The Way Things Were (Say Cheese, 13)

This is the only orange cheese I've seen in Italy.

If mozzarella is called mozzarella cheese and parmesan is called parmesan cheese, shouldn't this be called burger cheese instead of cheese burger?   Italian grocery stores always make me smile and no one even has to say "cheese."
















The Beginning of The Way Things Were
Call me what you will, but I call myself an emigrant....an emigrant who should stop talking about her homeland every day.  (Expat has too many rich, white person connotations and immigrant is what my Italian friends call me.)  Many years ago, my foreign (expat) friends in Chicago continually pointed out the differences between life in their countries and life in Chicago.  I might be mistaken, but their use of the word 'different' often sounded a bit like 'better'. 

Not long after moving to Italy (about three hours) I started doing the same thing.  It has finally dawned on me that if my friends in Italy think like I used to think (if it's better in your country why don't you go home?) it might be wise to keep my American mouth shut in Italy and share my thoughts with the other side of the world.  Hereafter, when I notice something different, be it better or just different, I'll (try to) hold my tongue and add it to my list of The Way Things Were.

My goal is to keep it simple with a few words and a photo,  giving the readers the choice of better...or just different.   With more reflection I'll probably realize that some of the "betters" are here and some of the "betters" are there.  In the end maybe they really are just "differences."

The Way Things Were (Warm Greys, 12)

Just because the black and white world I live in has few greys doesn't mean everything is either hot or cold. Some things are warm....but not in Italy.

A warm spring day in Chicago is not hot.
And an Indian summer day isn't hot either.
Pools, lakes and seas aren't hot.  And neither are baby bottles.
All of those things are 'warm' in America, but in Italy they're caldo.  And caldo means hot.
The dictionary defines warm as caldo.  And it says that hot is caldo, too.

But some of the best things in life are warm.....socks, hugs, mittens, breezes, blankets, welcomes, slippers, sand, and apple pie.

I guess if I want Italians to start feeling the warms, it's time I start seeing the greys.
 

I took this in black and white and it seemed cold.

And then I tried it in color and was surprised to see the warm pavement.

The Beginning of The Way Things Were
Call me what you will, but I call myself an emigrant....an emigrant who should stop talking about her homeland every day.  (Expat has too many rich, white person connotations and immigrant is what my Italian friends call me.)  Many years ago, my foreign (expat) friends in Chicago continually pointed out the differences between life in their countries and life in Chicago.  I might be mistaken, but their use of the word 'different' often sounded a bit like 'better'. 

Not long after moving to Italy (about three hours) I started doing the same thing.  It has finally dawned on me that if my friends in Italy think like I used to think (if it's better in your country why don't you go home?) it might be wise to keep my American mouth shut in Italy and share my thoughts with the other side of the world.  Hereafter, when I notice something different, be it better or just different, I'll (try to) hold my tongue and add it to my list of The Way Things Were.

My goal is to keep it simple with a few words and a photo,  giving the readers the choice of better...or just different.   With more reflection I'll probably realize that some of the "betters" are here and some of the "betters" are there.  In the end maybe they really are just "differences."

The Way Things Were (I'll Have a Beer, 11)

una birra media, rossa

Ordering a beer with my Italian friend in Chicago was never easy.  He simply said, "I'll have a beer."  When asked what kind, he could never answer.  I'd struggle to help the frustrated waiter, apologize for my friend and explain that you can't just order "a beer".  Not in the US anyway.  But in Italy that's just what you do.  La birra comes in three sizes: piccola, media and grande.  There's a slim chance the subject of dark or light will be mentioned, but it's slim.  "I'll have a medium beer, please."  I dare you to try it the next time you go out for a burger.










The Beginning of The Way Things Were
Call me what you will, but I call myself an emigrant....an emigrant who should stop talking about her homeland every day.  (Expat has too many rich, white person connotations and immigrant is what my Italian friends call me.)  Many years ago, my foreign (expat) friends in Chicago continually pointed out the differences between life in their countries and life in Chicago.  I might be mistaken, but their use of the word 'different' often sounded a bit like 'better'. 

Not long after moving to Italy (about three hours) I started doing the same thing.  It has finally dawned on me that if my friends in Italy think like I used to think (if it's better in your country why don't you go home?) it might be wise to keep my American mouth shut in Italy and share my thoughts with the other side of the world.  Hereafter, when I notice something different, be it better or just different, I'll (try to) hold my tongue and add it to my list of The Way Things Were.

My goal is to keep it simple with a few words and a photo,  giving the readers the choice of better...or just different.   With more reflection I'll probably realize that some of the "betters" are here and some of the "betters" are there.  In the end maybe they really are just "differences."

The Way Things Were (Per Serving, 10)

My move to Italy has improved more than my language skills.  Whenever I'm on one of my I've-got-to-start-eating-better binges, I get the chance to brush up on my math skills, too.  It's not that I ever actually consumed what the inventors of the 'serving size' thought was the correct 'serving size', but I got used to their suggestions (and often multiplied by two or three).  It's a lot harder to figure things out when it's based on 100grams.  When a 750-gram bottle of something has 17 grams of fat per 100 grams it takes a little imagination and good math skills to figure out the damage. First, how much fat is in the whole bottle.  Then, visually divide the bottle into seven sections (or so), decide how many of those sections I'm going to eat and multiply it by 17.  Fortunately, I probably burn a few calories figuring it all out.  A friend just came back from Miami with a bag of Reese's Minis.  What a treat.  22 grams of fat per serving.  Serving size, one package. Just open it and eat.

I made two large bags of Reese's Miniatures from my July visitors last until the end of January.  I still had the tinfoil from the last cup in my pocket the day I was restocked.

The Beginning of The Way Things Were
Call me what you will, but I call myself an emigrant....an emigrant who should stop talking about her homeland every day.  (Expat has too many rich, white person connotations and immigrant is what my Italian friends call me.)  Many years ago, my foreign (expat) friends in Chicago continually pointed out the differences between life in their countries and life in Chicago.  I might be mistaken, but their use of the word 'different' often sounded a bit like 'better'. 

Not long after moving to Italy (about three hours) I started doing the same thing.  It has finally dawned on me that if my friends in Italy think like I used to think (if it's better in your country why don't you go home?) it might be wise to keep my American mouth shut in Italy and share my thoughts with the other side of the world.  Hereafter, when I notice something different, be it better or just different, I'll (try to) hold my tongue and add it to my list of The Way Things Were.

My goal is to keep it simple with a few words and a photo,  giving the readers the choice of better...or just different.   With more reflection I'll probably realize that some of the "betters" are here and some of the "betters" are there.  In the end maybe they really are just "differences."

The Way Things Were (The Mail, 9)

The fine print says:  Last collection 12:00a.m.

Whoever said that Italians were lazy apparently didn't know that il postino (the mailman) is out picking up the mail in country towns at midnight.  At least that's what the fine print says.  If only it were true.  For those of us in the know, the last pick up is really at noon (a bit early in my opinion).  And if you miss it on Friday you'll be waiting until Monday because there's no service on Saturday either.

                            

The Beginning of The Way Things Were
Call me what you will, but I call myself an emigrant....an emigrant who should stop talking about her homeland every day.  (Expat has too many rich, white person connotations and immigrant is what my Italian friends call me.)  Many years ago, my foreign (expat) friends in Chicago continually pointed out the differences between life in their countries and life in Chicago.  I might be mistaken, but their use of the word 'different' often sounded a bit like 'better'. 

Not long after moving to Italy (about three hours) I started doing the same thing.  It has finally dawned on me that if my friends in Italy think like I used to think (if it's better in your country why don't you go home?) it might be wise to keep my American mouth shut in Italy and share my thoughts with the other side of the world.  Hereafter, when I notice something different, be it better or just different, I'll (try to) hold my tongue and add it to my list of The Way Things Were.

My goal is to keep it simple with a few words and a photo,  giving the readers the choice of better...or just different.   With more reflection I'll probably realize that some of the "betters" are here and some of the "betters" are there.  In the end maybe they really are just "differences."

The Way Things Were (Change, 8)

I never thought of pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters as things I wanted to get rid of.  I liked the noise they made in my dad's pocket,  I liked stacking, organizing and counting them and I liked spending them as if they weren't real money, because it meant the bills (real money) were still in my wallet.   So you can imagine the thrill of the euro...a currency that comes with eight coins.  

one cent, two cents, five cents, 10 cents, 20 cents, 50 cents, one euro, two euros

It didn't take long to realize that Italian cashiers fancy the coins, too.  I rarely (if ever) pay for anything in Italy without being asked for something smaller or the right change.  It happened so seldom in the States that when I was asked I knew the cashier was in difficulty and  needed my help because the previous ten customers had also paid with twenties.  And I usually dug through my lint trying to help out.  But every time I'm asked in Italy I say no.  And I say no simply because I'm asked every time.  I don't pretend to check my pockets or change purse and I don't feel the need to apologize when I don't come up with anything  (even though I'm lying).  Keeping their cash registers supplied with coins doesn't seem like my responsibility so I simply say no and happily accept the change that comes from my intentional blunder of having a bill too big to buy a gelato.  

My friends seem embarrassed that I don't even do the fake check.  They start searching their bags for the perfect centessimi (cents) to please the disgruntled cashier.  Then I say, "Don't worry, it's no problem.  I don't mind having a pocket full of change," to make the cashier feel like I think she's really just trying to help me out.

The Beginning of The Way Things Were
Call me what you will, but I call myself an emigrant....an emigrant who should stop talking about her homeland every day.  (Expat has too many rich, white person connotations and immigrant is what my Italian friends call me.)  Many years ago, my foreign (expat) friends in Chicago continually pointed out the differences between life in their countries and life in Chicago.  I might be mistaken, but their use of the word 'different' often sounded a bit like 'better'. 

Not long after moving to Italy (about three hours) I started doing the same thing.  It has finally dawned on me that if my friends in Italy think like I used to think (if it's better in your country why don't you go home?) it might be wise to keep my American mouth shut in Italy and share my thoughts with the other side of the world.  Hereafter, when I notice something different, be it better or just different, I'll (try to) hold my tongue and add it to my list of The Way Things Were.

My goal is to keep it simple with a few words and a photo,  giving the readers the choice of better...or just different.   With more reflection I'll probably realize that some of the "betters" are here and some of the "betters" are there.  In the end maybe they really are just "differences."

The Way Things Were (Squat Toilet, 7)

An especially cheerful hole-in-the-ground toilet
 in one of my favorite pizzerias.

The internet calls them squat toilets but I call them hole-in-the-ground toilets.  At first look (it takes more than a glance) one thinks, "Oh no!"  But by the 25th use they come with a sigh of relief.  The only thing you have to (or might accidently) touch are the foot pads and I've never worried much about the bottoms of my shoes (well, I suppose it depends on the shoes).  So I invite curious Americans to come give them a try.  They're everywhere......except the US.  My first experience was in Turkey more than 20 years ago so it would make sense to use their Italian name, bagno alla turca (Turkish toilet). 









The Beginning of The Way Things Were
Call me what you will, but I call myself an emigrant....an emigrant who should stop talking about her homeland every day.  (Expat has too many rich, white person connotations and immigrant is what my Italian friends call me.)  Many years ago, my foreign (expat) friends in Chicago continually pointed out the differences between life in their countries and life in Chicago.  I might be mistaken, but their use of the word 'different' often sounded a bit like 'better'. 

Not long after moving to Italy (about three hours) I started doing the same thing.  It has finally dawned on me that if my friends in Italy think like I used to think (if it's better in your country why don't you go home?) it might be wise to keep my American mouth shut in Italy and share my thoughts with the other side of the world.  Hereafter, when I notice something different, be it better or just different, I'll (try to) hold my tongue and add it to my list of The Way Things Were.

My goal is to keep it simple with a few words and a photo,  giving the readers the choice of better...or just different.   With more reflection I'll probably realize that some of the "betters" are here and some of the "betters" are there.  In the end maybe they really are just "differences."