be used to raise money for Italian soldiers abroad, many of whom have have died in Afghanistan recently.

It’s been a good week in the food department as well. Last week-end I went to see a fantastic photo show in Sassari called, “Anni 70’.” There were black and white photographs from the 70’s from various places in the world including many from fringe societies and peek-a-boo naughtiness that made me feel like an unsuspecting voyeur. But, afterward I had the pleasure of tasting one of Sassari’s specialties called Faine. It’s made with chickpea flour in a sort of flat pie. It’s quite heavy but definitely delicious. Some restaurants make it with onions and various vegetables. You can sit down at a nice table on via Usai or you can eat it at the counter in a tiny place with no name in an alleyway. That's if you can find it. Somewhere in town there's a sign that says, “Faine” with an arrow pointing down the alleyway. We must have walked all over town and asked about a dozen people for directions before we actually found it. But it was worth it. We were full and happy all for a mere € 4.70. Yes, it’s unbelievable but true.

I also made a delicious frittata con zucchini, acciughe, cipolle, pomodori, basilico e prezemollo fresco (omelet with zucchini, anchovies, onions, tomatoes, fresh basil and parsley) with fresh from the farm eggs I buy at my corner grocer at .15 centesimi a piece.

That’s all for now. Or as my students like to say, “stop.”