Move

I am standing in the entrance of our new house, the door is ajar and Walid and his colleagues are walking in with boxes in their arms. They are working through ramadan which means they won't get to eat or drink until sundown. My duty is to check off all the numbered boxes and direct Walid and the rest where to deposit their loads. The parquet is covered with tape to protect it from the moving furniture and the house smells like fresh paint. White. Everything is white and stark. We hadn't really prepared for this day and we just keep telling the men to bring the boxes upstairs to avoid having to think it out clearly. The wind is blowing in the house and I am freezing. Box 2. Garage. Box 34. Check. Upstairs. Box 120. Small bedroom. Alistair is in the next room with another Allied International man struggling to get his TV and couches to fit in the sitting room. We had already argued about where to put the furniture and I decided just to let him do his own thing. The boxes keep coming in and I am sniffling, wiping my nose on my sweatshirt, and trying to keep warm. The heat hadn't been ready so the whole house is freezing and empty. It is the end of September and winter decided to come a couple of months early to Switzerland. Two weeks before I had turned 38. This was supposed to be a real exciting moment to finally move into the house we had bought months before and renovated. But I didn't feel anything. I just felt cold and scared. This wasn't my home. What was I doing moving to the suburbs in a four bedroom home? I had planned to live a couple of years in Switzerland and those years turned into five years. I managed to accumulate 158 boxes of stuff in those five years. The 158 boxes and this house were slowly suffocating me and pinning me to the ground. I felt trapped and unhappy.

A plate of bucatini matriciana Revised

I am sitting at a table that keeps rocking in a tiny trattoria in Campo de’ Fiori. Waiters are bustling around trying to fix the table by adding little pieces of paper under the legs. I am oblivious to it, sipping my white wine, staring out into the busy square watching a couple of pigeons sitting on Giordano Bruno’s head. What a way to commemorate the martyr that was burnt at the stake right in that spot! The sun is shining in Rome as it always does or at least this is what I remember, now that I no longer live there. My sister is sitting across from me and my friend, Marco, who owns the Merceria on the square, has stopped by after closing his lingerie store, on his way to have lunch with his 80 year-old mother. Giorgio will be coming soon on his scooter neither aware of the time nor interested in it. It is noisy in Campo de’ Fiori and the workers in the square are closing up the market stands. Little green City of Rome trucks are zooming over the little paving stones, sanpietrini, spraying water to clean the square of the morning debris of fruit and fish. The fish is the hardest smell to get rid of—it lingers in the air. My plate of bucatini finally arrives with the smell of guanciale, the savory bacon from the pig’s cheek, wafting in the air mixing with the fish smell. Like the name suggests, bucatini are spaghetti with holes, served with a spicy bacon tomato sauce originally from the town of Matrice, topped off with grated pecorino. My lovely sister is telling a story but she fades in the steam of my dish and I concentrate on my bucatini. I enjoy the mouthful. The pasta is al dente and the crunchy bacon works so well with the sweet tomato sauce. But the taste means so much more to me than a plate of pasta. As I wipe my mouth, Giorgio appears. He parks his motorino, and comes to sit down moving the table and with it the pieces of paper under the wobbly leg. The church bells chime one o'clock and Marco’s mother yells for Marco from the third-floor window and tells him lunch is ready. “E’ pronto!"

A plate of bucatini matriciana

I am sitting in a tiny restaurant at Campo dei Fiori at a little table that keeps rocking. Waiters are trying to fix it by adding little pieces of paper under the legs. I am oblivious to it all staring out into the golden square noticing the statue of Giordano Bruno has a couple of pigeons sitting on its head. What a way to commemorate a true martyr! The sun is shining in Rome as it always does or at least that is what I remember now that I no longer live there. My sister is sitting across from me and my friend, Marco, who owns the Merceria (Lingerie store) on the square, has stopped by after closing his store, on his way to have lunch with his 80 year-old mother. Giorgio will be coming soon on his scooter not really aware of the time nor interested in it. Italy is a little like that. We are not fazed by people arriving late. Life is just so enjoyable there is no need to worry about other people's tardiness. It is noisy in Campo dei Fiori since the workers in the square are closing up their market stands. Little City of Rome green trucks are zooming around on the Sanpietrini (paving stones called little Saint Peters) spraying water to clean the square of the morning debris of fruit and fish. The fish is the hardest smell to get rid of. It lingers in the air. My plate of bucatini arrives with the smell of guanciale (savory cheek bacon) wafting in the air mixing with the fish smell. The bucatini are beautiful spaghetti with a hole running through them which make them very hard to eat and the bacon-tomato sauce splatters everywhere. The grated pecorino on top has a sharpness you never get with parmigiano. My lovely sister is telling a story while I roll the bucatini on my fork and savor the moment. Giorgio finally shows up on his motorino and says "Che mangiate?" (what are you eating?).

5. Top Ten Things You Love The Most in This World and One Reason Why

1) Eating bucatini alla matriciana in Rome seated outside in a Piazza warmed by the sun and listening to Italian chatter. I feel at home.
2) Warming up in a Swiss chalet after skiing seriously, sipping vin brule’ holding the glass with both hands to receive the heat and looking out at the alps. I feel part of nature.
3) Landing at the airport and turning the corner after customs and spotting my loved ones waiting for me. I feel so blessed to receive so much love.
4) Writing in my diary all alone in the house with the music on my IPOD keeping me company. It makes me feel at peace.
5) Meeting every summer on a remote Greek island with my friends and family with nothing to do except laugh, swim and admire sunsets. It makes me feel close to God.
6) Going to Belmonte, a small town in the north of Lazio, joining the yearly procession at the feast of S. Croce and reconnecting with my childhood friends. It makes me feel part of traditions rooted in history.
7) Smelling my boyfriend’s skin and feeling safe and at home.
8) Reading a really good book that awakens your feelings. It reminds me that feeling emotion means being alive.
9) Shopping with my sister and buying a fabulous pair of designer shoes on sale. It makes me feel that some pampering and superficiality is good every now and then.
10) Turning the key to my home after traveling for work and being greeted by the warmth and smell of belonging. It makes me feel like I belong.

4. Top Ten Most Significant Conversations in Your Life

1) Discussing with Laura, my best friend, what life is all about and why we are here, with Depeche Mode blasting in the background in the 80’s.
2) Chatting with Mrs. Giammanco, my high school teacher, who told me I was her best student but didn’t deserve a top grade because I never worked hard at anything.
3) Visiting my dying grandfather and having nothing to say.
4) Feeling lost after college and talking to my dad who told me that he didn’t leave his house for a year in his 20’s because life was daunting.
5) Yelling at Laura about her selfishness hysterically in the toilets of a bar in Sifnos, Greece after she kissed George (who I had liked!)
6) Talking to my Editor-in-Chief about needing me to manage the magazine because he needed to get operated and treated for cancer.
7) Asking what sign Alistair was and after telling me “Pisces” asking him if his feet hurt.
8) Telling Emanuele that I would not be able to promote him.
9) Talking to my mother about falling in love with Alistair and having her accept the situation without judgment.
10) Talking to Annabelle about how important it is to be generous and giving in life.

3. Top Ten List of Significant Moments (big or small, life-changing, epiphany, or slight shifts in the way you see the world) in your Life

1) Witnessing my grandmother’s funeral when I was 6 and seeing my mother breakdown in front of the coffin.
2) Becoming captain of the high school basketball team at 5” and feeling everything is achievable if you desire it.
3) Studying World religions in high school and being shocked and disillusioned by the Catholic Church and realizing priests are human.
4) Facing the precariousness of life on vacation in Puerto Rico after finding out our friend from Tufts had committed suicide.
5) Understanding that my whole life I waited for a Prince charming to appear and love just doesn’t work that way.
6) Accepting that I sold myself and my ideals to work for a big multinational corporation and it’s ok.
7) Figuring out that I don’t want my life to be about a successful international business career and money which in no way is correlated to happiness.
8) Buying and moving into my new house and feeling trapped and deciding that no clutter and lack of possessions gives you freedom.
9) Losing a little of my innocence each year watching people do anything for a little power.
10) Seeing my parents as real people and learning to accept them and take care of them especially after my father’s stroke.

2. Top Ten List of meals you've made with love for someone or were made with love, for you.

I don’t really enjoy cooking and my tactic is to teach the little I know to my partner and have him cook for me. I usually only cook if I am depressed but I love to eat other people’s cooking:
1) Having my grandmother cook plates especially for me (pasta burro e parmigiano) on Christmas eve (la Vigilia) since I don’t eat fish and tradition has it that only fish plates are served.
2) Requesting my favorite meal on my birthday to my mother every year which consisted of fettine panate e patatine fritte (breaded cutlets and homemade fries) with the grand finale of Betty Crocker chocolate cake with fudge frosting (these mixes were very hard to come by in the 80’s in Italy).
3) Making croccantino with my father and sister as a child. It consists of melting sugar, adding hazelnuts and putting it on the cold marble windowsill to settle before chopping it in bits. It was particularly good when the hazelnuts were still slightly warm.
4) Having merenda (mid-day snack for children) in Belmonte (a town in the country) of bread (pane casareccio) and nutella. Or if I was really lucky getting my friend Caterina’s grandmother to warm up a fettina (slice of meat) from lunch in oil and then warm the bread in the same oil and make a sandwich.
5) Celebrating Thanksgiving in Rome every year and having my mother make tortellini in brodo (in chicken broth) and turkey with fabulous roast potatoes that stick to the pan that I would later scrape out.
6) During my childhood, my father would come home on Sunday evenings and make pizza from scratch. I would help him knead the dough and decorate the pizza. The whole house would have a reassuring smell of pizza every Sunday night.
7) Going to Brookline to eat kosher food (I remember the schnitzels) every Saturday after sundown for a year when I was dating a Jewish guy that turned orthodox on me and I had adapted for love.
8) Cooking pans and pans of lasagna in my pajamas when I was depressed and pining to leave Boston to go back to Rome.
9) Inviting my parents and my sister for the first Christmas outside our family home to my house and taking hours to peel “puntarelle” (a hearty chicory that you serve with a garlic and oil) by hand vs. buying them cleaned and cut.
10) Eating special spaghetti Bolognese cooked by my English boyfriend for his kids and me, watching “Chitty, chitty bang bang” DVD.

1. Top Ten List of the topics, moments, and subjects you've always wanted to write about, but thought was impossible or too scary to actually write ab

1) The disappearance of our family dog “Doggy” and my father’s link to it.
2) The story of Belmonte and its people— a small town in the middle of Lazio in a cul de sac with 1000 inhabitants where my grandmother was born (like Winesburg, Ohio).
3) The relationship I have with my crazy family and the love I feel for them.
4) The life of my favorite uncle who was put in jail for cocaine trafficking.
5) Falling in love with a married man.
6) The feeling I get when I am on a Greek island and watch the sun disappear in the horizon over the sea.
7) Desiring a child.
8) A screenplay based on the Marketing department in a big global Multinational.
9) The reality of love after the initial couple of years.
10) A Novel about growing up.