August 16

Our day started yesterday with a lovely way to round up supplies. We went into town, where one store sold produce, another sold charcoal and lighter fluid, and still another was the friendly neighborhood butcher. I am going to suspect I am bearing witness as to why the food smells and tastes so much better in Italy. Well, the whole grow local/shop local thing and the lack of genetically modified food.

Ever since Duke and I have been traveling to Sabaudia(doesn't that make us sound worldly, like we're there all the time instead of having gone three times over seven years? Well, except for Duke who has been there five times. I think.), we have been wanting to walk the beach to what we always refer to as the castle, but it turns out was really just a watchtower commissioned by the pope in the 1600s. We generally get so far before we get tired and quit.

Today, however, Nick informed us it the walk was a mere 5k. We can do that! Duke runs more than that on a daily basis! And I...uh... go the gym and lift weights! Okay! So, we set off on our walk.

I noticed that 1) I easily have the most covered ass on the beach. And I thought I had brought a very daring swimsuit for me. Let's just say it showed a lot more of my behind than granny panties. But All the other women of every single age were showcasing either their entire heiney or the vast majority or it from the 80 somethings to the 7 year olds. wow. And that's not even taking into account all the tops that are M.I.A. Or the fact that all the men are wearing speedos. Except Duke. And Nick.

Oh and 2) Everyone is so tan that THEY ARE PURPLE. It's pretty impressive. I didn't even know people could be that tan. I certainly never achieved that color when I was slathered in baby oil and lying on a roof. The tanners get very defensive when they are questioned and will quickly spout off facts as to how vitamin D is a necessity and rickets is making a comeback. Just for the record, not one of these purple folk need worry about vitamin D deficiency.

Also worth noting is the amount of compliments I have received for my desperate-to-not-achieve tan that I developed this summer despite wearing a hat, SPF 100 (my SPF 100 got huge laughs from the Italian crowd by the way) applied every 1/2 hour, and sitting in the shade. The Italians and Australians react with big smiles and admiring, "OH! You're so tan!" Americans react with exaggerated frowns of faux concern, horror and reproaching tones of "Ohhhh. Geez. You're so tan."

So, we made it to the watchtower ruins and they are pretty cool. Certainly not something we have littering any beaches in Maryland or Jersey. And speaking of Jersey: If the Italian-Americans who were up in arms about the Jersey Shore and their portrayal of Italians, they can put their fears to rest. Proper Italians are so far removed from Italian-Americans and certainly any member of the Jersey Shore cast(or The Real Housewives of New Jersey for that matter) that they may as well be an entirely different species. They just are. Sorry.

So, along the way to the ruins, Duke and Nick stopped to get an almond flavored Italian ice from the vendor who PUSHES A GIANT CART OF ICE BLOCKS up and down the sand all day long, scraping off the ice for the syrupy treat with a machete.

And then let's just say that only two of us made the return walk back to the beach towels. We walked from 1:30 until 4:30.One of us took the bus. (It was Nick). Post beach time but pre-barbeque time, we walked back to the beach and had mojitos and watched the sun set. In the eternal words of Ice-Cube, "Today was a good day."

Aug 15 Part II

I slept until noon. I could have slept longer, but Duke woke me up because the sun is poring over everything and the day is gorgeous and we have to buy supplies for tonight's barbecue before we lay ourselves down on the beach.

Last night we went to San Felice Circeo with DJ Nicky Nick and had appertivos and met-up with his sister Natalia and two of her Australian pals. And quite selfishly, I was glad that they were Australian because Nick and Natalia both speak perfect English in the way that many Europeans do, and I speak nothing but English in the way that many self-centered, ill-educated Americans do. So English speaking Australians were a lovely addition. And I do so admire and love how fluidly everyone is able to switch from language to language (I once got to witness a conversation between Nick and a French friend in which they used Italian, German, French, and English all effortlessly jumbled up in the same several sentences. Wouldn't that be an amazing thing to be able to do? )

There was shoe shopping amongst the females and easily the most stunning girl I have ever seen in real life at dinner. She made the Victoria Secret models look like The Real Housewives of NJ. It was like staring at living art--I couldn't look away. Natalia and Barbara were speaking in Italian and then explained that they had been questioning the same thing I wondered: Why was a girl that looked like that having dinner with a guy who was so drippy? Was he a cousin? A gay friend? But then they started holding hands and we all just had to shake our heads and surmise that he was either in possession of the most amazing personality in the world and/or she had no idea what she looked like.

I also noticed a new bra with which to wear strapless dresses and backless shirts: that would be any old bra. No need to use backless, strapless, taped-up contraptions. You just wear your bra and whatever shirt you want can go on top of it. My female peeps didn't seems to bat an eye at this, so I just had to be bitchy and puritanical to myself. And try to take pictures because I knew my fellow Americans would be as dismayed as I. Because they make racerback and strapless and backless bras. Yes, they do.

I was unfortunately still a zombie from the jet-lag, but we did get to see a Ricky Martin/Enrique Iglesias type singer do the single worst renditions of American songs in the square. Even his bandmates seemed disgusted. The crowd seemed to be laughing heartily, and yet, the show must go on as he wiggled and gyrated his way through Sting's "Fragile", Joan Osbourn's "What if God was One of Us?" and Pink Floyd's "The Wall." I have pictures, so I know that I wasn't just having jet-lagged hallucinations.

I know that in recounting my Italian journey, I haven't even yet made it successfully through the jet lag portion of the trip, but there's so much going on real time, that I haven't been able to travel back and recreate.

Mort has started first grade. If you do not have a school-age child, this will not seem monumental. But it really really is.I thought once I had accepted and adapted to kindergarten, I would be okay. But the beginning of first grade brought an equal amount of tears (from me, not him--he was excited to begin anew) and an equal feeling of loss and worry and fear and sorrow. He is doing what he should be doing:creating his own life, beginning the process of moving away from me. I suffer the emotions of every mother in that I want him back so that I can better appreciate and savor those moments of him learning to lift his head and discovering his feet and the sound of his baby laughter at a dozing, sun-soaked Stella.

I read somewhere that the first 20 years of your life are the longest. And I can still recall the agonizing slowness with which those years did seem to trickle. Each month was an eternity, always waiting and waiting for that next milestone. But as a parent, these past six years have literally passed(cliche alert) in the blink of an eye;overnight I awoke and no longer was I pregnant, but instead I had a first grader.

He loves school. He loves his teacher. He starts every day with a smile and ends every day with a smile. But my heart hurts with every lunch I pack. Last year he automatically held my hand as we crossed the parking lot and hugged me and kissed me and waved until I couldn't see him anymore. This year he runs through the doors with barely a good-bye and certainly does not have time to spare a backward glance for me, not knowing or caring that I watch until I know he is safe. And I do know intellectually that this means we are doing a good job, Duke and I. That Mort is secure and content. But finally I understand that quote that having children is to have your heart forever walking around outside of your body.