Memoirous

  Foligno, Italy 2004 As anyone who has ever traveled abroad knows, all it takes is a few days of rain to turn the mood, flip the trip into an endeavor of survival. In 2004 the family went to Italy right after the November election. The first greeting at passport control after landing was: Your country has just re-elected George Bush. My husband apologized. Stamp. Out into the chaotic public transportation system that is the Rome airport. The weather was perfect, as was our spirits the first couple days. We had energy for the ruins, the underlit dim churches, for the long lines to see David. We ate pizza on the steps. We ate Nutella-filled pastries called cornetto because they resembled little horns. We ate cheap, saving our euros for the price of admission, the next experience, the funicular. In retrospect, we were slightly on the verge of protein deficiency, always a bit hungry. In a foreign land, it is sometimes hard to interpret what one is feeling. There is always this min...

The reasons are long gone, but not the memory or the feeling. I needed that ceramic soup tureen I saw in a shop in Orvieto. Orvieto is in the Umbria region about a half hour train ride north of Florence, but no less a step-sister. There are phenomenal frescoed ceilings in the main cathedral that can blow the renaissance socks off the Baptistry of San Giovanni. Anyway, I was introduced to Deruta pottery, typical of the region. A kind of Maiolica or tin-glazed pottery that is not really suitable for travelers such as myself and my husband who hopped on and off trains with small backpacks. In Orvieto I fell in love with a feeling, a desire, call it homesickness. I longed for Soup Club. Back home in Chicago our fourth floor in the building where we lived had loosely established a once weekly soup club. Much like a potluck one person volunteered to make soup for the whole floor, roughly 40 people. Someone else might bring homemade bread and someone else a left over—we stretched the food t...

Once Upon a Time: Siena, Italy We had just arrived in Siena and spent the day checking out the candy-cane striped cathedral, duomo, in the historic city center. As evening settled a light rain began to fall. We passed restaurants and read the chalkboard signs out front. We observed diners cozy and warm in their familiar setting, talking and laughing in their native language, while outside, we felt outside. Strangers wanting nothing more than to be inside somewhere, part of this wonderful place. Which seemed impossible. Around us residents hurried carrying groceries, crusty bread, wine for their dinner. We were like a rock in a stream as they flowed by. The drizzle added to the incongruity we felt, blurring street lamps, creating glowing arcs that radiated out to us. Then out of the darkness came a little old lady in a trim-fitting coat navigating the steep cobbled streets. We ran over to her. I extended an arm for her to lean on while my husband lifted an umbrella ove...