Symbols and Connections

A few weeks ago, Ross posted the above picture on her fotolog, of the jewelry she’d been wearing for days, with the caption: “you are what you wear.” A very interesting statement, in light of what she was wearing.

The gemstone is alexandrite, a semi-precious stone that changes colors in different light. My father bought it for me in Delhi in 1977, as my going-to-Woodstock present, and I wore it almost constantly during my first year there. I haven’t worn it much recently (that’s how Ross was able to make off with it) – nowadays I usually wear a golden heart necklace that Enrico gave me, though for Woodstock occasions I wear the silver Woodstock lyre tree pendant that my classmate Sarah got me when I couldn’t attend our class of 81’s 20th-anniversary reunion.

Of course the other pendant is the Om. I think I bought that for Ross on one of my trips to India, or she bought it for herself when we went together in 2005. Or maybe she even bought it in Italy. When she was mad for a tattoo a couple of years ago, she designed her own tattoos based on the om (fortunately, she was still underage, so we were able to veto any tattoo whatsoever!).

Not shown in the photo is another piece of my jewelry that Ross seems intent on keeping: the silver chain bracelet that my classmates gave me at the 2004 reunion, to thank me for 20 years’ service as class secretary.

There’s something beyond mere fashion in all this.

Packing

Just me.

Two suitcases*, max 20 kilos each.

Since this will be a year in India, I was forced to discard low-necked shirts, miniskirts and short-shorts, high heels and wedge sandals: in other words, everything I usually wear!

Put aside is the useless junk, the designer stuff that I’d be ashamed to show off.

I look around, see my usual room – companion of strange moods, breakdowns in front of the mirror, wild dances, and songs at the top of my voice. My bed that creaks, the TV that keeps me company during sleepless nights, old diaries, fashion magazines, Barbies covered in dust, horse models, stuffed animals.

An archive of memories and variegated objects which, up til a little while ago, I was convinced were a big part of who I am.

Every Saturday evening after dinner, I faced my closet with an air of challenge, thinking that, no matter how full it was, it wouldn’t be enough to supply a completely satisfactory outfit that would make me feel beautiful, carefree, and happy.

From the closet I moved to the mirror, to wage battle with my image, my weapons mascara and eyeshadow.

I smile thinking of the usual “stroke of genius” that comes to me every now and then.

Today it was to photograph myself nude.

While I did it I felt beautiful,

carefree,

happy.

Tomorrow I will leave with two suitcases which I hope weight more or less 20 kilos each, filled with the bare necessities.

In any case, I’m always me.

Minus a few costumes to wear.

(However, if I return with my head shaved and converted to some strange religion – hit me!)

*Mom: Well, that turned out to be wrong!

She’s Leaving Home

What with all the preparations, end of the school year, and various family medical traumas, I have barely had time to dwell on the fact that our daughter is about to leave home.

It’s just as well that I haven’t had that time.

Ross will be away for a full ten months (yes, I will visit). During winter vacation, the SAGE (exchange) program kids go on a one-month tour all over India, and, although it’s optional, Ross won’t want to pass that up. She will finish up at Woodstock next May 30th, presumably with enough course credits to graduate with a Woodstock diploma (equivalent to a US high school diploma).

She could theoretically then return to Italy for her fifth and final year of liceo, do the maturità (Italian school leaving exam), and go on to university in Italy – which has the advantage that it’s essentially free (we have paid for it already through our taxes). However, for reasons that I don’t feel like going into right now (because I’m so angry with the Italian school system), that is looking unlikely at present. So there’s a good chance that Ross will go straight on to college in the US, with only a vacation stopover back home in Lecco. Enrico and I are staring into the abyss of an empty nest.

Not that we thought she’d live with her parents til age 30, as so many Italian young people do – the girls do tend to get away earlier, and Ross just isn’t the type to stay home. There’s a big, wide world out there, and she can’t wait to go see it all.

Ross is also turning 18, just a few days after her school year at Woodstock begins. The 18th birthday is a big deal in Italy: it’s the voting age, the age of legal adulthood, and the age at which you can drive a car (drinking age? that was a while ago). Many kids, at least in Ross’ circles, celebrate 18 in a big way. Ross didn’t quite get her act together for a big party, but had a dinner out with a gang of friends. And we’re going to see a show in London, and will be having a few other treats along the way. Anything to keep me distracted from that moment when I have to wave goodbye to her at the airport.

Comments and shoulders to cry on welcome!

Cartoceto: A Geometric Town in Le Marche

After the phenomenal dinner at Symposium, Susan and I shared a room at the Villa Cartoceto B&B. Though it’s a lovely place and I probably would have enjoyed it in other circumstances, I conclude that the old village houses in this part of Italy are built to withstand cold (or maybe invaders) rather than heat: our room was an oven, and by the time we got back after dinner (2 am) it was far too late to ask our hosts for a fan. We left both windows open, but there was hardly any breeze. I woke up at 5:30 am and sought relief on the rooftop terrace. If there’d only been something to lie on, they’d have found me still out there when they came to serve breakfast.

The view (above) did make up for quite a lot.

After breakfast we had some hours to kill, so we went to have a look at the village (which proved to be almost entirely stone and brick), on a day of record heat. It’s no wonder that we had the place practically to ourselves.

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^ This goddess sort of person sits atop a map of the town and one of its churches. Very mysterious.

I love the geometry of Cartoceto. There’s a lot of very tasteful (and very expensive) reconstruction going on – I wonder who’s behind that, and why. There is really not much to look at in the immediate town, no particular monuments (we couldn’t look inside the churches because we were not appropriately dressed).

Many of the houses were being beautifully restored, though few seemed to be inhabited that day.

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To give you an idea of the verticals, the photos above and below show the same man. He didn’t move for at least an hour. Not that I blame him: in that heat it was wiser to sit still.

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full photo gallery here

San Lorenzo Dinner at the Symposium Quattro Stagioni: Arrival

I was one of a lucky group of people to win a dinner offered by San-Lorenzo.com as part of its marketing initiative Il Vino Lo Portiamo Noi (“we’ll bring the wine”). So what if the dinner took place halfway across Italy in le Marche? The Symposium Quattro Stagioni is one of Italy’s top restaurants, and the company at table seemed likely to be as enjoyable as the food.

My friend Susan was one of the group, so we travelled down together in the train from Milan Friday afternoon. Our friend Sara Piperita, the event organizer, was on a train that was supposed to leave earlier, but ended up leaving later. This did not bode well, as we were supposed to meet her in Fano to catch a ride to Cartoceto, the village where the restaurant is located.

We ended up waiting two hours outside the station in Fano, as Antonio Tombolini, head of web marketing for San Lorenzo, got stuck in traffic coming to get us. Travelling in Italy in summer can be absolutely miserable, no matter what means of transport you choose.

We reached the village with just enough time to check into our B&B and take showers, and change before we caught a ride to the restaurant with Roberto and Ludovica. The establishment proved to include lodgings, and a pool with a marvellous view.

As we waited for the group to assemble (18 people in all), chef/owner Lucio Pompili led tours of the wine cellar.

He explained that the bottles are wrapped in plastic to preserve the labels: a 1000-euro bottle of wine can lose 30% of its value if the label is ruined, and still more if it has suffered evaporation loss. (If the wine was 1000 euros good to begin with, I personally would not give a damn about the label.)

Sara’s husband Patrice, who recently qualified as a sommelier (in addition to his day job as a chemist), was in his element.
patrice

Deirdré Straughan on Italy, India, the Internet, the world, and now Australia