Wednesday, February 15, 2006

Notizie Dal Mio Cuore - 23

Have we discussed my apartment?

I think not. And, I think after hitting my four month anniversary (and I do mean HITTING) in lovely Italia, it is about time to discuss things such as Lavatrice and Venti nel mio carinno appartamento. (That would be washing machines and WIND in my cute apartment). And it is important to remember that the word “cute” still is used (see photos) …. even though I say I am going to “the arctic” when I enter my bathroom and that doesn’t even count trying to ignore the growing muffa (mud… a lovely word for mold) that has taken hold on the ceiling. I’ve learned a great deal about condensation…. and when a place essere umido (is being humid)….. such as il mio carinno appartamento, it adds to the problem of creating difficulty for drying clothing indoors when it is pouring outside or your towel which is hanging in the bathroom for two days in the same state as when it left your body after exiting the shower (well of course I don’t exit a SHOWER as I don’t have a shower … but we’ll get to that - see photo)

I thought when I came to Italy that I would have to adjust. And I was ready to! But apparently I have taken my expectations of life here too far and am living below the expectations of what is to be expected even by Italians. This I didn’t know. I really thought…. “this is Italy. They don’t have heat, they don’t have anything that works correctly. They only have one generator for all of Italy and it’s in Finland or something. I’ll just wear lots of sweaters and drink tea.”

And, as I sit here being very cold, feeling the vento enter from the bathroom, turn the corner and play around my ankles, I still refrain from cranking up the heat (turning it on at all actually) because elettricita’ is expensive here and you don’t get a bill from your landlord until after the thaw sets in (somewhere around May) with no real idea of whether it’s correct or not but it can, apparently, require selling your child to cover the cost. I would like to avoid that (I love Matilda). Which is also why I am fond of candles. Have you ever noticed how romantic it is to only live by candlelight? It’s so preferable to lamplight. You should try it sometime. I do most nights. And, really, it does bring a certain “magic” into your life. A softness and a …. gentleness. Which can often help counter the harshness of dealing with life’s transitions and challenges. But we were talking about bathrooms and washing machines. Let’s start with R2D2….

R2D2 is my savior. Or at least I hope so. I’m not sure yet as I’ve not seen the bill. R2D2 is a little bagno stuffa (bathroom heater) that stands under two feet tall, you plug him into the wall, and is the ONLY thing that allows me to shower here in the winter months. “Showering” .. there’s that word again. I’ve never longed so much for anything….. that I used to take for granted. Because, you see, really I’ve not seen my body in about 3 months now. Yes, I think that’s accurate. And, at my age, I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I think it’s important for a woman in her early forties to see what’s going on….. what’s occurring in the aging process so we’re not shocked one day beyond repair. I’ve not seen my body because it’s hardly uncovered for more than 7 minutes. And that’s as few times a week as possible frankly. Because that’s when I’m washing it. And I’m too busy being preoccupied with whether or not the hot water is running out faster than the soap is coming off to pay any attention to my naked form. Which, when spring comes, may be an ignorance I should now be grateful for. Chi sa? (who knows?).

Showering starts with going to bed. There’s a procedure for that as well but this isn’t the time to get into it. However, it is to point out that, even though my lovely friend Pauline has shown me that if I close the hall door, the bathroom door and the wood panels on the windows (which cuts down on the venti quite a bit and contains the condensation as well!) it’s still quite chilly and I have to sleep completely, head and all, under the blankets. Just to illustrate how cold it is, Matilda has taken to joining me UNDER the covers. If you knew her you would understand she would only do such a thing out of animal need, not affection. I’ve never spooned with a cat before. On cold nights…. there’s nothing better! Oh! and it’s important before going to bed to turn on your tiny water heater in the bathroom which is heated by eletricita’ and takes 45 minutes to heat up (too long a time in the morning). You have your fleece pj’s, your feet covered, your cat pushing against your stomach and the tops of your thighs… and you’re in for a nice rest.

Then the alarm goes off and it’s 7 am or so. Quick! get out of bed, grab R2D2, turn him on, close the door of the bathroom. Roll up the floor mats so they don’t get wet, pull the shower curtain around the metal bar that hangs in the middle of your bathroom (that’s right…. the bathroom IS the shower). This creates a little “wall” to hold in the light puffs of warm air coming from R2D2 and hold back the cold air venti that come through your molto carinna ma vecchia finestra (very cute but old window) which is now covered with plastic and tape and puffed full of air from fuori (outside)…..(I will not show photo as my mother will think I am living in a tenement and I don’t want to upset her). Then wait until a moment when goosebumps have rescinded slightly, take four layers of pj’s off quickly, step 1/2 step to the left, close the curtain, making sure bottom is curled under to hold in as much water as possible, turn shower head away from body (to avoid third degree burns from extremely hot temperatures) spend too much time adjusting between cold and hot to use as little hot water as possible (I have an extremely small water tank) wet down hair and body, turn off water, soap up as fast as possible to avoid getting cold, turn water back on (avoiding third degree burns) rinse off, turn off water before becomes ice cold, reach around curtain to grab towel with as little exposure to air as possible, dry off, step 1/2 step to right, take another towel, dry floor and wall as much as possible to not add more moisture to muffa-growth. And done!

I have discovered something very important from all this. I now know why Italian women are famous for hairy legs and arms. They do NOT have time to shave under these conditions!!!!

But, as I said…. maybe I’m wrong. Maybe, as my lovely friend Pauline says, I’ve adjusted too much. Tolerated too much. I’m not sure….. I mean it’s not like my washing machine hasn’t worked for 3 months or anything. No. Wait. It’s EXACTLY like that. They’ve been fixing it for three months now. And, wonders of wonders, just today the repair man from Indesit (that’s spelled I-N-D-E-S-I-T!! in case you missed it) decided that yes, indeed, the customer is not an idiot and there is actually something wrong with a machine that she has said has not worked for quasi tre’ mesi (almost three months). Maybe I was wrong in thinking that spending an hour hand washing laundry in my kitchen sink is the Italian way. Or walking bags of it all the way over to Santa Croce area (a 25 minute walk) to my friend Juliana’s to use her lavatrice in her WARM apartment was also just what had to be done to live here (the walk back with the weight of wet laundry to be hung out my window was good for my muscle development!). But it has been pointed out to me, in so many ways this last month, that my adjusting…. my wanting to be tolerant, to be open to this new culture, this bureaucracy of sub-level customer service needs to be looked at on a deeper level. What am I doing here if it’s not to learn about myself. To truly learn. Why am I willing to accept things that even an Italian would not find acceptable? Where is the stand I take for myself when I am the only one here to take a stand for me. I think this is important. I am grateful to my muffa and my non funzione lavatrice and my venti. They have shown me there are things I have to contemplate. Deeply. And that’s why I am going to look for a new apartment. So I can contemplate while dancing around naked before I step into my doccia (shower) and shave my legs. Because after all the thaw will set in soon and spring will come. And that’s something I want to celebrate.

Ciao ragazzi! Sempre mi mancate molto.

Bari

Posted by Bari at 23:24:35 | Permalink | Comments (1) »

Thursday, February 2, 2006

Notizie Dal Mio Cuore - 22

Sometimes the best way to learn about yourself is to meet Bicycle Man.


Well, maybe not ALL aspects of yourself. Not the ones that have to do with spirit and intellect and the desire to grow as a complete human being. But the parts that are female. The parts that threw you through life pursuing a career before marriage, having more jobs than fingers and toes, putting yourself through grad school, through a journey from the east coast to the west, from fourteen years of acting and not acting and living and dying inside while trying to “figure it out” and “figure myself out” all leading to one moment….. the moment you are hunted down by a man on a bicycle in Piazza Santa Croce because you have “bellissima occhi” (beautiful eyes). . . . . . It is strange, the reaction to my eyes here in Italy. To so many of my shop keepers that’s my name “begli occhi”…… then they lock eyes with you as they say it and make you blush inside while you hand them the can of cat food (diet of course because Matilda is gaining too much weight from all the riccotta– or all my guilt of bringing her here, but I’ll never admit to that) or a few pomodori (tomatoes) that pass from my hands to theirs and I feel all….. warm inside. Like I am seen. Seen, wanted, appreciated, enjoyed….. and that’s all from buying groceries!

But then……. there was Bicycle Man.

I mean, what are you going to do when a man chases you down on his bicycle? There must be some compliment within that, wouldn’t you think? Some deep, real significance of meaning…. “I am woman, I am here, I am 41 and STILL a man wants me?!!!” Because most certainly I never felt this in the states. I never felt so…… wanted. Or at least so pursued. Physically! Let’s think about this for a moment. Bicycle Man had to see me, say “buon giorno,” register he wanted me, then follow me alllllllll the way to the other end of the piazza before riding his bike up to me, and saying “Ciao bella. Come stai. Hai bellisssssssima occhi. Come ti chiami?” and I say….. Bari.

Andrea (why not give him his real name) wants me. “Ah! Good for you Bari!” You are thinking….. if you care about me which I think you do. You’re probably thinking “Finally! She’s found someone…. she’s hooked up with an Uomo Italiano….. she’s living la bella vita! She’s drinking Chianti and speaking Italian and riding around on the back of a vespa, Tuscan wind tossing her lovely curls…. ” okay, that’s MY fantasy not yours. And, it is a fantasy. Because we are speaking about Bicycle Man lest we forget. And, lest we forget, I’m not sure that being picked up on the street is the way to go. Not even in Italy where it is so…. common. But we’ll get to that. For now we are in realita’ and it is here where we learn the most…. where I learn the most ….. about self. There is an acceptance here to the way men are. They ride around on the street, they walk the piazze, they look…. stare really. And their hearts get broken easily (or so they say). And when a man wants you, he tells you. Even if he’s married. Even if, while being married, you “make me feel not married” (great gift I’ve got, huh?). But we are talking about Bicycle Man not Negozio Panini Man (Sandwhich Shop Man) — at least not now. We can talk about Pasquale another time. Maybe.

“Posso telefonarti?” (can I call you?) Allora. . . . I stood there next to one of my favorite churches…. if not my favorite (Santa Croce) and paused a moment. What was that new motto I had when I got here? Ah yes! I would say yes to everything unless I had a reason to say no. I think this qualified for an ‘everything’ moment…. “334 835 7826″ (in Italian of course because Bicycle Man doesn’t speak a word of English and, as EVERYONE here will tell you - including my lovely friend Juliana (see photo) who speaks extremely good Italian - the only way to learn the language is to hook up with someone who speaks it better than English). Opportunita’? Chi sa? Forse! This might be a good thing. Companionship AND language practice…. perfetto!

Having coffee with someone who can’t stop talking about your eyes usually has a few affects — one, it’s a compliment — two, it’s boring — three if it’s in Italian it sounds delicious on the ears — four, if it’s in Italian sounding delicious on the ears you have to consciously and forcefully remind yourself that the conversation, albeit delicious, is showing itself to be somewhat limited in scope. Because of course you’re sitting there, I’M sitting there, thinking…. hmmm this man obviously wants to get into my pants subito…. it would be nice to have a few nice italian phrases whispered in my ear while rolling around in bed….. hmmmm.

But let’s look at something important. Just because Bicycle Man speaks italian perfectly and deliciously doesn’t mean Bicycle Man gets into my bed. Certainly not on the merits of conversation. This is a man who, when asking what I liked to eat, and heard my response “sono vegetariana” (I am a vegitarian) thought I was using an English word. Because he never heard of a vegetarian before. How can you live in the modern world and not know that word? I mean come on, over half the world lives on a vegetarian diet. That may be the result of being a stereo-typical Fiorentino. But that’s a discussion for another time. For now… we are contemplating sex with Bicycle Man. Or are we? No. No we are not. I have come to realize something very important here in Florence. I am no longer interested in men who simply want to bed me. If I was I’d be sleeping with The Fish Man by now (Enio who apparently, according to my friend Pauline, also likes my eyes…. and one or two other things). Or, if they want to bed me then it is only fair that I want to bed them. Subito…. not after insipid conversation revealing that there is nothing there but insipid conversation…. but right then, on the street, when they run me over with their bicycle. If I want to throw them against the stones of Santa Croce then I think it’s a fair trade. But if not, do I really have to put up with this childish italian male behavior simply to work on improving my understanding of the grammatical structure of how to say “do it again baby I loved it?”

And, of course, knowing me this little encounter had to be analyzed and examined. Held up to the light of many years of relationships and navigating the waters of men and me. You don’t turn 40, 41, almost 42 as a woman alone and not contemplate these things…. often. But that is what moving to Florence was about for me. As I said early on. Partly it was to find love. True love. And that love starts with me. If I am in dying…. desperate….. to have sex and I can’t find anyone I want to slam into Medieval stones… it’s nice to know there are a few places to go and find it. That’s really what most Italian men are most generous with anyway….. their sex drive. And it is good to be around them, their energy, to remember that I have one too…. that I am a female human being with female human being qualities. Sometimes I forgot that over the years. Pursuing my career and trying to fit into and reconcile molds that were conflicting — those of my parents generation of needing to become a wife and mother and those of the “liberated” generation of focusing on career and independence. I realize now I am a product of those things….. those conflicts. My drives, my desires….. are they mine or are they only concepts I have been struggling with because they were given to me and other women my age. Until recently I accepted the struggle without thinking. Without declaring my true independence from these concepts and asking myself what I truly want in order to realize the truth of who I really am. This is not easy to do. And still I am not completely sure of where I stand with it all. But I am sure of one thing. I’m enough of a woman, enough of a person to know at this point in my life there is no man who will answer anything for me that I can not answer alone. And for that I guess I have to say to Bicycle Man (who calls me four times a day God love him) “Grazie Mile. E non chiamarmi ancora.” (Thank you very much. And don’t call me any more)

Ciao ragazzi! Mi macate molto. Eccoli foto per voi!

Con affetto,

Bari

Posted by Bari at 23:31:23 | Permalink | Comments (1) »