Treat Yourself

I'm going to use the guest towels this week. I want to feel like I'm on vacation. They're not the ones that say HIS and HERS, they're the ones that still feel fluffy like the ones you've already had (you, my American friends) for 10 years; the ones that you whirl in your Whirlpool. We dryerless folks in Italy (most don't have dryers, and those that do use them sparingly because of the cost) are used to towels that can almost stand. We seldom feel that fluffy towel feeling. I usually save my guest towels for guests, but this week I'm going to indulge.

And while I'm at it, I think I'll put that carafe I bought at Crate and Barrel on my nightstand; the one with the little glass that fits upsidedown on the top. It's not terribly convenient for a quick sip at 3am but it's a lot more romantic than my half liter plastic bottle.

This week I'm going to take the extra 10 minutes required to make the homemade tomato sauce I usually only make for visitors; fry a little onion, add a chopped carrot and mash up some fresh tomatoes. And for dessert I think I'll finally find the courage to use the Nestle's chocolate chips my friend sent for my birthday. I've been saving them for the right person, but I've just decided there's no one righter than me.

Sometimes I offer my guests a little downtime and they accept without feeling guilty. This week I'll treat myself to the same. I'll eat my breakfast cookies from a pretty dish instead of the cookie bag inside a plastic bag closed with a clothespin. That's the extra effort it takes to keep them fresh in case I don't get back to that house for a few weeks. And those two ice cream cones a day I promise all of my young visitors sounds like a pretty good idea, too.

Fortunately, some of the things that seem 'guesty' are already part of my daily routine; like driving on the scenic roads even when they aren't the most direct route. I use my china for frozen pizza, not for fancy feasts. And my fancy tea cups? For hot, green milk (that's what I call latte e menta). I drink my CocaZero from a crystal wine glass and eat cheesecake with a silver fork. I don't watch TV (I don't have one) because that's not something to do with guests unless you're suffering from Sundaynitis (my name for that feeling I get on Sunday night) and they're your best friends.

At the end of the week I might just decide to treat myself like a guest for the rest of my life. If I keep my future visitors happy with parmegiano, gelato and la bella vita maybe they won't even notice the crunchy towels. 

Use Your Imagination

It's not every day you're chosen as the most beautiful skier on the mountain. In fact, it's safe to say I've never won that title. But a little imagination can turn an already exceptional day into a day where the slopes sparkle with diamonds even when it's cloudy.

Upon arrival I search for the perfect parking place for my peanut-butter-and- jelly-and-potato-chip-lunch break. The SUVs and mini-vans pull in to face the lodge, but I back in to face the snow covered mountains without chairlifts and skiers. Anyone watching probably recognizes the bathroom dance while I pull out my skis, pull on my boots and pull up the ragtop.

It took me half the season to decide which pockets suit the essentials for a day on the slopes. Money goes in the pocket on the back of the inside pants. The car key's in the left front pocket of the outside pants. It has a zipper that can't be unzipped until I get back to the car. I tuck a couple of Kleenex in my sleeve (thanks Grandma) and lip stuff in the left coat pocket because my cell phone goes in and out of the right one at least 23 times a day. When everything is in place, I elegantly walk to the bathroom in my unbuckled boots and then I'm finally ready for my first run.  

Every chairlift has a little hut at the bottom and another at the top. And every little hut has a man to man the lift (there are still no women to woman the lift). This year at the beginning of the season my day was made when a lift operator came out of his booth to give me a piece of candy. If he said anything at all, I don't remember.  And I only had time for a grazie and smile before the next chair came to remind me to make my way. Fortunately, the inside coat pocket on the top left with the granola bar had room for an individually wrapped caramel so they shared the space for a few runs while I contemplated my treat. 

The only name I'd had for this chairlift guy was the one with a long ponytail and a super long beard. And I suppose he'd gotten used to me as the girl (or lady) with green, pink and orange coats but always the same grey hair, grey helmet and goggles. So why the caramel? I imagined that around Halloween the designated lift guy bought bags of individually wrapped candy so they could divide it in their huts at the beginning of the season and give it to their favorite females of the day. (For more information on a similar game I invented in 1984 click here and read Go ahead. Make my day.)

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Self-help gurus call my take on the explanation for the candy 'a positive perspective.' But have you ever heard a parent tell a child to find the positive perspective when complaining that they had nothing to do? We tell kids to use their imaginations, and unless you think you're too grown up, you should try it.

If singing Sinatra on my morning drive up the mountain, eating a thick hot chocolate with a tiny spoon at noon and driving back down as the sun sets aren't enough to completely fill my soul, imagining that I'd been selected as one of the sparkling diamonds in the snow makes my annual ski pass worth every centesimo.
 

Travel Blues

Vacations are a good topic for English lessons. Before their departure, students have to tell me about the upcoming adventure using the future tense. The real teacher's pets send me a couple of messages from the road in present tense. Then when they get home it's all in the past. And seeing that I've already been most of the places they're going, I can round out the lessons correcting their nouns (people, places and things) and adjectives.

I'm often sad to hear how much countries have changed, but thankful to have seen them when I did. I know others have been to these places long before me, just like I was there long before today's Instagram travelers. I appreciate my older, adventurous audiences silently satisfying me when I spoke of sleeping on the roof of a mud hut in Mali to the sounds of the village kids playing in the midnight moonlight; as much as I felt like the first, I now know I wasn't. I try to give my students the same silent satisfaction, but it's not easy for a know-it-all like me.

Recently I've been thinking a lot about packing up (not packing) my backpack and leaving the world's people, places and things unbothered by tourism. The thought came after a 50-year old student told me about his itinerary on an upcoming trip to Morocco. I patiently listened to his list of overly organized activities and retained my remarks. But when the scheduled event for Day 5 was to taste Moroccon food, my trip advisor comments couldn't be contained.

If you've figured me out at all, you know I'm not adventurous when it comes to food; but even I wouldn't wait five days for an expensive tasting tour to find falafel in Fez. If countries that were once on the U.S. Department of State Travel Advisory list are now filled with tourists searching for the comforts of home, it's probably time for me to start looking for the comforts of home at home.  

Let There Be Emotion

The last time someone told me that people either love me or hate me I saw the bright side. I wasn't bothered by the statement in the past, but I've finally realized I should take it as a compliment.

Being loved or hated means having a strong enough effect on someone to evoke at least some kind of emotion; be it good or bad, at least they feel my presence. If you hate me it means I have a personality. I might rub you the wrong way, but a bad rub to one is a massage to another. And knowing there are people out there that I rub the right way makes the haters fade away.

It's not to say I find joy in being hated. But is there joy in feeling that your place in someone's life is met with the same indifference as the __________?

I had to leave that blank because the only people I feel indifferent about are the one's I don't know. I could have written the guy at the gas station, but when I go for gas we talk about skiing. Then I thought about the mailman, but when he shows up on his scooter I teach him new phrases in English. The lady on the running path smiles, the guy at the dump saves me broken ceramics and the old people in the mountains and at the sea wave and say hello; I find indifference difficult.

So go ahead and make my day. Tell me you love me or hate me. But please don't say I'm just ok, because I take that as a real insult.