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Edited July 2nd, 2012 The post-earthquake recovery efforts in Emilia-Romagna, Italy continue. If you would like to make a donation to any of the relief funds, please click here to find out how you can do so. Many people outside of Europe are still unaware of the earthquakes which have shaken Northern Italy since May 20th, 2012. The most recent quake hit on June 3rd, and aftershocks continue to unnerve residents who are already on edge after the initial 6.1 and 5.9 magnitude quakes a few weeks ago. Recovery efforts are, of course, ongoing. Although I am in the US at the moment, I live in Italy most of the year. Emilia-Romagna is the region I call home - and my adopted hometown of Reggio Emilia has felt the impact of these events, albeit to a (thankfully) lesser extent. However, since I'm not there to help, I want to do what I can from here. I am donating 50% of the profits from my book sales (paperback and ebook formats alike) in June and July to Croce Rossa Italiana - the Italian Red Cross - for their recovery efforts in Emilia-Romagna. To purchase a book, just go to the Order Books page. Every sale this month - regardless of format, whether paperback or ebook - counts toward this donation. I hope you will consider making a purchase, but if you prefer to donate directly to the recovery efforts, here are some links so you can do just that. If you would like to assist the local authorities of Cavezzo in rebuilding the town, you can send donations (via bank transfer) here: Comune di Cavezzo - Protezione Civile Banco Popolare Società Cooperativa - Agenzia di Cavezzo IBAN account: IT 52 J 05034 66720 000000032456 Bic-Swift code: BAPPIT21519 If you would like to help the city of Carpi, donations via bank transfer can be sent here: Intestazione Comune di Carpi-Interventi di solidarietà - Codice Iban IT 27 E 02008 23307 000040743376, Unicredit Banca, causale Sisma Carpi  If you want to donate directly to Croce Rossa Italiana, please click here and give what you can (be sure to select "sisma Emilia Romagna" to send your donation to the correct channel).
I hope you can find it in your heart to contribute. Thank you for your time, and for reading. Grazie mille, Kimberly Menozzi  Ack! It's happened again - I've been swamped with projects and commitments and haven't done a proper Thursday Thirteen. <hangs head in shame> That said, I'd like to share some samplings from my new novella, Alternate Rialto, out now on Smashwords, which is a prequel to my novel Ask Me if I'm Happy! So here are 13 Snippets from "Alternate Rialto"!  1) Ypsilanti, Michigan was nothing like this. For that reason alone, Emily Miller knew the scene before her should have been perfect. Beyond the Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute, the sun faded from the sky. Streaks and splashes of orange, pink and red darkened and drained down into the sea. The water of the lagoon deepened to violet and then to indigo at the base of the dock – the Molo, she corrected herself – while the black-and-white striped shirts of the gondoliers glowed ghostlike over the sleek black boats drifting silently toward the Bridge of Sighs. With a little imagination, it would be easy to be lost in a fantasy of timelessness and forget that it was Nineteen-Ninety-Eight. Forgetting the past year – or at least to forget the last six months or so – would be a blessing, anyway. 2) Dreamlike, watery voices drifted and echoed, calling to each other and reflecting off the walls in a language Emily didn't understand. Dull splashes followed, accompanied by jeering, teasing shouts before the rumble of an engine rattled the windows in their frames for a moment. She squinted through sleep-heavy eyes and behind the fine lace curtains of her window made out a woolen grey sky over the rooftops of the next building. 3) She shook her head and paused atop a bridge to watch a pair of gondolas pass at the end of the canal. Raising her camera she framed the shot, feeling a momentary embarrassment for taking such a "touristy" photo. Ah, what the hell? Why not? It's not like I'll ever come here again. Another gondola passed beneath the bridge a moment later and she stilled herself, waiting for the perfect image. An errant breeze lifted her skirt just as the gondola emerged. The gondolier looked up at her, and Emily dropped her free hand down to protect her modesty. His blue eyes flashed with mirth at her reaction before he turned back to focus on the task at hand, taking his crooked grin out of her view. She couldn't resist the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth before she crossed to the other side of the bridge. Finally, a reaction that's just for me - but only because of a panty-flash? That figures. 4) "Emily." His soft voice carried above the sounds of the crowd to feel like a caress in the relative silence after the engine's shutdown. "Let me help you up." Stone steps ascended from the water to the walkway, and Jacopo's steadying hand kept her from losing her footing on the slippery surface. Once on the pavement he held her hand secure in his own, placing his other hand at the small of her back to steer her along the bridge. In spite of herself, she was compelled to pause at the top and push through the crowd that had gathered along the wall to have their photographs taken with the Grand Canal as the backdrop. She wished that she had brought her camera with her, but smiled to think how silly her bulky camera bag would have looked with her outfit. "Che peccato," Jacopo said, taking her hand and drawing her away from the wall. "What a shame. If only we had a camera to make your photo." Her eyes widened at the statement. "Besides," he continued when she remained silent, "this light is quite flattering to you." His smooth fingertips slid from her hand to her wrist and back again. "It is like your skin is made of roses." The thudding of her heart had to be noticeable; it was thumping so hard in her chest. Emily had a vision of his lips on her wrist, just grazing there before continuing along her arm, and she shook her head to dispel it. This is going to be quite an evening, I'm sure of it. Her silence didn't seem to disturb him in the least. Jacopo gazed wordlessly into her eyes for a moment before he took her hand in his once more and led her off the bridge. He guided her down a darkened calle, full of twists and turns, until she lost all sense of direction in the coming dark. 5) Jacopo's eyes held hers over the flickering candlelight. "So, Emily… It is just you and your friend traveling? Why isn't your boyfriend with you?" Pushing her reflexive scowl off her face at the word "boyfriend," Emily shrugged. "I don't have one." "No boyfriend? Your lover, then." His bluntness threw her. How was she supposed to answer that? Her gaze fell to the tablecloth and she fussed with the placement of her cutlery to avoid meeting his eyes. Cheeks burning, she took a deep breath and spoke. "No lover, either." Their host rushed out of the kitchen and set a serving plate between them. Emily noted the assortment of appetizers with a wary eye. Jacopo picked up her plate and placed a few items on it before handing it back to her. "Capesante, aringa affumicata, patè di fegato," he recited, pointing at each in turn. "Scallops, smoked herring, veal liver patè." She regarded the offerings for a long moment before reaching for the patè. Might as well try something new. He filled his own small plate, then ate with his eyes on her all the while. "No lover?" he asked, continuing as though there hadn't been any interruption. Emily selected the herring and stuffed it in her mouth. She nodded, then shook her head, unsure of the proper response. Jacopo's smile embarrassed her further and the familiar heat rushed to her cheeks again before she swallowed. "Nope. No lover. You?" She asked this last with a bravado she wasn't sure she felt. She swallowed another sip of wine and wondered if maybe that was why. His only answer was a sly grin.  Kim Rossi-Stuart: the inspiration for Jacopo. 6) The streets were virtually empty, the campi deserted. They crossed the Rialto Bridge again, Jacopo guiding her as before, but this time he steered her to a place at the wall. The bridge was aglow, the ghostly pale stone surface softly illuminated by strategically placed lights. They stood and looked out at the reflections on the water which rippled, rose and fell with soft, gentle lapping against the boats moored nearby. "Emily," he said, his voice scarcely carrying above the soft murmurs of conversation around them. She drew her gaze away from the hypnotic dance of light on water to face him. Yes? she wanted to ask, but the word never formed on her lips. Instead, his hands framed her face and held her still as he brought his lips to hers in a soft kiss. She raised her own trembling hands to cover his as he kissed her again. At once, the other people vanished, along with the bridge, the water and the city itself. His hands slipped from under hers to stroke her hair, tangling in the length of it while his kiss deepened. Her heartbeat was distant and remote, somewhere else. There were only his lips, parting hers and lingering while he pulled her to him and held her securely in his embrace. Emily trembled as eagerness, anxiety and need warred amongst themselves, threatening to breach the surface at any moment. 7) After lunch, they strolled across the campo toward the rio where he'd docked the runabout. A narrow bridge spanned the water, with a wrought-iron gate on the campo side and a huge arched wooden door on the other. The elaborate scrollwork of the iron in the gate revealed countless hours of work and a lifetime of training in every fine turn. Emily longed to have her camera in her hands, to photograph the details of the ironwork. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked, trailing her hand along the spirals and twirls to feel the movement in the metal. "Sì, it is. It is very old, too. At least one hundred years – but it has been treated well and does not rust, unlike others." She turned to ask how he knew that for sure, but stopped upon seeing the large iron key in his hand. His gaze held hers as he stepped forward and slipped his key into the lock with a rather provocative gesture, a wicked grin on his face all the while. Her throat went suddenly dry and she swallowed hard, a pleasant tingle sweeping through her body at the unspoken statement in his actions. The sound of the iron key in the lock had an audible heft to it, and she pictured the key pushing the tumblers about to unlock them. 8) "My mother wishes me to marry," he said, his words echoing slightly in the grand room. Even though she was sitting, Emily's knees went to water. Had she been standing, she would have hit the floor in a graceless slump. As it was, she found herself sliding back to sit in the armchair. "Really?" she asked, hoping the delay wasn't noticeable. "Sì, è vero." Jacopo looked up at her at last. "That is; yes, it's true. She is fond of saying that she wishes for me to find a wife, before she dies. She wishes for me to be an honest man, with an honest woman." His expression was full of dark humor, a bitter turn to his mouth. "Wow." At a loss for words, Emily wiped her suddenly clammy hands on her thighs, pulling the fabric of her skirt taut. "This has become her favorite subject, with me: 'Find a wife, give me a grandchild.'" Jacopo's gaze drifted to the open window, focusing somewhere over Emily's left shoulder. "I can't believe it, but she said it again, just now when she was leaving." "Just now?" She trembled, her pulse already racing. She drew a slow, deep breath, hoping Jacopo wouldn't notice. The light sweat along the back of her neck felt positively chilly, now. What is he leading up to? It can't be, can it? Jacopo blinked and his eyes shifted to her face, regarding her in silence before a short bark of laughter escaped him. "Oddio! Emily! I didn't mean that she wants me to marry you." 9) The gelateria's storefront lit the entire street in a soft neon glow, and the benches propping the doors open allowed artificially-cooled air to seep enticingly outward. Emily shivered when they entered, her eyes widening at the colorful display in oblong stainless-steel bins that filled the refrigerated cases. Dozens of frosted tubs of bright colors were lined up inside, the flavors they contained written in Italian or what Emily guessed was the local dialect. She thought of Jacopo, speaking with the man in the restaurant in an utterly incomprehensible and somehow still more foreign tongue. The recollection brought with it both a hint of warmth and pull of longing for him. Jenn debated her choices for an embarrassingly long time. Emily ordered by pointing out her selections and fumbling through her pronunciations of their names. The server was curt without being rude, and Emily was certain that, were Jenn not there being, well, Jenn, his patience would have run out much faster. When more patrons entered and Jenn still hadn't decided, the server simply took his spatula in hand, slathered some random selections precariously onto a cone and thrust it into her hand, waving her off. "I got a freebie," Jenn said as they turned to go out of the shop. Her expression was childlike, full of surprise and delight.  10) It all passed in a whirl: the lion over the archway, the musty stairs leading up the chilly stairwell to the upper floors, even the plain front door which Jacopo heaved open and closed with a show of impatience. Emily clutched his hand in hers, focusing on his warmth in the darkness, her excitement warring with anxiety as Jacopo switched on the light in the foyer. He led her through the long corridor with the open windows, taking her past the grand sitting room and into unknown territory. Now they stood in a room she hadn't seen on her visit earlier that day. The light from the foyer barely reached the doorway. Most of the illumination came from the windows, reflecting off the pale walls to give the room a hazy, unfocused glow. Heavy brocade curtains framed the windows; an aged Oriental carpet lay atop the shining marble floor, and an ornate wrought-iron bed frame draped with luxurious silk bedcovers stood against the wall, a gauzy canopy over the head of the bed shifting ghostlike in a scarcely-felt breeze. Jacopo's bedroom resembled a museum display rather than a place to rest. 11) Her sleep-weighted eyes adjusted slowly. Still peering through her lashes, she spied Jacopo sitting in the wing chair next to one of the windows. In spite of the faint chill of the early morning he was nude, and a pleasant tremor shook her as she regarded his body from a distance. His hair was in tousled disarray, and her fingers tingled with a desire to stroke it into place again. His gaze fixed upon some midpoint between himself and the bed, but his face appeared utterly without expression. A small shiver ran through her from head to toe, followed by a prickling of her skin so intense it pulled at the sheets under her. The sheer curtains shifted in the breeze pushing through the open shutters. A stronger gust followed, flipping the edge of one panel up to obscure Jacopo from her vision, and she closed her eyes while the fine hairs of her arms raised as if someone had walked over her grave. 12) "Dimmi," he whispered, sliding his arm around her waist and picking up her cappuccino to sample it. "Tell me." Emily took a deep breath and met his gaze with hers, then plunged ahead. "I was wondering why you chose me over Jenn." He laughed aloud, drawing a glance from the barista and two older women seated on the bench by the door. "This is what you looked so serious for? Dio bon!" "Well?" Emily felt the blush rise to her cheeks, a flash fire on her cool skin. "It doesn't make any sense, does it? Men follow her around everywhere she goes, and then the best of the bunch chooses me?" "'Best of the bunch'?" Jacopo echoed, and her blush intensified. "Emily, cara…" he framed her face in his hands, still laughing. "This, I think, is your true flaw." My face? she thought, and swallowed the goony laugh that threatened to erupt. 13) Emily didn't need to see the bags beneath her eyes – she felt them there, swollen, containing the bulk of a restless night. The sleepless hours she'd passed alone were nearly enough to convince her that she'd started losing her mind. The cardboard tube rested next to her as it had since Jacopo left, still unopened despite the loving caresses she'd imparted from time to time. Emily reviewed his giving of this gift over and over again, trying to guess what it might contain. She was certain it was one of the prints that had fascinated her in the shop, and this mattered, for some strange reason she couldn't quite fathom. She desperately wanted to guess the contents before opening the tube, but didn't know why. It was just a little gift, right? Nothing special about it. Except for what he'd said, when he gave it to her; "I just thought you should have it, after I saw you admiring it in the shop." How did he see me looking at the prints? I was talking to the old man when Jacopo came in – I could swear it. The prints had been lovely, though. One, of a bridge to the square where the shop itself stood; the other, a watercolor of Proserpina eating the pomegranate seeds that would confine her to Hades. So which was it? The bridge, or Proserpina? Proserpina or the bridge? The question echoed in her head, an all-consuming thought, until at last the sun shone on the buildings across the canal, and she slept and dreamed. And there we have them: 13 Snippets from "Alternate Rialto". I hope you've enjoyed them, and that they've made you a little curious about the novella itself. And in the spirit of all things Italian and lovely, I give you this: You can't go wrong with Raoul, now, can you? ;)  Ciao for now!
 Hello again and welcome to this week's Thursday Thirteen! I know, just about everyone is doing a St. Patrick's Day-themed post this week, but I thought I'd do something a little different. As it happens, today is also the 150th anniversary of the unification of Italy, which means many Italians are enjoying a day off. Some will have Friday off too, savoring a "ponte" or bridge holiday - joining a day off to a weekend for extra time away from work. So, I thought I'd go with the flow and share 13 Random Facts About Italy  Okay, so they tinkered with it a little more after this... 1) The Italian tri-color flag - Il Tricolore - was originally the herald of the Cispadane Republic under Napoleon in 1797. It was later adopted as the flag for the newly-formed nation of Italy.  Not the original David. 2) The era of Il Rinascimento -- better known to many as the Renaissance -- spanned roughly from the 14th to the 17th century, and is believed by many to have begun in Florence, Italy before reaching the rest of Europe.  3) For all its impact on the arts and sciences through the years, Italy is a small country, geographically speaking. It covers roughly 116,304 square miles. To put that in perspective, the state of Arizona covers 113, 998 square miles (approximately).  And from the looks of it, they're all on the road at the same time, too. 4) Italy fits more people in that square mileage, though. Compared to Arizona's 6,595,778 people, Italy is home to 60,221,211 people.  5) The Italian alphabet has only 21 letters. The letters ‹ j, k, w, x, y › are excluded, appearing only in words adopted from other languages (such as jeans, taxi, weekend and so on).  Just the tip of the, uh, toe, really. 6) Many Italians speak not only standard Italian, but also their local, regional dialect. As a general rule, these dialects are frequently quite difficult to understand if you are not from the area where it is commonly spoken. Some are more familiar to outsiders -- Roman or Tuscan dialects among them -- but most are not.  7) If you're a musician, you're surely aware of all the musical terms which come from Italian, for example: Cantata - Sung Coda - Tail Libretto- Little book Intermezzo- Interval Alto- High Tempo - Time Adagio- At ease Fortissimo- Very strong Just to name a few!  8) As I said at the beginning, Italy has only existed as a unified nation for 150 years, having united in 1861.  9) However, the Republic of Italy has only been around since 1946.  10) While today the capital city is Rome, the original capital of Italy was Torino - Turin - at the foot of the Alps. Florence also had a brief spell as the capital as well, before Rome became the official capital of the nation in 1871.  11) There are twenty separate regions in Italy: 1. Valle d'Aosta 2. Trentino-Alto Adige 3. Friuli-Venezia Giulia 4. Piemonte 5. Lombardia 6. Veneto 7. Liguria 8. Emilia-Romagna 9. Marche 10. Toscana 11. Umbria 12. Lazio 13. Abruzzo 14. Molise 15. Campania 16. Basilicata 17. Puglia 18. Calabria 19. Sicilia 20. Sardegna  12) Italy has a public health care system which ranks as the world's 2nd best.  13) According to The Economist, Italy has the 8th highest quality of life in the world. And there you have them - 13 Random Facts About Italy! Think of it as antidote to all the St. Patrick's Day celebration, if you like. Not that there's anything wrong with St. Patrick's Day, mind. In fact, I encourage you to pinch someone who isn't wearing green, today. Like this guy!  Mirco Bergamasco. Italian rugby player. Not wearing green. Pinch-pinch-pinch!!! Ciao for now!
 I've decided to do something a little different this week. If you are a member of Goodreads, it might be worth keeping a copy of this Thursday Thirteen around, as I'm prepping a quiz for that site, based on Ask Me if I'm Happy! (Which, by the way, would make an excellent gift for Christmas, either as a paperback or Kindle e-book...) So when you've read the book, you can have fun answering these questions - and more! - or you can have a go without having read it yet. I promise, there are no spoilers. So, I now present to you: 13 Ask Me if I'm Happy Trivia Questions 1) The novel is divided into how many sections? a) One b) Three c) Five d) Six  2) Davide shares his last name with a famous Italian. Who is it? a) Bruno Magli b) Sophia Loren c) Enzo Ferrari d) Anna Magnani 3) Emily had a job in Italy. What was it? a) Singer b) Bank clerk c) Teacher d) Tour guide in Venice  4) There are two statues on the cover, one of which plays a role in the story. Where are the statues found? a) University of Bologna b) Piazza Maggiore and Piazza Galvani c) Piazza San Domenico and Piazza San Francesco d) Piazza del Nettuno and Parco della Montagnola 5) The title is the translation of which Italian phrase? a) Chiedimi se sono felice b) Dimmi un piccolo bugia c) Dammi un piccolo sorriso d) Provare il tuo amore 6) Where did Emily and Davide first meet? a) At the airport b) On the London Underground c) In a parking lot d) On a train 7) Something about Davide's appearance makes Emily smile. What is it? a) His glasses b) His scarf c) His shoes d) His shirt  8) Why does this make her smile? a) They're scratched b) It's unraveling c) They're scuffed d) It's dirty 9) Why does Emily go to Rovigo? a) To meet her ex-husband Jacopo and reconcile b) For a teaching conference c) Sightseeing d) For the sale of her house there  10) Why is Emily in Bologna at the beginning of the book? a) Italian lessons b) For the annual book fair c) She's stranded by a transportation strike d) She's there to hire a detective to follow her ex-husband 11) What happens when Davide goes to Milano? a) Trick question – he never goes to Milano b) He has dinner with Emily and falls asleep on the sofa in her room c) He stays up all night plotting to seduce Emily d) He spends a restless night alone thinking about his ex-fiancée  12) Where does Davide live in Bologna? a) A flat in the city centre b) In the suburbs c) A tiny, cramped loft near the university d) Next to McDonald's 13) What does Emily keep in her planner at the beginning of the novel? a) A receipt from her first dinner with Jacopo b) A movie ticket c) A photo of Jacopo in Rome d) A phone number on the back of a theatre ticket How do you think you did? You can check your answers below. 1) The novel is divided into how many sections? b) Three 2) Davide shares his last name with a famous Italian. Who is it? d) Anna Magnani 3) Emily had a job in Italy. What was it? c) Teacher 4) There are two statues on the cover, one of which plays a role in the story. Where are the statues found? d) Piazza del Nettuno and Parco della Montagnola 5) The title is the translation of which Italian phrase? a) Chiedimi se sono felice 6) Where did Emily and Davide first meet? d) On a train 7) Something about Davide's appearance makes Emily smile. What is it? c) His shoes 8) Why does this make her smile? c) They're scuffed 9) Why does Emily go to Rovigo? d) For the sale of her house there 10)Why is Emily in Bologna at the beginning of the book? c) She's stranded by a transportation strike 11)What happens when Davide goes to Milano? b) He has dinner with Emily and falls asleep on the sofa in her room 12)Where does Davide live in Bologna? a) A flat in the city centre 13)What does Emily keep in her planner at the beginning of the novel? c) A photo of Jacopo in Rome And there you go - but wait! There's one more thing!  You didn't think I'd leave you without a pretty, did you? Ciao for now!
I've really got to learn to multi-task better. I'm struggling daily with my wordcount for 27 Stages, thanks to my preparations for my trip to London and doing what promotional work I can from home for Ask Me if I'm Happy. Strangely, I've had a couple of opportunities in recent days to refer to myself as a writer. As in, "I am a (soon-to-be) published writer." It felt good, but a little strange - kind of like one's first real kiss. It's wonderful and exciting and a little bit off, somehow. In a delightful, happening-to-someone-else sort of way. Or was that just me? Hmph. I think the reason it's taking some adjusting is the fact I've always said I was a writer. I've believed it in my heart of hearts from a pretty young age. It's only now that other people are conceding the point in a real way. And then there's the sense of unreality that comes from this phrase: "I am a writer and I live in Italy." There's so much weight in those words, it's almost inconceivable to me how to make them mean what I want them to. Because when I say "I am a writer and I live in Italy", people get all sorts of wrong ideas. They imagine that I don't have a "real" job. They think I don't need one. They think I live in a place full of warmth and sunshine year-round. They think I live in a Tuscan villa, complete with vineyards and/or olive groves. They think I have an airy apartment filled with light. They think I live a glamourous lifestyle, sipping wine on a balcony which overlooks rolling hills, while I wear some sort of designer frock. The reality is far different. I have a "real" job. I teach English to Italians at a language school in the city where I live. Yeah, the job can be fun sometimes, no doubt about it - I've probably mentioned some of my students here before, and how much I adore them - but it's still work, with all the bureaucracy and paperwork any teaching job entails. My writing hasn't made me rich. The book isn't even out yet, remember? (November 15th is coming soon, though! Not that I'll be "rich" anytime in the near future. Heh.) Reggio nell'Emilia is a sunny place - in Spring and Summer, anyway. In Autumn and Winter, however? Not so much. It's rainy, it's cold and it's very foggy. Which is one reason I love it so much here. It suits me and my creative energies. I most definitely don't live in a Tuscan villa, or sit on a balcony overlooking rolling hills, vineyards or olive groves.   These are the views from my balcony. I don't see any vineyards, do you? Some folks - including my husband - don't understand why I might want to correct the misinformation about my life or my lifestyle - such as it is. I think I do this because I want people to see that I'm the same person I've always been. I'm not particularly lucky, or blessed, even though I am.
Does that make sense? I'm here because of chance, and because I followed my heart and did what I had to do in order to be happy. I took chances, and chance took me where I needed to be, so I could tell the story I needed to tell and find more stories when that one was finished. I'm here because I was open to the possibilities which lay before me. I'm here because a real gem of a guy caught my eye when he slipped under the radar of women who were too focused on the flashy guys around them. Their loss, my gain, thank you very much. This is the payoff for ignoring the superficial and appreciating the substance of a real man. I have friends who envy my living here in Italy. Sometimes I don't know why, but I suspect it's because of those words I mentioned. For the record, my life is no different here than when I'm in the States, in many ways. I write, I work, I do laundry, I cook dinner and clean the catbox (not at the same time). I grouse about politics with friends. I complain about the potholes in the road and the fact people can be so darn rude! Argh! I miss home a little bit, every single day. I miss my family, and my friends. I miss the view of the mountains from my mom's back porch. I miss being able to find clothes in my style and size. I miss US junk food and television and driving myself around (I don't have an Italian driving license - another story for another time). I miss a lot about the US, but overall, it's just like here, in Italy. Wherever I am, it's just life. And yes, life is beautiful. Life is strange, and life is hard wherever you are. It's all in how you choose to look at it. Warning! Whinging ahead! I'm feeling a bit down, in recent days. It doesn't make much sense to the outside observer, I'm sure. After all, I'm making acceptable progress on my current WIP, 27 Stages, and things are going okay at work, and things are fine at home, too.
There's nothing generally displeasing about my life at this point, really. There have been some recent emotional upheavals, yes, and I'm still feeling the fallout from these events. I'm dealing. I'm coping. And I'm still creating. So what's the problem, then? I've got the Seasonal Blues. I think it's like Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Most folks get this in the winter, because of the lack of sunlight and warmth. This is a big contributor to feelings of depression, which increase around the holiday season (which is hard enough just for being the holidays, anyway, am I right?). But I suspect that I might have a slightly different, less-heralded version of this affliction: I hate Spring and Summer. The longer days, the warmth, the increase of sunlight - all these things and more contribute to my depression in these seasons. My creativity decreases markedly. My desire to do *anything* decreases as the days warm up and the nights disappear. I'm a polar opposite (pun not intended, but delightful all the same) to my husband, who thrives in warm conditions. He's a sporty type, too, so that goes a long way. Me? Not so much. I stopped enjoying summer heat as soon as I reached my teens. Holidays from school were great, but the heat? No, thanks. I'll take a side trip to Alaska, please. Or the Northwest Territories. Dang, now I've got friends in Northern Europe - maybe they'd like a houseguest for a few months? Instead, I want to curl up and cry as the heat increases, but I can't, because curling up makes me warmer, which leads to heat rash. Ick. Usually I go home to the US in summer, to visit my family and friends there, and it works out really well since I can't comfortably bear the heat for the full three summer months in Italy. As a matter of fact, the springtime warming trend itself is enough to send me into fits. I can't wear my coats or sweatshirts or pullovers any more, and that makes me sad. (I loooove my autumn and winter clothing.) I have to start wearing shorts instead of jeans. (BOOOO!) I stop sleeping through the night, because the warmth keeps me awake. I toss and turn, swat at mosquitoes, and end up on the living room sofa so I won't keep Alle awake. The lack of sleep makes me more irritable than usual, naturally. It also makes it harder for me to make my walks around town for work, especially when it's getting hotter, and hotter, and... Phew! I start eating cereal for breakfast (waaah! I want my milky tea!), yogurt smoothies for lunch, and cold sandwiches and/or fruit for dinner. Poor hubby. He loves fruit, but the sandwiches do get a bit boring - but who can cook in that heat? By the time June rolls around and I'm packing to go to see my family in the US, I'm having to try to sleep during the day and stay up later and later each night. Especially if I want to write. I've always written better at night, better still when it's cool or cold. My mind goes into overdrive without fear of overheating, I guess. (I'm only partly joking.) Alessandro doesn't like hearing about this. It bothers him to think I'm actually suffering the least little bit, when he's able to cope so well. All the same, I don't ask for an air conditioner (not practical for the way our home is laid out), and I understand that a return to the US might not always be possible. I keep my fan at my back to keep me cool, and I keep trying to write. I lower the blinds to keep the sun out during the day (and yes, I even have to close the windows when the temps get into the upper nineties outside. The house stays cooler that way), and try not to do too much once I'm out of my cool/cold shower each morning. After all this, you might well wonder: "Why is she telling us this?" The answer is: I don't know. I suppose it's a plea to the cosmos for help, or to my fellow human beings for a little understanding when I become even more "complainy" than usual. A little seasonal kindness from the Mild Weather Fairies wouldn't hurt, either. If only for the sake of my friends and family, who have to put up with me. Keep cool, y'all! |
Kimberly MenozziAuthor. Happily Married. Survivor of life with two deranged kitties. Please note: Thanks to an increase in spam comments, I'll be approving the comments before they post. Sorry!
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