Qui e Qui e Qui e Qui
Do you remember eating Eggos as a child and how it was of the utmost importance that each tiny square received syrup? I remember being quite certain that the world would end if even the triangular parts around the edge were left out. My sisters were the same – they would tip poor Mrs. Buttersworth upside down and sway her back & forth for what seemed like an eternity, all in the name of total sugar saturation. The fact that the syrup ran onto the plate once the waffle was cut didn’t ever enter into the logic.
Today, during lunch, I found the equivalent for Italian children: grated parmesan on pasta.
Let me interject with a brief statement that up until now, I have feared cooking for these kids. Vera (9) has already lectured me on the proper way to make espresso (so as not to give it a burnt flavor), as well as the appropriate order to eat your courses (pasta always before salad and/or meat). Italian kids are raised in Italian kitchens on food cooked by Italian mammas and nonnas (grandmas). Combine that with the pickiness of children in general and o mio dio, you have one tough crowd. My first attempt was something simple: Rotini pasta in a tomato sauce with onion, garlic, and zucchini.
I observed the Italian equivalent of the Eggo-Syrup phenomenon when we all sat at the table. I started grating fresh parmesan for Anna (7), but I made the mistake of grating the cheese just over the center of the plate. She quickly informed me that I missed a spot and she would not eat a bite until there was cheese “Qui e Qui e Qui e Qui” – here and here and here and here. Every noodle had to have a morsel of cheese on it before it was ready for consumption. And just as I added the last bit of cheese to the last noodle, what did Anna do? Mix it all together, of course. So apparently the illogical obsession with the meticulous placement of a topping is a worldwide trend. Who knew?
I do have to brag a little bit. All parties were very satisfied with the pasta. Apparently I can cook for Italian children. Phew!
Le Lucciole
A few days ago, I initiated La Passegiata – the evening stroll – with just the girls: Vera (9), Anna (7), and Lea (5). We had several family friends over for dinner and when the conversation turned to more serious topics (recent passing of the grandfather), I thought it was best to distract the kids.Le Lucciole.
Tutti fuori! Everyone outside! We threw on our shoes and took off down the hill. I was just when the glow of the streetlights faded that I saw them. Le Lucciole. Dancing specks of light, twinkling like stars all around. I am so grateful to have learned, in Olympos, how to truly appreciate the moment. Because in those precious moments time froze, I was a child again, and I frolicked through a field with three girls, trying desperately to capture a firefly.
Piu Sensuale
I went for my first gelato today while I was wandering through Lucca. The Gelateria owner, a charming old man, asked me for my order and I went with my favorite 2-scoop combination: pistachio and nocciola (hazelnut). He proceeded to come out from behind the counter, hand me my cone, and said to try both flavors simultaneously. I obviously honored his request and took a bite, grinning ear to ear as my taste buds danced in delight. He then said with a cheeky grin, “Una donna, quando lei mangia, non puo essere piu sensuale.” If he was 40 years younger, I would have been weirded out by this comment, but there was something so sincere in genuine in his eyes that I didn’t take offense. A woman is never more sensual than when she eats.
Yes, Italy…I do believe we are a match made in heaven. Though I must confess that I fear what this means for my waistline.
Il Trucco – Makeup
My efforts to go back to the “natural look” without any makeup appear to be for nothing. Within 24 hours of nannying in Tuscany I had a makeover complete with a fabulous pink sparkly nail color, courtesy of Vera (9) and Lea (5). There was no way I could say no to these girls, especially when they have whole-heartedly welcomed me into their family.
So I present the new, maybe not-so-improved, “Kad-leen” Wax:
Off to Tuscany!
Castelvecchio di Compito
I boarded the Lucca-bound train at Roma Trastevere station, unsure of what to expect upon my arrival in Tuscany. The 4-hour train ride was unreal, worth every euro cent in and of itself. I marveled at Michelangelo’s dome topping St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican, and I saw the Leaning Tower of Pisa somehow still managing to defy gravity. I passed countless lavender and sunflower fields, streams of purple and yellow for miles on end. The Mediterranean Sea, just as brilliant as I had left it in Turkey, though now more blue rather than Turquoise in color. The Italian sun, even this early in summer, so strong and so so hot. “Do not open windows…air conditioned cabin,” the sign read. False. The stuffiness was suffocating and the only way to combat it was to close my eyes and dream of gelato.
I was on my way to Tuscany to meet the family I will be living with for the next 2 months. A family of six, all four children under the age of 10, and a mother who wants them to learn English. Am I insane? Probably.
Tonja (host mom) and I had been corresponding via email since mid-March. She contacted me after reading my profile on Work Away. The website puts people in contact for volunteer work-exchange opportunities around the world. The expectation is 20-25 hours of work per week in exchange for full room and board.
While Tonja didn’t present any set schedule or hours for working, she seemed completely reasonable in her expectations. For me, it was too good to pass up. The town is Castelvecchio di Compito, and it sits on top of a hill 20 minutes outside Lucca. Shockingly gorgeous, incredibly small, and very off-the-beaten-path for tourists.Over the next 2 months, I will eat, sleep and breathe Italy. I will learn Italian recipes inside an Italian kitchen. I will partake in headed debates in Italian over simple topics such as what constitutes a “typical” Tuscan work week. I will sing Italian lullabies. This is exactly the type of immersion I have dreamed of for so long.
I knew the risks – I could end up working much more than 25 hours/week, or the family could be a disaster, etc. But if La Merda truly hit the fan, I have my life in a backpack – I am extremely mobile & flexible – I could just leave.
But upon my arrival at the Lucca train station, I was greeted by the biggest hugs and warmest smiles of Tonja, her mother-in-law, and the kids. My heart melted instantly, and I knew this was absolutely what I was looking for. Here I am, finally under my Tuscan sun.
WanderingByChoice 