Tidbits from Tuscany - Insight No. 1

I just returned to the states after six days in Tuscany with my family. Now, a week in Tuscany may sound idyllic, but, in all honesty, our trip was less reminiscent of "Under the Tuscan Sun" than it was of "Dumb and Dumber."

For example, within two hours of our arrival in Italy, we had driven in circles for 30 minutes in search of the leaning tower of Pisa, barrelled down a one-way street headed the wrong direction, and virtually burned through the clutch of our rental Peugeot. When we finally screeched into a sliver of a parking place in the center of town, we rolled out of the car feeling like a cluster of baby birds newly ejected from the nest. We squinted in the sunlight, gave our ruffled feathers a good shake and wobbled off to see the Leaning Tower.












Well, apparently our brains were as muddled as a baby bird's too. Either that or we had somehow left our good sense behind in the states, because not one of us second guessed the fact that we were leaving a car full of luggage parked on the street in a city known for its high incidence of theft.

So of course when we returned to the Peugeot an hour later, we found the front passenger window shattered into a million tiny pieces. And, sure enough, virtually everything of value was gone: laptop, iPod, Kindle, Blackberry, sunglasses and cash. The lucky bandit might as well have graffitied Dumb American F--ks on the side of our car... because we sure felt like them.









Granville realizing that with his iPod and laptop, the Italian thief had made of with thousands of dollars worth of iTunes.

A slew of four-letter words and several phone calls later, we made our way to Pisa's Carabinieri, or police station, to report the crime. And I know you'll be shocked to learn that the officer on duty could not have cared less. After making us wait a while in the designated waiting room -- for no apparent reason, as we were the only ones there --he had us to fill out two identical copies of a claim form (I guess a Xerox machine would be far too indulgent for the Pisan police station) and sent us on our way.









Granville and Rob contemplating the Italian justice system at Pisa's Carabinieri

So we proceeded back to the rental car office and traded in our battered Peugeot for a trusty Volkswagon. "I guess that's why they require you to buy rental car insurance," said my dad in a moment of brilliant hindsight.

Fortunately, the trip was all up hill from there. But I don't think any of us will forgive ourselves for that initial display of stupidity any time soon.


Tuscan Tidbit No. 1 - Don't forget to pack your street smarts

Finding Your Voice

I saw John Grisham at a wedding last weekend.

That probably doesn't sound that cool to you, but I have to admit I was a little starstruck.

And I discovered that, in addition to being remarkably handsome, Grisham also has a powerful presence. He does not seem overbearing or imperious ... but you can sense that he's there, observing the world with a keen eye and sharp mind.

Ironically enough, today a colleague brought to my attention Grisham's recent address to graduates of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. I found inspiration in his words and am posting them here as a reminder to myself to always strive for clarity, authenticity and truth in my writing.

Enjoy...


John Grisham’s Commencement Address, “Find a Voice”
The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, May 9, 2010

A voice has three essential elements.

The first is clarity. When I was in high school, I discovered the novels of John Steinbeck. He was and is my favorite writer. The Grapes of Wrath is a book I’ve read more than all others. I admire his talent for telling a story, his compassion for the underdog, but what I really admire is his ability to write so clearly. His sentences are often rich in detail and complex, but they flow with a clarity that I still envy. His characters are flawed and tragic, often complicated, but you understand them because they have been so clearly presented.

In life, we tend to ignore those who talk in circles, saying much but saying nothing. We listen to and follow those whose words, and ideas and thoughts and intentions are clear.

The second element is authenticity. Few things I like better in life than getting lost in a good book written by an author who is in full command of his subject matter, either because he has lived the story, or so thoroughly researched it. I read a lot of books written by other lawyers – legal thrillers, as they are called – I read them because I enjoy them, also I have to keep an eye on the competition. I can usually tell by page 3 if the author has actually been in a fight in a courtroom, or whether he’s simply watched too much television.

In life, we tend to discredit those who claim to be what they are not. We respect those who know their subject matter. We long for, and respect credibility.

The third element is veracity. In the past few years, the publishing industry has been scandalized by a handful of writers who wrote very compelling stories of their real-life adventures. These were good stories, they were well written, the voices were clear and seemingly authentic. They sold for big money, they were marketed aggressively, they were reviewed favorably, and then they were exposed for being what they really were – frauds fabrications, lies. The real-life adventures never happened. The books were pulled from the shelves. The publishers were embarrassed. Lawsuits were filed to retrieve the advances. And the writers’ voices have been forever silenced.

In life, finding a voice is speaking and living the truth.

Things that give me pause

Committed - As Julia Roberts and Javier Bardem began filming the Hollywood version of Eat, Pray, Love in Bali, Elizabeth Gilbert was putting the final touches on an untraditional, but thoroughly satisfying follow-up to her 2006 bestseller. Committed is a historical, sociological and cultural exploration of marriage and its ever-evolving role in society. While I wouldn't necessarily recommend it to a giddy, wedding-obsessed bride-to-be, I'd say it's worth a read for anyone who has contemplated what marriage really means ... and how it affects the two individuals it involves.

Check out Ariel Levy's review of Committed in The New Yorker, and Curtis Sittenfeld's evaluation in The New York Times.

Brothers is one of those movies I know will stick with me for a while. I guess you could say this film succeeds on its ability to stir up a wide range of emotions. For me, it was a virtual Molotov cocktail of sadness, excitement, confusion and relief. Tobey Maguire's performance is haunting...riveting to the point of actually inducing cold sweats (granted, I happened to be watching the movie on one of the warmest nights we've had this year, but still....). And Jake Gyllenhal somehow manages to make you fall in love with his character, even though he happens to be a cigarette-smoking, unemployed ex-con. There's something about those soulful brown eyes that does it for me every time.

If you've seen it, I'd love to hear your impressions in the comment section below.

Pet people

I have never thought of myself as a pet person. Sure, I grew up with cats and golden retrievers that I adored, but I never really took an interest in other people's pets. As I have gotten older, however, and especially over the past six months, I have become much more attuned to the world of pets.

There are several reasons for this, I think. First, since I grew up in a pet-owning household, I grew accustomed to finding dog hair in my food, having my feet attacked by cat claws in the middle of the night and waking up with warm, wet nose in my face. The absence of joys like these now makes me acutely aware of the lack of pets in my everyday life. And while I wouldn't necessarily want to change this, the fact that I don't have my own furball to attend to makes me more cognizant of the fact that other people do.

I also believe that losing a pet makes one realize just how significant a role a furry, four-legged friend can play in your life. The heartache I experienced saying goodbye to our family dog last February was surprising in its intensity. My chest literally ached. And even now, a full year later, I am occasionally swept over by waves of sadness as I remember her soulful brown eyes and soft, silky cheeks. This most recently occurred when I read Garth Stein's The Art of Racing in the Rain, a must-read for anyone who has ever loved a dog.

But my immersion in the pet world has reached an all-time high since last August, when I began working with a company that describes itself as (and truly is) a pack of pet lovers. In consulting with BISSELL on their numerous pet-related initiatives -- from their Most Valuable Pet Contest to their Pack of Pet Lovers online community and their partnerships with Petfinder and North Shore Animal League America -- I have discovered the remarkable network of pet people that extends across the U.S. and around the globe. (One of my newest Twitter friends is a fun-loving French canine, @ParisChien.)

This network -- which leaves little doubt in my mind that we are a society full of pet people --includes such pet influentials as Andrea Arden, Cesar Millan, Dr. Marty Becker, Wendy Diamond and Kristen Levine; authors of pet blogs like USA Today's Paw Print Post, Paw Luxury, Scratchings and Sniffings and The Dog Files; and the millions of Americans planning to attend such upcoming events as BlogPaws, Global Pet Expo, SuperZoo, NSALA's Adopt-a-thon and HSUSA's Walk for the Animals. It includes the 69 million American households that own pets, as well as those whose work revolves around the pet industry --the veterinarians, trainers, groomers, breeders, dog walkers, kennel managers, pet product manufacturers, shelter volunteers, animal psychics....and so on and so on.

So I guess the question is not so much whether or not I am a pet person, but rather what kind of pet person I am. How will my personal experiences with pets like Maisie, Pippin, Thistle and Squeak combine with my new acquaintance with the global pet network to define my ultimate pet personality?

I think the jury is still out on this one :)

Maisie

Un roman à savourer

Although, as noted in a previous post, I found Muriel Barbery's "The Elegance of the Hedgehog," to be a fresh, insightful and thoroughly enjoyable read, the author's style is so quintessentially French that I couldn't help but wish I was reading it in her native language.

So, when I decided to pick up Barbery's other novel "Une Gourmandise," I went for the original, authentic, French version. And even though this means consulting my French dictionary at least once every five paragraphs, I have no regrets.

Barbery's writing is marvelous. Her use of language, metaphor and personification is nothing if not inspiring. The way she describes the cultivation, preparation and consumption of food evokes the vivid, primordial sensuality that lies at the root of our eating experiences.

For Barbery, a perfectly ripe tomato becomes a pleasantly plump "belle dame" squeezed into a crimson silk party dress and ready to burst at the touch of a tooth. A sushi chef's hands give birth to cubes of pink and red mother-of-pearl, which invite slow, supple mastication in order to savor their velvety-softness without altering their essential character.

If you take pleasure in food -- in finding, fixing and feasting on it -- then read "Une Gourmandise." You will relish every word.


Read more about Muriel Barbery and her work in this Time Magazine piece: http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1836659,00.htmlme/magazine/article/0,9171,1836659,00.html

A note on journaling

I love this piece by Melissa Donovan, "A Messy, Liberating Guide to Journal Writing," and could not identify with it more. I have tried just about every one of her 25 recommended ways to journal ... and I'm not done yet :)

And...I must admit that I too am partial to the Moleskine journal. I don't know how they do it, but there is something about the way a ballpoint pen runs across a Moleskine page - smooth as silk - that just can't be beat.

Happy Journaling.....

Basketball moms

Last weekend, I went to watch the 9th grade basketball team my boyfriend coaches play one of its arch rivals. I arrived at half time and slipped into the first empty seat I could find, trying my best not to disturb the parents and grandparents already perched in the stands.


After shuffling off my coat and glancing at the score, I began, as I always do, to take inventory of the individuals around me. To my left were three slender, young mothers, sporting three variations on the preppy mom uniform - blue jeans, wrap sweaters and clunky leather boots. They chatted amongst themselves, but kept their eyes fixed on the court. On my right, two enthusiastic fathers effervesced about the team playing better that night than they had all season. I heard the man behind me answer his cell phone only to be shushed by his wife. "Honey..." she hissed, "You're talking really loudly."

And then my eyes fell on the woman seated just in front of me whose curly, salt-and-pepper hair was drawn softly away from her face, revealing a placid expression and unfurrowed brow. Her lips rested in a half-smile that evoked a sense of calm not normally observed at a basketball game. I was intrigued.

I leaned a few inches forward and saw a mound of woven cotton cascading over her thigh into a cloth satchel. It was then that I noticed her hands, poised just above her lap, gently gripping a pair of plastic knitting needles.

She was knitting. At a basketball game.

Now, I am not saying there is anything wrong with bringing handwork to a sporting event....I'm just saying it was something I had not witnessed until that moment.

My first reaction was one of mild disgust. Could her son's basketball game really be that boring to her? How would he feel if he knew she was knitting during his game? Like he's not good enough... not interesting enough...not her top priority?

But as I thought it over more carefully, I decided that perhaps my first assessment had been unfair. In all honesty, she could have been paying full (or almost full) attention to her son's game even if her hands were otherwise occupied. And maybe he would rather her knit throughout his game than embarrass him by cheering or yelling at the ref.

Maybe the gentle, mindless activity helped this mother relax and enjoy something that left other parents overinvolved and tense.

Who knows....perhaps all those 9th grade boys would be better off if their parents paid a little bit less attention to every dribble, pass and foul shot they made. Maybe they'd be relieved to know their parents weren't always hyper-focused on them, and that they would even take the occasional opportunity to let their minds wander.