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sunday scribblings: ocean
Prompt #58: Ocean
Ah, the ocean. Many have fond memories of going to the beach as a child, frolicking in the sand, building sandcastles, getting tossed around in the waves.
Not me.
I remember going to Atlantic City with my grandmother once when I was small, but we didn’t actually get near the water as it was too cold. And yes, for those in the Mid-Atlantic region of the US, I’m talking about “going to the shore” here. Cheesesteaks optional but advised.
So my first time near a large body of water was in college when some friends and I went to Morehead City (accent on the first syllable; make your own jokes please), North Carolina. Is that possible? Nearly 20 years of my life without knowing the ocean?
Entirely. From the middle of Pennsylvania, where I am from, the ocean is several hours away; those from the Midwest may have even more dramatic horror stories. Add to that a family that was never, say, enamored with the water or vacations, and it’s not too hard to understand. Of course it is a bit strange if you consider that I now live minutes from the crystal clear Ionian Sea, a northern Italian and European holiday hotspot.
So when I was 19 years old, I got thrown around by the waves of the Atlantic Ocean for the first time. Scary at the start, but then simply glorious. Being flipped and turned beyond your control really puts the world into perspective for anyone, let alone a 19-year-old college kid.
I remember feeling so small, insignificant, powerless. And happy. Deliriously happy.
It was the perfect time to feel and understand that I was just a tiny piece of the larger puzzle of the world. At the time, I was attending an ultra-competitive university with students who often fit every stereotype you could imagine; it was easy to get suckered into thinking that every decision, including actually eating dinner instead of having half of a plain baked potato, would affect my Entire Future.
Should I continue with German? Should I double major? Should I break down and take a math course? Can I fit in another part-time job? This was critical stuff!
Having nothing to do but lie on the beach, read some novels, and frolic, yes frolic, in the water was the perfect wind-down to another physically and emotionally draining school year; as it turned out, my introduction to the ocean happened exactly when I needed it and, perhaps more importantly, when I was ready to accept it.
I think that when you haven’t grown up with something, your adult years can either find you strangely drawn toward it or still keeping your distance.
With the ocean, I’m somewhere in between. I’m not afraid of the water, although I’ll admit I’m not entirely comfortable on a boat where I can no longer see land. If you haven’t guessed, I’ve never been on a cruise, but I’d welcome the chance if, you know, I won one or something.
On the other hand, I’m definitely not addicted to the sea either–a minor sin here, in fact, where I’m asked nearly every day in the summer if I had gone “al mare,” to the sea. Thank goodness I found P, who isn’t appassionato either, proving one of P’s (and now my) favorite sayings: “Dio li fa e poi li accoppia.” This is the equivalent of our “birds of a feather flock together,” but literally (and much prettier, I think): “God makes them and then matches them up.”
So while not al mare every day, I do enjoy quiet times at the beach when there are few others around. Lucky for me, Italians are quite rigid on when they go to the beach, so those early March and late September days? The beach and the moist, salty air? Pretty much all mine.
I imagine this might change a bit if I have children, though, because I would want them to be comfortable with the water and have all those sweet, frolicky memories that so many others have–although building sandcastles probably isn’t going to happen on our beaches here.
And so, I am at peace with the fact that the ocean and I have a bit of a strained relationship. I wouldn’t die if I wasn’t near it, but then again, that crisp, fresh air and cool water feels oh so good when the sun is warming my cheeks and shoulders (properly covered in sunscreen, of course).
But for now I’ll continue to take it in small doses until the Ionian, which surely knows more than I, pulls me to know it a little better.
And then I will open myself up to whatever it has to offer.
P.S. You can find more images of the sea here.
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[tags]ocean, sea, ionian sea, badolato[/tags]
secrets to my success
The lovely Emma at How to Italy has tagged me to share five things I do nearly every day to be successful. I love this idea. For me, it’s inspiring to read about others’ good, productive habits especially since we so often hear the harmful, destructive ones (which we all have as well).
But first a word on success–a slippery word that can and should be defined by each of us individually. I consider myself successful if I can end the day with a smile and the feeling that I did what I could as well as I could’ve. Does it happen everyday? Hardly. But I like to think the following habits make it more likely:
1. After I wake up, I spend fifteen minutes sitting on the balcony with Luna and my beverage of choice, usually coffee but sometimes fresh-squeezed orange juice (season-permitting). When I say “sitting on the balcony,” I mean literally. I plop my bum down on Luna level, and we have our own pettie and snuggle time in the sunshine if the weather cooperates, and if the weather doesn’t cooperate, we share our moments inside in the kitchen. These quiet, relaxed moments before the day kicks up are important for me.
Here are some photos from a recent pettie and snuggle session:
2. While we’re on the subject of Luna, we take at least 3 walks per day (usually more). I probably wouldn’t do this on my own without a canine companion, so thank goodness she’s with us. Being in touch with nature gives me inspiration, thinking time, and an overall calm feeling that everything around me is exactly as it should be for one reason or another. It also gives me an excuse to take even more photos despite the fact that the locals think I’m a tad wacky getting so close to trees and whatnot.
3. I tell someone I love them. Always P, but if I’ve spoken to my mom or dad that day, I’ve told them too. For as long as I can remember, my mom has always told me she loves me at the end of every phone call–and this was when we lived just a town apart. It’s something I’ve continued with my family members over the phone and with P in person, daily. I don’t think you can ever say “I love you” too much.
4. I go on the Internet (when Telecom cooperates). This may sound odd, but since I’ve had the Internet installed in the house about a year ago, I’ve felt so much more in touch with the world and comfortable with my life here. Whether it’s the news, celebrity gossip, other blogs, or personal emails, I need and crave this contact with civilization outside of southern Italy. It makes me feel more alive and part of something larger, and that’s a good feeling.
5. I write. Could just be a blog entry (no offense readers!) or an email or thirty, but every day I write something, which they say is good for a writer. In fact, blogging has increased my “other” writing productivity as ideas spring up at every turn–finding the time and discipline to follow all of them through is the more difficult part. Back to number 4, though, and reading other writers’ blogs inspires me to continue.
So there are my five things. I won’t tag anyone, but I do hope you’ll make such a list even if it’s just for your own eyes. A lot of times we focus on what we’re doing wrong because finding flaws is so easy (many of us even have people to help us if we can’t find them!), but it’s also useful to see what we’re doing right.
If you do post a list, please leave the link in the comments for others to find you.
Buon weekend!
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[tags]secrets of success, dogs, sunrises, trees[/tags]
Love Thursday: Helping Hands
In case you hadn’t guessed by now, I like my P an awful lot. He’s quite thoughtful and sweet and handsome and lovable, and yes, I think I’ll keep him.
But I’m not going to lie to you. He’s not the hugest help around the house.
Now even that’s an unfair statement because he does cook half the time, but see, I don’t mind cooking, so if he didn’t do that, it probably wouldn’t bother me. Cleaning though? I *hate* cleaning of any kind (except organizing — me likey organization!), and unfortunately, apparently so does he.
Sometimes I get overwhelmed, particularly during the middle of the week when I’m out of the house for two full (10 a.m.-8 p.m.) days — especially if, heaven forbid, it has been raining, which means the laundry has piled up.
But I really hate doing the dishes. A lot. So the other day I casually mentioned that maybe when I cook, he could do the dishes. I’m not even sure the sentiment successfully traveled the short distance between my mouth and his ears — a new record for the Things P Didn’t Want To Hear Game.
[Such a fun game, by the way, fully adaptable to any partner and free to play!]
Or at least I thought he didn’t hear me.
Last night when I came home from teaching, I gave LuLu some LuLove, and then I went to the sink to wash my hands. When I reached for a tea towel to dry them, I was greeted by this:
This scene may not mean a lot to you, but let’s just say that when P uses hand towels, they never end up Martha Stewart pretty back on the rack. But this time? I was duly impressed.
And then I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and a spoon from the silverware drawer. I noticed that the spoon I picked up was one of our oddball ones with a design unlike the others — not strange until I realized I had used the same one in the morning for my coffee and had left it in the sink.
I flipped around to see this:
This had been half-full of dirty dishes when I left the house, and surely P had eaten something when he got home from work and added to the pile.
But then…he…washed them? And dried them? And put them away?
I kid you not, my eyes swelled with tears. And I didn’t even mind that some of the silverware was out of place.
Who needs a big fancy ring when you’ve got an empty sink and folded dish towels?
I love my P.
Happy Love Thursday everyone!
What’s Cooking Wednesday: Pancetta and Onion Frittata
Things are finally back on track around here, which means it’s time for What’s Cooking Wednesday! This week it’s Pancetta and Onion Frittata. It could also be known as a Carbonara Frittata, because you use mostly the same ingredients minus the pasta, so if you like that, you should love this.
You can serve this as an appetizer, a light dinner, a hefty breakfast, or anytime you see fit really; I’ve been making this frittata a couple times a week for P to take for his mid-morning snack. He cuts it into thick strips and slaps it between two chunks of bread (folding it over so that it’s a double frittatawich).
Oh, and one last note before we get to the recipe: I would’ve loved to have taken a photo of a nice wedge of the frittata, but since that would’ve ruined his sandwich structure, I didn’t. Aren’t I nice?
Pancetta & Onion Frittata
(Frittata con pancetta e cipolle)
4 tbsp olive oil
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
300 g cubed pancetta
2 tbsp fresh chopped parsley
salt and pepper to taste
6 eggs
2 tbsp grated cheese
1. Break eggs into a bowl, add grated cheese, and beat together with a fork (I would add a little bit of milk to this mixture if P would let me, but he won’t, so I don’t).
2. Heat oil in large non-stick pan. Stir in onions and cook on low heat until they are soft, around 10-15 minutes.
3. Add pancetta, and cook for a few minutes.
4. Add salt, pepper, and parsley.
5. Turn up heat to medium and add egg mixture. Stir a bit to evenly distribute eggs, pancetta, onions, and parsley, but do this rather quickly and then stop stirring.
6. Cook on the first side until the frittata is puffed and no longer wet on top; this will take anywhere from 5-10 minutes.
7. Now you’re getting ready to flip. Forza! I didn’t make frittatas for a long time because I was afraid of this step, but I promise, you’ll do fine if you have faith that your frittata will flip freely.
Phew. Say that five times fast.
First, make sure your frittata will come free easily; if not, shake it back and forth gently to release it from the pan.
Then take a plate large enough to cover the pan completely, place it upside down over the pan, and turn the frittata over onto it. I know it’s stupid to say “Remember that the pan is hot” but I’m saying it anyway. Because, you know, even the best of us can forget. Use oven mitts if you must.
Now slide the frittata from the plate back into the pan and cook until the second side is golden brown, another 5 minutes or so.
8. Remove from heat and cut into wedges to serve–or you can do as P do in cut it into big strips and eat it on a sandwich.
Buon appetito!
Birthday Post Fall-Out (Plus Mention of a Wedding)
That last part got your attention, didn’t it?
Well, we’ll get there eventually, but you have to hang with me a bit.
The other day I posted about my mom for her birthday. I didn’t even tell her that I had posted it because she can only read the blog from my brother’s house occasionally, *and* she’s in the process of moving, so I figured I would wait until things settled down a bit to let her know.
And then I got this email this morning:
*****
Dear Aunt Shell,
Nana says thanks for the blog. I feel the same way about that song. You made Nana cry, but you knew I would. I am almost moved into the apartment the fellow that bought kitty’s stuff moved the furniture to my apartment today. My phone is disconnected and so is my tv- at the house everything is hooked up at the apartment. I am working night shift. I call you tomorrow. Michael typed this for me. We both send our love.
Love Mom, Michael
your favorite nephew Mia is out of the picture.
She’s still in school.
*****
OK, so it’s a little confusing with the shifting point of view, but Nana is my mom, of course, and I’m guessing she’s the one that feels the same about the song (I doubt my 10-year-old nephew is big into Bette–no snide comments!) and also was the one I knew I would make cry (true). Kitty is my mom’s mother-like figure who has recently moved to a care facility, and for some reason my nephew refers to my niece as a nephew (wouldn’t be a problem in Italy since “nipote” covers everyone, even grandchildren!).
That last one may be partly explained by the next email I received–from my niece (who, thank goodness is not literally “out of the picture”).
*****
Dear Aunt shell. Michael said he is your favorite niece. I don’t believe him. I sent you a post card when we went to Disney at Epcot. We might go to Italy to see you get married.
Love,
Mia
*****
Whoa Nelly!Aside from the utter cuteness of my niece and nephew, let’s go back and make some sense of all this.
My brother and his family recently went to Disney World on their first real family trip; everyone had such a blast, so it was casually mentioned that perhaps the next trip it to Italy. So I casually mentioned, well, hey, if everyone will be here, P and I could get married while you’re here.
Going back further. P asked me to marry him, oh, on about the second day we knew each other. So it’s always just kind of been there. Besides, the whole engagement process in Italy isn’t like it is in the States–here it doesn’t even really exist.
About the big day, though, neither of us are religious or want a big to-do, so a church wedding/typical southern Italian 500 guest extravaganza simply isn’t happening. We’re in no rush anyway since we already live together, and well, someday, when everything’s right, the stars align and whatnot, it’ll happen. I’m not concerned, and neither is P.
But when I heard that my family might be planning a trip, I thought, hey, why not?
Even better is that when I told P my family was talking about visiting, *he* suggested getting married while they’re here. So nice when we’re on the same page.
And I then received another email from my nephew which included the following:
*****
. . . Mom said on the way home [from Disney] next vacation is to Italy. Then I asked are we going to stay at Aunt Shells she said yes.
*****
Sounds serious, huh?
So, cara famiglia, the pressure is on.
Blog friends, feel free to leave comments hassling encouraging them to make reservations so P can make an honest woman of me. Only if you feel so inclined, of course.
Oh, and Happy Labour Day/May Day to those celebrating–why yes, it’s another holiday in Italy! Normally around here people go up into the mountains, but as P put it, we’re already in the hills. Hah! That’s Italian humor in case you didn’t catch it.
We will be having a lovely late lunch of Florentine steaks on the grill, baked potatoes, spinach, corn, salad, and (I’m guessing) lots of wine.
And, if you’re wondering, yes, I will also celebrate America’s Labor Day in September–being an expat has many hidden advantages.
Michelle Kaminsky is an American attorney-turned-freelance writer who lived in her family's ancestral village in Calabria, Italy for 15 years. This blog is now archived.
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