Words I love

Slowly I'm starting to like poetry. Largely thanks to Simon Van Booy who writes short stories that  feel like poems.

So here are some words from wise people that have helped me on this European adventure. 

“I think people would be happier if they admitted things more often. In a sense we are all prisoners of some memory, or fear, or disappointment - we are all defined by something we can’t change.” 
― Simon Van Booy, The Illusion of Separateness

To live of love is to sail afar

and bring both peace and joy where'er I be 

O pilot blest! love is my guiding star, 

in every soul I meet, thyself I see

Safe sail I on, through wind or rain or ice, 

Love urges me, love conquers every gale. 

High on my mast behold is my device, 

"By love I sail." 

--St. Therese of Liseaux, Excerpt from "To Live of Love"

Those are the golden sessions; when our slippers are on, our feet spread out toward the blaze and our drinks are at our elbows; when the whole world, and something beyond the world, opens itself to our minds as we talk; and no one has any claim on or any responsibility for another, but all are freemen and equals as if we had first met an hour ago, while at the same time an Affection mellowed by the years enfolds us. Life — natural life — has no better gift to give. 

--CS Lewis, The Four Loves

Nature’s first green is gold, 
Her hardest hue to hold. 
Her early leaf’s a flower; 
But only so an hour. 
Then leaf subsides to leaf. 
So Eden sank to grief, 
So dawn goes down to day. 
Nothing gold can stay. 

--Robert Frost

Otherwise—Jane Kenyon
I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.

Learning about Your's Truly

It may seem like Aupairs have a lot of free time. 

Most do.

I do not, largely because I am also a language student. I go to class in the morning after dropping the kiddos off at school, and then usually I have to be back by 12 to pick them up, make lunch, and then do after school things until about 7pm. Then I get free time. 

I realize that this is the real world, and that is the way life is going to be.

The kicker is, my job involves two people that are under the age of eight. And,  I don't have many friends. 

A) Its hard to meet people when most of my day is spent on the mountain doing soccer mom things

B) 7pm feels awful late these days

Usually when I take the Myers Briggs Personality test I come out as an INFJ.

 Fun fact: only one percent of the population allegedly has it. 

Here is a quick description: 

 INFJs find it easy to make connections with others, and have a talent for warm, sensitive language, speaking in human terms, rather than with pure logic and fact. It makes sense that their friends and colleagues will come to think of them as quiet Extroverted types, but they would all do well to remember that INFJs need time alone to decompress and recharge, and to not become too alarmed when they suddenly withdraw. INFJs take great care of other’s feelings, and they expect the favor to be returned – sometimes that means giving them the space they need for a few days.

I pretend to not care too much about these personality test things- but more and more I am realizing that this is spot on. It is great that I love alone time to read, draw, (watch netflix, cough cough). But more than this, I love people. And I miss them. 

I am getting to the point where I miss having friends in my every day life. Even when I was a student, I had many people to talk to in my classes. I had my professors. I had roommates, I had my ministry friends, I had my family a short drive away. 

Now that I am away from all of this, I miss it. A lot. 

At the same time I know that this kind of life will come again, and I will be craving days spent in silence. I know that I will miss being able to ponder silly things like - the pirates that sit in the crow's nest, and how that applies to bringing creative thinking into the real world. Silly things like that that I get to think about while I wait for the bus for an hour before I realize that the sign clearly says that my bus line was diverted to another stop for the weekend. Thanks Italy. Not your fault?

Being here has taught me a lot about seeing value in little things. 

Like getting to see my friend for two hours to give her a Christmas card, because that is the only free time I had in the day to see her. Being grateful for that small window, and not resenting the fact that I was not given more. 

I told her,  "Gosh, I just can't wait to have a car again, and a schedule that is my own." She said, "You know, having your own schedule and ownership of your life is really just a myth that people never stop chasing. Its not real."

I know, I know. She's wise. 

Like most humans, I love receiving affirmation. I love getting grades that tell me that my thoughts are important and good. I love having friends tell me that my insight is helpful. I love having people ask me to do something because I am good at it. I really love it when people ask me to tap dance.

Here, I am largely without my means to receive affirmation, at least in the ways I had grown used to. 

And thats a hard thing to be without. 

Slowly and painfully, I'm learning that I don't need it. If I am going to proclaim that my worth comes from the Lord and not my own abilities and gifts, the least I could do is try and believe it. 

God knows that I'm not great at believing things without being forced into it. 

So here's to having nights to spend reading words of those that are wiser, the little things that remind me when I'm acting stupid, and knowing that there is no such thing as real solitude. 

And also, home in two days :) 

Let's Recap

Hello!

Even though I am terrible at keeping up with this, turns out I've written quite a lot. So here is a quick "best of" to wrap up the year.

What does frozen cookies on Friday mean?

What did I look like in my prime?
"Emmy that was great. Show us more."
Stop I hate showing pictures of middle school me. That's a lie.

I post a lot about embarrassing moments.
Here is an embarrassing confession.

But here is probably a better one.

Where my sense of humor (or lack of according to some people) gets its roots.
And why I am beyond thankful for it.

Heartfelt piece about granddaddy.

When things got hard in Italy.
So its best to just laugh at yourself.

So thanks for sticking with me all 10 ish of you!
 On a side note, starting this weekend I will be going skiing with the family every single weekend for the rest of the winter. No lie. Chance of a life time right? Don't get me wrong I'm crazy excited and grateful. But also I'm already nervous.
This is why.

But.. I'm  excited to take things slowly and build up to the point where I actually enjoy it. Which will happen. I hope. It must.
I should also stop reading about Avalanche survivor stories, because I've been doing that way too much this week. I realize there are better ways to prepare for a novice ski season.

So here is to being comfortably over my halfway mark, and for the fact that Italy finally feels a bit more normal and comfortable. Give or take the day, lets be real.

Apparently, according to my friend GK Chesterton, gratitude is the highest form of human thought. In the spirit of Thanksgiving and the Advent season (heck yeah!) I figured it was a good of time as any to sit and bask in some gratitude.
And holy cow. If you ever do that (which most intelligent/holy people  recommend), prepared to be blown away.

Just a short list:
-The fact that I am in Europe for a whole year.
-The fact that my life is significantly slower and quieter than the crazy mess I made for myself in college.
- The fact that so many people here have showered me with kindness, friendship, and companionship that I do not deserve.
- Learning about obedience through pushing through hard things I can't stand.
-Realizing I would be a much better version of myself if I spent a significant part of my day choosing to be thankful instead of being choosy. (Sorry I know that's corny.)

Anyways, its been a 15 months with this blog, and an even better 7 months in Italy and mostly ignoring my blog.
I hope you enjoy reading, and happy Advent season!

Dress like Hannah Montana Day

These days I sometimes receive comments that mention how cool my life is.
Yes it is; every human has an insanely cool life.
But I, Emmy, am not cool. I say this with certainty because "cool" and I have had a tumultuous relationship as long as I can remember.  I realize now that cool will always win.

Let's start in 5th grade. This is when I first remember specifically being enamored by "cool." There was an "it" girl in my class. All the boys liked her, and her wardrobe was entirely made of Limited Too and Abercrombie. These were brands I only obtained from hand-me-downs from our generous older neighbors.
I quickly learned that a chubby ten year old had no business trying to squeeze into clothes passed down from tiny fourteen year olds. It just didn't work. But did this stop me from trying? Heck no.

One day It Girl came into school with ugly suede shoes from Limited Too. Nobody else had them, and of course I wanted them. The following week I was in Target and saw an identical pair. Now I didn't need shoes, but like any good manipulative ten year old I shoved my toes to the front of my shoes and begged and pleaded until I left with my brand new Limited Too imitation ugly fake suede shoes. I walked with the confidence of knowing they were to ticket to cool-dom.

The next day instead of praising my taste in fashion, It Girl wouldn't speak to me. Until she did.
"You totally copied my shoes. And they aren't even the same. Mine are much better, and I know that I am the only reason you bought them. You will never be as cool as me so stop trying."
 I really wish I was exaggerating that line, but I remember it like it was yesterday.

My eyes burned with tears, and I never wore them again.
I felt bad that my mom spent most of our monthly clothes and shoe budget on shoes that I a) didn't need and b) wouldn't wear again. And I knew that if I explained why I retired them she would have no sympathy.
I think I told her they hurt my feet.

So this was the start of the dark years. My impossible quest for popularity and coolness effectively made fifth through seventh grade the most hormonal, exhausting, emotional, and insecure years I will (hopefully) ever have.
I poured over teen magazines and on my walls I hung shirtless celebrities I didn't actually know because we didn't have cable. I knew other people liked them, and at this point I was willing to try a sheltered 12 year old's version of "anything it takes."

This went on, and the only social mobility that occurred was the plummeting of my self esteem.  Then something miraculous happened. Drama camp.

To this day I still don't know why I went- I didn't do plays. But I do love attention.
I attended a month long drama camp with people from the ages of 12-18. These were not just normal people. Normal people go to soccer or cheer leading camp.
For the first time I saw people who didn't follow any cool equation I had ever seen or read about, and it confused me to no end. These people were were weird as all get out, but they were happy. And they wanted to talk to me and hear about the things I liked and they actually remembered my name. Based on their suggestion, I went home and watched Rent and understood nothing besides the fact that maybe being cool didn't come around I thought it did.

Thus came my alternative phase.
I decided to be different, and be myself. If I had known how long it would take to figure out who I was I probably wouldn't have even started. (Still working on it if you were wondering).  In hindsight, I'm glad I started when I did.
I began listening to super alternative music. Jack Johnson...Ever heard of Coldplay? Probably not. The Killers? Yeah..I knew more than Mr. Brightside, I had their whole album. Thanks to my CD playing karaoke machine and a music collection donated by my youngest Aunt, I upped my music game. I also started wearing really edgy clothes. My favorite outfit was a pair of white cargo capris,  a pink striped shirt, and black converses borrowed from my sister who was oblivious to the fact that she owned something trendy.
This was also the summer I momentarily surrendered my battle with a straightener and picked up scrunching. Which would take about 8 years to nail down.

Eight grade was a big year for me. Although my white flag to popularity was mostly forced because it had no interest in me;  by eight grade I had a glimmer of peace with the situation. I took risks for the first time and was content to have only two friends that year. I found that spending my time with people who were strange but actually liked me made dealing with hyper sweaty armpits a lot easier.

Then came dress like Hannah Montana Day. To this day, I think that my sometimes crippling fear to take risks can be traced to this incident.
First of all, I didn't watch Hannah Montana on TV because as I mentioned before, no cable in the Judd house. Instead, I would watch on Disneychannel.com when I was supposed to be babysitting my siblings; which is both pathetic and wrong.
If I were to give any advice to young adolescents, its this. Dont watch Disney Channel. When you watch Disney Channel a) dont believe anything b) laugh and the bad acting and c) dont ever ever look to it for fashion advice.

Nobody told me this. So when super cool Miley Cyrus wore black leggings with a white peasant skirt and flats and a big black belt around her hips but over her baby blue shirt, I decided to wear black leggings with a white peasant skirt and flats and a big black belt around my hips but over my blue shirt.
I also added a long string of fake pearls just for good measure. That day I knew I was risking it for the biscuit, but I was confident enough to trust my Disney fed guts.

By second period, I already had two people ask me why I was wearing leggings under my skirt. By third period my then foe but future best friend told me that people were making fun of my outfit. She just thought I might want to know.  I told her that she was awful, and then went into the bathroom and took off my leggings, belt and pearls. I then spent the rest of my day looking down. Some people asked me why I changed and I said the belt was making me hot.

Which was true, actually.
For the first time people in school noticed me and were talking about me. But this was not how I had planned it (you better believe I had planned it.)

I'll be honest- that story is a lot more fun (and better) to tell in person. So if you ever want to hear it again, flag me down and I'd love to be of service.
The first and one of the only times I've told that was on a college spring break trip to Colorado.
After a long day of skiing, we put on hiking socks and sat by the fire and talked about God, our futures, and eventually embarrassing stories. It was one of those rare times that I was laughing so hard I could hardly get words out. This is in part because it is a funny story.
Mostly it was because when you realize for the first time how far from darkness God has brought you, joy just takes over.

I love this story because one of the "worst days of my life" (when I was 13) lead to one of the best days of my life 7 years later.

Neglect no more, maybe.

I'm back! I've been pretty terrible about my blog. Mostly because I'm trying the practice of, "If you don't have anything good to say, don't say anything." Its not that I have anything particularly bad to say, but nothing divinely inspired.

This funny moment keeps coming back to me and its short and stupid but I'm going to share it.

The other night I was riding the bus into town to meet up with some friends to watch the new movie the Intern with Robert DiNiro and Anne Hathaway. In Italian.
The funny thing that I didn't realize about American movies in Italy is that they have a very serious "dubbing" industry. Every big American actor has a specific Italian "dubber" that does all of their movies. In all honesty- I like Anne Hathaway's voice better in English. The Italian Robert DiNiro rocks.

Even though it was in Italian, I understood the basics of what was happening.  I'm still unsure if that was because I've seen every romantic comedy under the sun- and eventually they are all as predicable as the sun rising. Or...it could be because I'm fluent now.
Lol. Nope.


Anyways, back to the bus.
There were only three people on the bus (including me). There are about 6 stops after I get on till down town; but the driver only stops if someone is either at the stop, or if someone on the bus presses the "stop" button.  Once I got on, the bus driver started stopping at every one, even though nobody was at the stop, and nobody was pressing the stop button.

So I was all, "This noob. I wonder if its company policy to stop at every stop, but nobody does it until he or she has to. This guy must be on the first day of his job, and he's terrified of breaking the rules. Just wait. He'll learn to break the rules. Just like all those dumb college freshman that still show up to every single 8am, even when they dont take role. Or they keep a tally of the days they miss, to make sure that they don't go over. Or the American tourists who don't even know how to ask for a scoop of gelato in Italian, and are so obviously American. They'll learn..."

Eventually I was thinking about how glad I was that I was a life-experienced college graduate who actually knew things about the world.
Then I realized that my knee had been pressing the "stop" button accidentally, because I was in a handicapped seat that I wasn't supposed to be in in the first place.

So I was making him stop at every single stop for no reason at all.

Whoops.
I just got off and pretended like everything was normal. And I felt like a sorry idiot- rightfully so.
So much of my overall story here is about forced humility. Its good, really it is. And I am so thankful to repeatedly relearn that I know so little. But also, might I add, Italy has a way of making you feel like an idot.
Nothing really makes sense. 
For example, me and my Slovenian friend were trying to exit this Farm to table food expo yesterday, and we literally did laps trying to find the exit. We asked at least three people how to leave, and nobody gave us adequate directions.

Or how it took five months and four trips to different government offices to  receive my student visa.  Or the fact that you don't buy postage at the post office, you get it at the newspaper store.
Or the fact that you buy your city bus pass at the bus station, but you pay for it at the bank. And if you lose it then you have to present yourself to the police station and tell them why, and then you have to go to airport customs to say you're sorry. Ok I made the last bit up, but honestly it wouldn't surprise me.
Or the fact that trains will change direction sometimes. While you are on it. 
I realize that I could be stressed about it, and kill myself to try and do things correctly. Or I could accept that I am not and never will be Italian; so I can throw my hands up and laugh and admit that I don't know how anything works here.
I choose joy.

Speaking of joy: here are some nuggets of joy that have carried me almost to my half way mark.

-My parents are coming in 10 days!

-Italian food. Praise the great line of Judah for that.

-This region goes nuts over Chestnuts. Last weekend I went on a hike, eat, and hike down lunch thing that is common here. Unfortunately, our easy two hour walk became a hard four hour hike because we took the wrong trail. We didn't know this right away though.
I started questioning things when we had about an hour straight accent over quite rocky terrain. We were all unprepared- I was wearing Clarks street shoes; but one girl, bless her soul, had no experience hiking whatsoever. Eventually we reached a clearing, and I joyously announced "We have arrived at Heaven's gates!"

But then we all slowly realized it was a private home, not a restaurant. I could not stop laughing. But it was one of those, "wow this is so terrible and there is literally nothing we can do about it" laughs. I think at this point sweet unexperienced hiker still had no idea that we were not at our destination. At the time she was lying in the grass praising the heavens.

Butttt, we called (ok my German speaking Austrian friend) called the restaurant owner who tried to direct us over the mountains. Oh- they speak German in this particular part of Austia/Italy. I don't think anyone who lives there really knows how they identify.

And we made it, and enjoyed the best meal I've ever had in my life; All the while looking over the Alps and enjoying a random assortment of International company.

-My last nugget.
Before I came here, people loved to say to me, "You're totally going to find yourself in Italy." And I was all, "Nah, I already know myself. Nothing else to learn." I seriously thought that. But how insanely untrue that is. I'm learning so much more about myself that I can imagine. And mostly I feel more and more secure in my place in this Universe; as the daughter of the King. This may sound corny, but its true. And this alone makes me feel smaller, but more content than I've ever been.

Surprises

I'm a person who hates surprises. Its not that I hate being surprised, but a) I am not patient and b) I hate it when people withhold information from me. I'm not proud of this, and honestly it means I suck a lot of joy from wondeful things. All the same, I am who I am.

When I was eight I found my parent's stash of hidden Christmas presents and discovered my mom got me the kid friendly sewing machine I only brought up one hundred times a day for all of Advent. That was also the year that my little brother Turtle was born. Turns out he was born a bit defective. That sounds terrible. He had jaundice so he had to go back to the hospital for a few days to soak up some UV rays in an incubator. It just so happened one of those days was Christmas. So Dad and the other kids opened up our presents at home and took the stockings to the hospital to hang with mom and Turd. I was glad it was just my dad that year for only one reason- Mom would have totally know I was faking my surprise at the sewing machine. Dad, so I thought, totally bought it. Turns out my dad is incredibly smart so he probably knew all along. He was probably busy thinking about more pressing issues like, oh, I don't know, he newborn son and wife in the hospital on Christmas.
What did I spend my morning thinking about? The sewing machine. And candy.
I was an eight year old with great priorities.
That was also the one Christmas I didn't make my mom cry.
I'm pretty sure she cried a lot that Christmas, but at least it wasn't because of me. 

Every other Christmas I cried because I always expected life changing present that would instantly fulfill all of my desires in life. And they always fell short. Which made my mom feel terrible. Which then made me feel terrible. But not terrible enough to pretend that I wasn't upset.

There was the fake suede coat that wasn't real Limited Too. There was the cell phone that was just the wrong model. There was the camera that didn't have the right mega pixels. Then there was the time my dad gave my nice chocolate but I felt so fat that I cut them up into pieces so I wouldn't eat them and then he found them in the trash.
Plain and simply put- I was a brat.
By the time I was 16 my parents started just giving me money in a card for Christmas. Then I cried because I took away my mom's joy of picking out a present. I also cried because I realized my selfishness was out of control.
At the same time I didn't mind it because I could then buy whatever I wanted. But when I walked away from Target with my shiny new correct camera, I couldn't help feeling that I bought it with blood money.

Two years ago my mom asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I picked out hiking shoes I had been eyeing for some time. They were excellently reviewed, and were just what I needed to propel my limited outdoor experience to the next level.
Come Christmas morning we did our ritual of "I wonder what it is?" "Who can guess?" "Wow hiking shoes! These are great."
 I knew they would be great because I pulled them up on the computer for my mom to order a few weeks ago. When I put them on I realized they were too big. Hiking shoes have to fit just right, and these were most definitely too big. Shoot. Shoot.
So a few hours later I presented the box to my mom in tears and apologized for ruining Christmas. She assured me I didn't ruin Christmas, but I knew I did. This always happened. Even when she did everything in her power to avoid it, I still hurt her feelings.
In exchange for the too big shoes, I got a pair that carried me incredibly well until this Spring when one of our stupid awful neighborhood dogs carried one off to her lair. Karma is a female dog for sure.

Well I tell you this because Italy is teaching me to enjoy surprises; Maybe for the first time in my life. I enjoy them because I am finally finding joy in that God gives us the things we need, not want. Just like that old Rolling Stones song my mom used to sing me me only all the time. "You can't always get what you want, but you can try sometimes you might just find you get what you need."
I've been slowly learning not to trust the things I want, because they are often nothing but shadows of something so much greater.

Like how I've been praying for Christian friends here in Italy and God keeps explicitly pointing me to some very special Saints and Mary. I'm like, oh. Duh.
Or how I've been joining all of these random groups on facebook trying to meet people, and I met a huge group of wonderful University Students on a bus I wasn't supposed to be on in the first place.
Or how I was trying to go to a Latin Mass but I couldn't find the Church so I went to a different one and it was a once a year Latin Mass with a visiting Gregorian Chant choir. It just so happened this Church is where the doctrine of the Church and the Latin Mass were both established in the 1500s.
Or the fact that I was praying for friends that make me laugh and then five year old Maggie pooped on the grass like a dog near a busy soccer field just because she wanted to. And then she started showing her friends some of the exercises I do, like burpees and such. Her form was excellent but her friends were all, "What the heck is this girl doing?"
I laughed so hard I cried, and I didn't think that was ever going to happen here.

Mistakes Mistakes

The other weekend I went to visit a friend I met on facebook. Not sketchy. Ok mildly; but she is a real person and worked at the same camp as some of my best friends and she is a post huge southern football school grad current au-pair so it was the best. After visiting her I missed my train to go back home and the next one wasn't coming for two more hours. Claire and I were left hanging out at Verona train station McDonalds playing cards for an hour and a half. In the meantime a guy in the corner was staring at us, and he wouldn't stop. So we left. When we were sitting in chairs near the platforms he walked by us and smiled. Then he walked by again. Then again. We later saw him waiting by the same doors that Claire needed to walk through to get to her car to drive home. Both of us started getting a bit little wigged out at this point.

The reality is he didn't say anything to us; and it may have been totally innocent. But our Taken (and common sense) given red flags went up, and I know we both felt the same thing.
A little in over our heads. A little bit like when you get caught playing with your mom's makeup and perfume without first asking permission.

Or like when you've begged to watch the PG-13 thriller when you're only 11, and then you can't sleep at night.
Or when you finally get your first babysitting job and you accidentally light the microwave on fire.
Or when you beg your mom to let you start shaving and you gash your leg open with your new razor and shaky hand.
Ok I'm done.

I mean this was the stuff in movies; and I can play tough. I can pretend to be a cultured fearless traveler all day long; but the minute that guy smiled at us with eyes that lingered a bit too long, I wondered why on earth I got up from my comfy brown couch at home. Why did I take off my groutfit (grey outfit), put on a dress, and hop across the pond to this place where I have to take trains in the first place?

We quickly devised a plan. We walked out of the side doors to her car, and she drove me back to those doors where I quickly got out and walked straight to the platform where my train was conveniently already boarding.
I never saw him again, and neither did she.
I safely rode my train home, and she drove home to her family.

When I arrived in Trento I realized I had thirty minutes to wait for the last bus of the night to come and take me back up the mountain to my house. Then I realized it was Sunday, and the last bus on Sunday left an hour ago.
Great. And my host parents were in bed, and how was I going to explain that their irresponsible au pair was stranded at the train station?
So I decided to walk. When I called my host mom to tell her I was walking she asked me why I didn't take a taxi. Of course, a taxi. Why didn't I think of that? I'll tell you why- because I am a small town ignorant American girl who doesn't know anything about the real world.
I've never in my life even had the option to take a taxi. Or a city bus. Or a train. I publicly complain about gas prices, that's the extent of my public transportation problems.

After I paid an arm and a leg for a taxi, I arrived home to a stern talking to about planning my trips ahead of time for my own safety. It was stern and out of loving concern for my well being.

In that moment I felt about 5 inches tall. But I needed it because I really don't know anything about living in a city. And yes I'm learning, but learning usually comes to me in the form of messing up and realizing I shouldn't do said thing again. And that sucks.

And yes I am small town, and always will be at heart. I loved my childhood and the loving shelter it provided me from a lot of hate and hurt in the world. But all the while I dreampt of leaving my bubble and experiencing a big city, or a new culture, or something/anything exciting.I mean who doesn't? Its the reason people love Pixar's Up so much. In many ways I stopped at the possibility. I could never really imagine what it would actually be like when I got there. It was just the act of going that excited me.

If I'm learning anything here its that I am still the same person. I still enjoy the same things, and the same things give me anxiety. I still cry every time I get in "trouble" by someone in authority. And I still have to climb mountains to convince myself its ok to make mistakes.

But some highlights of the past few weeks:
-Meeting Claire from Texas who lives in Verona.
-She is basically Hallie Parker- her family owns a vinyard and the sickest pool ever overlooking Verona. Its fine.
- Meeting a group of University Students on a bus to go hiking, and then spending the whole day with them.
-Kids start school tomorrow. Praise!
- Telling myself I'll start reviewing Italian....tomorrow.
- The mountains here, just wow.
- Learning to love quiet time with God. Its funny I thought I learned this a few summers ago, but LOL at that.
-Just going on walks.
- Getting hugs from the kids and them telling me they want me to be apart of their family forever. 

So here's to a new week and a new round of mistakes! Its not learnin' if its not hurtin' a bit.
Was the Verona trip worth it? Oh heck yeah. Will I ever miss my train again? I hope to everything no.

Frozen feet happy hearts

Backpacking is something that I genuinely love doing, but not something that I do nearly as much as it seems. I once had someone come up to me and say, "I love following you on facebook and social media- you just seem like you have the coolest life ever. You're always on some mountain."

Let's clarify. It may seem like I'm always on mountains, because whenever I go (once every month or so), I take pictures. If I posted pictures of my every day life, you would not be impressed. This is  the beauty of social media, we can brand ourselves however we want, and people buy it.

So anyways, last fall break I chose to go backpacking because I desperately wanted to. Is backpacking relaxing? No, not for me at least. But in the midst of the semester from hell, I knew I needed to do something that made me feel alive and happy to be young. Which is exactly what backpacking is for me.

So I gathered my things with one of my good but new friends Martha, her friend who I hadn't met named Erin, and we hit the road. Erin had never backpacked before, and Martha had done a NOLS trip when she was 16. And I was, you know, fairly experienced but mostly good at pretending.

We mapped out a two night three day loop that was the perfect combination of relaxing and beautiful. When we got to the road that took us to our starting point, we found it was closed.
What why? It was only November.
Turns out a freak snow storm had some through a few days before and the Blue Ridge Parkway was covered with snow.
Blast.
No fear! We pulled out our map and quickly made a new not as beautiful but would get the job done route. About a mile in we realized, "Oh. This place is covered with snow."
For some reason it didn't occur to us that the snow that was covering the main road would be covering the trail as well. So we started hiking through about 3 feet of snow. This would probably have been fine if:
a) we had waterproof shoes b)we brought tons of socks c)we were at all prepared for snow.

We decided to set camp up early when we came to our first big clearing because we were freezing.  I ended up taking off my soaking wet shoes and just wearing plastic bags over my feet that night. So we made delicious soup and packed up camp by 6pm. At six my shoe laces were already frozen. We knew it would be long cold night.

After we packed up our food, it was time to do the dreaded bear hang. Backpackers are always so casual about bear hangs (making a pulley system to hang your food in trees so bears don't eat it). But its seriously one of the hardest things I've ever done. Usually I end up cursing the branches that catch my terrible throws and storming away. When we first set up camp we just kinda decided there were trees nearby to hang the food. Come 6pm with imminent sundown, we realized there weren't. So with completely frozen feet we walked right 100 meters looking for a tree, nothing. Left 100 meters. Then right 100 meters and we threw our food into a bush at about eye level.

Its embarrassing. So incredibly incorrect. But we were cold. And bears were hibernating right? Because of snow?

So we said a prayer over our bear food and crawled into our two person tent right as the sun was setting. Around 6:15. At that point I was so cold that I was shaking uncontrollably, which is a sign that I needed to get warm. So I took off my wet clothes and wiggled into my sleeping bag and waited for the magic to happen. About thirty minutes later I was warm. Warm-er.

Around 7pm we decided that instead of two nights we should just make it this one. We could hike all of tomorrow and just go back to my cabin to spend our last night. After all, its our fall break and we wanted it to be fun.

The thing was, that night was one of the best nights of my life. I was honestly afraid of freezing to death that night. Logically I knew it wasn't going to happen because I had scientifically proper insulation and gear, but none the less I was so so cold. So we prayed that God would send heat to that tent. Sure enough, and 3 in the morning I woke up sweating.

But that's not what made that night so fun. That night I got to talk to Martha for hours and hours. I realized we would be friends for life. I got to know Erin who is one of the most interesting and beautiful people I've ever met. We were so happy that night, because the entire thing was so ridiculous.
In many ways we were probably trying to prove ourselves to be tough. To our friends at school who took trips to the beach that weekend.
More than that we three operated on a similar wavelength. Our love for adventure pushed us into the wilderness that weekend, as well as our knowledge getting out of our comfort zones is a vital part of living life to its fullest.

We laughed until our sides hurt because we were cold. And we were the only people on the mountain that evening, because nobody did what we did. We laughed because a bear could have been eating our food, we laughed because we didn't care. We realized that night that life is horribly fun. And we were in many ways horribly dumb, which is also funny.

That night I realized that attitudes make all the difference in the world. I realize I'm probably the 7 billionth human to realize this- but my time came eventually. What could have been the worst night of my life became hilarious and fun because I knew that God would take care of me, and I was with girls who radiated joy. I realized that the joy and peace in the tent that night came from someone greater than us, because every human part of me should have hated it.

I've carried that memory in the forefront of my mind this week- because I need to.

My host parents are on a week-long tenth anniversary trip this week. My birthday was on Tuesday, so that means I spent it alone. Ok not entirely. The neighborhood moms who I've gotten to know through church, playdates, and the park, decided to throw a picnic party for me. They brought a wonderful lunch and made a strawberry cheesecake and sang happy birthday. I felt incredibly loved, which is something I needed that day. But that night, I washed dishes, put the kids to bed, and cried.

I didn't cry because I was in despair or wanted to go home. Just growing pain tears. Like when you scrape your knee and you know you're going to be ok but it stings and you just need to get the tears out.

I cried because I wanted to drink beer with my friends and watching singing in the rain and skinny dip like I did on my last birthday. I miss my friends who make me cry laugh. I miss talking to my mom on the kitchen floor on my once a month visits. I miss being able to hop in my car and drive to Target if I feel like it.

But honestly, I wouldn't trade this experience for the world.
Just like shivering in my sleeping bag waiting to get warm, I need to stay put and realize that this adventure is far better than the small comforts I crave.
And I remember the joy I felt on that cold long night, and I am reminded that I can't create that myself. I have only to ask with an open heart.

So here is to braving through my first birthday alone, and to waking up every morning with little Maggie grinning and hopping in my bed to cuddle before we start the day with our trusty bread and Nutella.

Differences

I've decided to make a list of differences between Italian living vs. American. And this is not researched at all and probably not accurate, but completely based on my own experiences and observations.

1) Deodorant: they all use spray on and not roll on.

2) Cooking: I've noticed they simplify things. Recipes aren't very time consuming, and you don't have to spend an hour and a half making a casserole or the perfectly seasoned and marinated fish tacos. Pastas are simple, and the multiple courses eliminates the need to make all the food groups taste good together.

3) Work days: Nobody brings their lunch and they take actual lunch breaks in restaurants.

4) Food: This means that there are tons of restaurants. Food in restaurants (within reason) is way more affordable here.

5) Clothes are generally pretty pricy.

6) No super stores. I miss Target, I'll be real. But people shop with intention here. Instead of a store that carries everything under the sun, there are separate stores for everything. There is a craft store, a lawn mower store, a pan store, a gazillion perfume stores, a newspaper store that sells bus tickets, a post office that sells only certain types of postage, etc. This means that I don't accidentally spend money like I did in America. It also means I don't ever know if I'm in the right store to buy things. Or how to talk to the people that work in them.

7) They are more patient. If the man in front of you at the bank is taking 30 min, then you wait 30 min. I walked into the post office and waited for the only woman working there to talk on the phone for 20 min. about her vacation. And it seemed like that was normal.

8) The customer is not always right. Most of the restaurants I've been to have rude staff, and it doesn't put them out of business.

9) Bar beans cafe.

10) Cafe means coffee.

11) If you drink a cappuccino past 11, you're a weirdo. Aka an American.

12) The reputation of American girls here is: "Friendly, but naive." I'd agree with that.

13) Americans think everything is "awesome.' But I mean, it is. I don't necessarily see the shame in bringing wonder and awe to things to which Europeans have grown numb.

14) They think America is cool. By America I mean New York. And no, nobody wants to go to South Carolina. Too many guns there, they say. They aren't wrong.

15) They also think pancakes are the raddest thing in the world. I guess its our only authentically American food.

16) When you go hiking in the Alps there are functioning delicious restaurants every few Kilometers. You can also stay the night in these, so that eliminates the need for backpacking. I also noticed hikers wear button downs and semi nice hiking apparel.

I talk a lot about backpacking and the ridiculous things that have happened to me when camping. My host mom mentioned that people here don't really go out into the wild like that. They don't really open themselves to the unknown that you're forced into when you carry your life on your back and venture deep into the wilderness.

In some ways I can't blame them, its not apart of their culture and there is no real need. It also made me grateful to have a home (America) that is still relatively wild and in certain places, scarcely populated. They wigged out seeing a squirrel and a deer here. If I had a dollar for every time I've seen a deer or a squirrel, I could probably put a down payment on one of these ridiculously nice Ferraris I've seen.

So here's to America for being big, empty spaces with room to spread my inexperienced wings and make countless mistakes trying

African Pants

So these are the only pants I've purchased here. With them I bought a pair of red crocs. I know I know, Milan aka the fashion headquarters of the world is rubbing off on me. 

I bought these because A) they're ridiculous B)I love Africa and C) They would be a great conversation starter. I imagined it going, "Hey! You're pants are crazy. Where did you get them?" or, "Hey! You are wearing patchwork linen pants with African stuff of them, please tell us the story!"

I expected my story to be, "Well, I spent a month in Tuscany. I was shocked by how many African peddlers there were. In the first hour I was sitting on the beach, I had at least four people walk up to me and ask if I wanted anything from watches, to beach toys, to dresses. I felt terrible always saying no, because I realized these were kind people just trying to make a better life for themselves. These pants came from an open market stand that was set up every night. Yes, they're ridiculous but they make me think of my love for Africa and craziness. I decided I want to only buy things here that help me remember happy times."

Well, I could stop there. They is actually a whole other part of this of which I am not proud.
Lets rewind to Spring semester of my Junior year. I took a history of Africa class (just one), and I fell in love with the History of Africa. So basically, I'm like, and expert. It was the first time I realized A) how beautiful the continent is and B) How royally Europeans screwed it up beyond repair. I wish I could say "one day repair," but honestly I'm skeptical. For years until the present,  European and American people have helped themselves to exploiting any and all of African's resources that they can get their hands on. Which is a lot, because Europeans have very eager hands.

So I'm a passionate post grad idealist who believes that much needs to change about the way the world see's Africa, and I have no idea where to start.

In Tuscany:
My host dad came home one evening with a pair of these pants. Not the same, but similar. He said he got them for 20 Euro at the stand, and I should definitely go get a pair if I wanted them. He told me to talk them down though, because 20 was too much. The stores down the street were selling pants for 10 Euro.

Suddenly I had to have these pants. I don't know when it would be socially acceptable to ever wear them in the real not college world. Maybe dress up as your favorite continent day? Maybe if I become a teacher on the first day of an Africa lesson? Maybe to  a showing of the Lion King on Broadway? Ok not that I'm thinking about it there will be plenty of opportunities.

Fun fact about me: When I make up my mind to buy something, I usually have to do it that day.

My host family spent a lot of time telling me that I HAD to talk them down. In fact, it would be sinful to buy the pants for 20 Euro. I'll be honest- I've never haggled anyone in my life. But I went armed with two friends (The sweet teenage nieces of my host family), and only 10 Euro. Options were: bring 10, or pull out my 50 Euro bill after saying that I didn't have 20.

So I was looking at the pants, and the guy walked up to us. Now he didn't speak great Italian, and I speak none. But somehow we communicated that I wanted some pants. And that he wanted 25 Euro. And I only had ten. A moment of silence. Then he went down to 20. Then 18. Then more silence. Then 15. I kept saying the same thing because really, I only had 10. In my pocket. Then I started walking away, and he said "Ok, ok. Give me 10."
So I gave him 10, I got the pants, and I walked away.

Chiara (one of the nieces)- "Did you see his face?"
Ilaria- "He looked so sad."
Me: Yes I saw his face. He looked destroyed to sell the pants for 10 Euro. At that moment I realized I single handedly exploited Africa for my own benefit. I'm not saying that man represented all of the beauty of Africa. But I'll never forget looking at his disappointed face and thinking immediately of a destroyed rainforest for industrial palm oil extraction, King Leopold's Congo conquest, and all the current civil wars in Africa that are actually our fault.

I'm the worst I'm the worst I'm the worst.
That's what I kept thinking all night.

Well I went home, and tried the pants on. They didn't fit, they were way too small and awkward.
So I did what any self respecting guilty continent exploiter would do.
The next day I brought them back and exchanged them.
Aaaaand that's it. I didn't give him any more money. I did't deal with the terrible fit and view it as karma. I went back to get what I initially came for.

So that's really the end of this sad story. Oh and yes the guy remembered me and no he was not happy to see me but yes I got a pair of pants that are huge and comfy and a wonderful representation of going against your fresh university ideals.

I'm Baccckkk

Hello again! After a month long hiatus I am back in action. But really that means back in wifi. And also back in motivation to write.
Well in the past month I have been in Tuscany, Florence, England, the more mountainous part of Northern Italy, and now back in Trento. A lot has happened, and I honestly have no idea where to start so I am just going to make a non eloquent list of funny moments as I think of them.

- I spent a month in Tuscany. oooooooo. Yes it is cool, but it was actually a lot like Hilton Head of the Mediterranean Sea. People hard core chill, families all know each other, and an "outing" for the day was going to get gelato at night. A plus was that the small string of shops down town regularly had a group of adorable but pretty terrible teenage break dancers who danced for money. Its not that they didn't have tricks- they did. Well one of the three did. You could just tell they tried so hard to show swag they didnt have. In fact one day I passed them all sitting on a bench reading poetry.

- Everything shut down from 1-4 or 5pm. One time I walked to get wifi at 3:30 pm and the few people that were out looked at me like I was crazy. Air conditioning is not a thing, so during the hottest part of the day people just relax. Well actually, its most of the day. I'm ok with it.

- Tuscany turned me into an Indian, in that I am tanner than I've ever been. Now I understand why people go to the tanning beds, cancer coffins as I like to call them. I've started getting many more compliments on my appearance now that I am a different shade of human. I mean thank you, but can you please compliment me when I'm pale so I forget that being tan really does make a difference?

- I thought I could get away with a slow tan and no peeling. Lol. This week  (a solid month after I started getting sun) all of my skin started falling off. My host family's nonna (grandma) was concerned and wanted to know why I looked like a lizard. No skin disease, just nature's process.

-I went to England to visit Haley's expat parents and it was amazing. It had the Disney world affect on me- seeing the world of my favorite book, movie, and music characters come to life. I was geeking the whole time. And I was also fan girling every accent I heard (which was a lot).

- When I was on a train there (one of many), I heard the man behind me buying a ticket.
Ticket man: "Where are you going?"
Purchaser: "Nottingham. Two, please (that means a round trip)"
Ticket man: "Alright, when are you returning?"
Purchaser: "Later on."
Literally that's all he said.  I couldn't stop laughing.

- I also over heard a polite middle aged artist talking about how much she enjoyed her nieces wedding, but went on to kindly critique everything; mentioning the parts of the reception that were quite inconsiderate to her guests. One of these concerns included not providing a menu for the dinner. It is unpleasant to not know how many courses you're going to eat. But it was quite lovely, really.

- When I was in Florence I was eating at a sandwich/pasta place for lunch with my host family's niece, Chiara, who is amazing and the best friend I have here. An American tourist walked in and loudly asked, "Do you sell PIZZA?" "No, we sell sandwiches and pasta." "Oh. So no PIZZA?" "No, I'm sorry." "Its ok. Can you heat up the sandwich? Hot? Oven? Toasted?" (this was said very slowly and loudly). "Yes, of course."
She talked so loudly everyone in the small restaurant immediately felt awkward.
My commentary on this:
I get it. Everyday I try to get by and hope people speak English. Its hard and humbling. I get embarrassed all the time, and I sound stupid more than all of the time. But Woman! You have got to TRY to not end up in a pizza place in Florence. Every other building has "Pizzeria" written on it. But you did it! Also, although you may need to speak a little slower to non native English speakers, Italians are not deaf.

With that being said, my Italian is still atrocious and I still get sweaty nerves walking into stores, even if I know they speak English. Its difficult not to feel apologetic for my ignorance. But, people here are kind, and more often than not they're glad you're here. So thanks Italy!

The secret to a long life

Today I met my host dad's father who is 100 years old.
I don't know if I've met someone who was a century old before, but anyone I've met that was close definitely looked their age.

When we pulled up to this man's house, he was sitting on his porch reading a newspaper. When I walked up, he stood up to greet me with a Buonjorno and the traditional two kisses on the cheeks. I didn't understand anything he said, but that is because he spoke Italian. He still insisted on asking how I liked Italy, and he wanted to know exactly where I came from.
I had to ask his secret of life. This man was incredible.

It was quite simple:
Eat little, but eat often.
Walk a lot and read as much as you can.

This man grew up as a peasant. Literally. His family lived and grew apples on land that belonged to a count, or earl. They were incredibly poor. Luckily for him, the count was forced to let his peasants buy their own homes and land when he made a poor investment in the silk industry. So my host dad's grandpa spent his entire adult life working in a factory down the hill from his purchased home.
He walked up and down the hill/mountain every day. He still lives in that house today, surrounded by  his family, the most beautiful mountain valley I've ever seen, and a whole lot of fresh air.

He remembers everything and shows no signs of fading at all. He still reads, goes on walks, and loves to talk about life in the Non Valley.

I haven't decided if I want to be here for 100 years or not, but at least now I know. I'll keep ya posted on that one. Here, honestly, I get why it'd be worth it.

Dad's 50th birthday

Here is a funny story, in case you were missing them.

So a few weeks ago my older sister and younger brother were texting about what to do for Dad's upcoming birthday. We all agreed that since it was his 50th, it had to be something good.
Well here is the thing, all of us would be gone. Megan at school, Patrick and camp and me in Italy.
We also have no incomes. Well, Patrick has the old ladies at church that give seminarians a steady supply, but that's about it between us.

We agreed on getting a hammock, I think. We thought it would be great for the cabin and Dad would enjoy it. I mentioned that Dad doesn't ever relax so what is the point, but that was ignored.
I also mentioned a hot tub but that was shot down as well.

Well our planning fizzled, and nothing was purchased.

A week before I left for Italy I mentioned how sad I was to be missing Dad's big birthday. My mom started to say something and then stopped.

"Wait, Emmy, what did you say?"
"Dad's 50th birthday."
"You know he's turning 49, right?"
"Wait. Really?"
"Yes! Oh my gosh...wait are you serious you thought he was turning 50?!"
"No, yes...maybe! Patrick and Megan seemed so confident and nobody questioned it!"
"Wow, thats hilarious. Nope, just 49."

Well I was relieved because I'll be home to celebrate. And also maybe able to buy something nice.

The thing is I forgot to tell Megan or Patrick we were mistaken, so they each awkwardly found out courtesy of my father.

New Country Resolutions

So, I am officially one month in. Well, almost.
In many ways it has flown by. In other ways I think about every time I've tried to run on a treadmill. The first minute always seems to go by so fast, and in my second minute I'm like heck yeah I've got this! But by minute 8, a minute feels like the longest stretch of time in the world.
In case you're wondering I'm not much of a runner.
My spirits are well. Well, I take that back. I just made delicious french toast for Davide's lunch and he hated it. So I'm a little confused and hurt at the present moment.

What kid doesnt like french toast with home made jam and powedered sugar? I didn't make the jam, just in case you were wondering.
A week and a half ago my host mom Laura and I were getting coffee and she mentioned that she's a little concerned about me making friends (as in I haven't.) Until last week, I hadn't exactly wanted to. But last week I decided it was time.

So I caught a bus and used my map to find the Social Stone, a bar that has an English night every Thursday. I'm still unsure of how it started or if it is even with an organization. Most of the members are Italians working to improve their english, and people are of all ages.
So I showed up to the round table and said, "Hi, is this English night?" They said yes, and Boom. I had friends.

Its an interesting group. There was a real estate agent, a recent law school grad, a medical school hopeful, a primary school German teacher, a psychologist, and others. 
They were incredibly friendly, older than me, and enthusiastic that I was American. That was a surprise.
The most interesting guy I met was a French psychologist who told me I had excellent Italian pronunciation (which is a joke. 5 year old Maggie who I take care of will be the first to tell you that). I think he was a bit buzzed, but I'll take the compliment any day.

They spent most of the evenign asking me questions, and I was more than happy to talk about myself. If I had a dollar for every time I said "In America.... Where I'm from.... Oh ok, well I am used to...." I would at least have an extra month's worth of my Au pair salary. 

After drinks they walked me around to some local places. They added me to their group message and  promised to take me hiking. All these things I am ok with.

Things I am realizing:

A) I don't know how to make friends in the real world. This would be an issue anywhere I went, but it feels heightened in a foreign country. I went from being a youth group kid in high school, to a young life leader in college, to a camp counselor. All of these things helped me grow immensely and shape my identity in values I firmly believe it, but I've never been forced out of that Christian youth ministry esque circle.
Until now. And all of that is so foreign here. They don't understand summer camps, or high school ministry, much less young life. Trying to explain Young Life to a young woman I met was hilarious.

B) I may find friends that are like minded and enjoy my lame idea of fun, and maybe I won't. Either way it will be ok. I might not even find real friends at all, and that is ok, too.

C) I enjoy silence and alone time.

D) I am not here to bless Italy with the culture of America. It makes me feel important to be in that mindset, but its not true. I am here to learn and to immerse myself in new surroundings. Constantly comparing things to America is only going to build up walls that will keep me from being "all in."
If I keep this up I will never be comfortable and most definitely homesick.

So my resolution is to stop. Only speak of America when asked.
Seems like it'd be so easy, and I never thought I would be guilty of it. But I am that's just the reality.

Why I started writing

Growing up I always thought I was going to be famous. I firmly believed it was just going to happen. I was a classic middle child in many ways. I didn't care about pleasing mom and dad like my older sister did, and mom and dad were occupied with young brother (and beyond), so I never quite got the attention I wanted, though I demanded it often. In many ways this lead me to imagine that one day I would finally recieve all the attention my talents deserved.

Because having many siblings meant play dates with other kids were usually considered unnecessary; because my parents grossly limited our TV and computer game intake; because we live in Aiken SC where summer heat is unbearable and outdoor activities are limited to trees and trees alone; I read often.
If reading every AR book taught me anything, it was that journals were cool. And I knew that many famous people kept journals, and thats how we knew stuff about them. And these journals were worth a lot of money.
Well I decided that because I was going to be famous, I should keep a journal. Because one day someone would come accross it and consider themselves the luckiest person ever.
I wish I were kidding.
That is why I started keeping journals. 

On September 11th 2001, eight year old me did not fully understand what happened, but I knew it was important and I knew that when important things happened you were supposed to write something you were thinking when it was happening so you could look back and remember it. So it would be worth a lot of money.
 I pulled out my strawberry scented notebook and wrote: "Today is the day the bad men (I couldn't remember the word terrorist) flew a plane into the World Trade centers. It is the worst day of my life."

A few years later in 2003 I wrote "Today is the day the space shuttle exploded. I now want to be an astonaut."

A)That is terrible cause and effect logic.
B)I hated science so to this day I struggle to connect the dots on that one.

In 5th grade I thought I was going to be an actress. And if that didn't work out I could be a writer. Every so often I would write poems and short stories and read them to the world, so was sure I had talent.
But here's the thing. If a nine year old asks you to hear a poem she wrote and printed out on pretty paper with a hand drawn flower border, clearly she's proud of it. You wouldn't break her heart by telling her the poem is stupid because every line is the same except for the last world  in each sentence right?
Nobody told me. But they should have.

Anyways, I kept my journals all through middle school and high school. By the time I got to middle school people stopped telling me my writing was genius, so I stopped believing it was. But honestly I didn't really try too hard. In anything. I just assumed that people who "made it" doing cool things were constantly told "Oh my gosh you're a natural you could really be something!"It was always just known they were great.

Well I hadn't gotten any of that since 5th grade.

Then there comes a time when you have to decide what you want to do with your life. Such as, determining a major. Thats when I really had this "Shoot. I wish I was actually good at something." moment.
What was I good at? Anything?"

The only thing I could really think of was working with kids. I spent most of my time babysitting in high school, so in comparison to people who had social lives, I wasnt too shabby.
So I became an Elementary Ed. Major.
Two weeks into that, I knew I was going to hate it. Not working with kids, but the Elem. Ed. major.
Was I good at anything else? Like, better than other people good?
I got a 5 on my AP US History test, and that was better than most people. Done. Switched to History and Secondary Ed. Was I a great stand out student? Heck no, but I loved it.

So I'm not 8 anymore. Before I started this blog few people (with the exception of a few unfortunate college professors) read anything I wrote. Which is probably good, because it was mostly angsty prayer journal entries. I no longer want to be famous, and I no longer assume becoming famous is  an inevitable thing in my life.

Today I was reminiscing on my not so humble writing beginnings, and thinking "Wow! I've come so far. I don't only write as an offering to my future fans." But then I was thinking, so why am I writing?
This blog started out as a way to share self deprecating funny stories about myself.  These days its more of a "Hey this is what I'm doing...". The latter was easier, I can tell you that. As of late, my posts have been scattered, much like my thoughts and emotions.

I can't promise it'll get better any time soon, but thanks for joining me on this white water rafting esque blog phase.

(That means that things are sudden, exciting, always changing, and scary at the same time. I love analogies, so I could talk about this specific one for an hour but I won't.)

I'm bad at Vacations

I am a firm believer that self improvement is a good thing. For me it usually happens when realize an unpleasant something about myself. This week I realized that I'm still forgetful. Unfortunately my college diploma didn't fix that for me.
My friend Haley and her mom came to visit for a few days this week. Mrs. Hunt's one request was that she didn't want to plan anything. Fair enough. "No problem! I'll plan everything." The problem is I forgot to plan anything.
Its not that I am a complete space cadet, I just forget things. Often.
I'm not proud of it, trust me.

I tell myself its because I fill my head with too many important things, but we all know that is not true. Important things are quite the minority in my basket of thoughts; I'm just forgetful. Usually its misplacing objects.
Such as:
-The kindle my brother gave me for Christmas that I left on the first European plane I ever took. (Don't worry I already cried about it.)
-The keys to this house I've left in the house already.
-To respond to the few messages from friends I've gotten. This has no excuse, I literally have nobody to text here and I severely love my friends at home. I don't get it. 
-The fact that I was supposed to pick D. up from school at 3:05 not 4:20. I didn't realize this for a solid week. And no, nobody said anything to me. They just let me pick him up 25 min. late and said nothing.
Thankfully my mom friend Francesca told me, and I haven't done it again. Please Italians, you are not being rude by telling me I am consistently 25 min. late. Its because I have no idea what is going on ever; anything helps.

Anyways, I forgot to plan things for the Hunt's visit.  I had reservations for a nice dinner place, but that was it. So after they arrived and we went to the amazing dinner I realized I had no idea what to do the next day. So I went home and pulled out the mega pile of brochures that my Italian mom and I picked up at the tourism center in town.

A) There are lots of cool things to do here, no matter what American self appointed European travel experts say.
B) I can't read Italian so I didn't know what they were saying or how to sign up or what their hours were.
I feel like a little kid trying to convince my mom I was "reading" books but really just making up my own story based on the pictures. She always bought it.
So I decided to sleep on it, and in the morning I hatched my grand plan to them: walk around town, and maybe go see the castle. And then make dinner with my Italian family. 

A few factors made this interesting:
A) I still didnt know my way around town. Its pathetic. I say didnt like I do now. Lol. Still don't.

B) It was the first day of summer heat. I'll be honest, I was expecting chill summers. Cool mornings, cool nights, and a bit of heat in between. Nah. 80-95 all day. And no air conditioning. They're all about energy conservation here and air conditioning is just excessive. I mean yeah, but its nice. So I've just been sweating for a week, pretty much all day long. There could be worse things, I realize that.

C) It was a National Holiday so almost every store worth seeing was closed.

D) Walking all day long takes a lot out of you. There is only so much coffee and gelato can do for sweaty feet.
I actually havent found anything gelato and coffee can do for sweaty feet. If discover one, holler at me please.

We ended up coming back in the afternoon and passing out.
Haley and I spent awhile brainstorming something to make for dinner. We were going to do a fun "cultural exchange" that meant we cook American things and they cook Italian..yadda yadda. Well there is the thing:
They cook with grams, not volume.
They don't have baking soda, or American flour, or vanilla extract, or chocolate chips, or baking powder, or brown sugar.
I've been so stressed out by having to use number conversions (and my brain, really) to cook things I know, I really haven't cooked at all. Sorry family. I made tomato soup and grilled cheese actually, but that's about it. That dish was a hit though, they had never seen anything like it.
^ok thats a lie. Tomatoes cheese and bread are full on staples in their diet, but they had never experienced it in this American combination.

Haley used her magic science powers to make lemon bars that were wildly successful. And I made over cooked chicken and veggie kabobs that were politely praised.

The dinner was great. Having Haley and her mom here made Italy feel like home, which hadn't happened until that night. We talked, laughed, and shared stories with my wonderful host family until midnight; and we could have kept going.

As warm, inviting, and loving as my host family is; it is hard trying to be completely myself when I so badly want them to like me. Not in a bad way, but if you are entering as a guest into a new family, of course you want them to like you. They are paying for my food, room, vacations, at entrusting their children to me. Its normal to want them to think they are making a good investment.

What I needed was to be made fun of. The reminder to not take myself too seriously; and for someone who knows me like family tell stories and laugh about the stupid things I do. I needed someone to affirm for my host family that with me, what you see is what you get.

As the Hunts were saying goodbye, Mrs. Hunt said something along the lines of "You guys are so wonderful, Emmy is incredibly blessed to have you." And they said, "Well we are so blessed to have her, really we are."

I needed that. A seemingly simple affirmation that I am in the right place.
So does Italy feel like home yet? No, at it probably never will. But does it feel right? Yes it does.
It feels overwhelming, and I'm in freak out mode all the time, and humbled because I never know what is going on and I can't read people or situations like I'm used to and that is a huge pride killer in and of itself.
But we aren't called to a life of comfort.

At camp W we have this chart for camper growth. It looks like target and the inner circle is comfort zone. The middle one is growth zone, and the outer one is freak out zone.

The goal is to get our campers in the growth zone, but we have to monitor to make sure they dont end up in freak out zone because that is not productive. It was always easy enough to get kids to get out of their comfort zone when I am happily in my comfort zone doing it.

But now I've been pushed out. Its not easy, but its where I need to be. So basically I'm in growth zone with occasional visits in freak out zone. And occasional visits in comfort zone.
Maybe for the first time in my life I'm realizing that comfort is a gift, not something I've earned or deserve.

How I'm seein' stuff

My host mom, Laura. Just talking about things that matter.

Italians don't joke around with Sacrament celebrations. This is a baptism cake. And yes, it was as delicious as it looks.

When the baptism is 1.5 hr. long, this happens. I'm with ya Mags.

Running route. I was totally running when I took this.

Sono Americana...

That means I am an American girl...and it is usually followed by an apologetic "scusa..."
This happens a lot.

I'm going to do a list today because I have many thoughts and emotions and lists are easy.

Things that are great: 
1) My family. If my family wasn't great/understanding/super patient/kind, I would hop on a plane tomorrow. This whole nannying in a foreign country without understanding what the heck anyone is saying is tough. Coming home to this family is worth it.

2) Being able to have silence. Silence unlike anything I've ever experienced. When I go to parties and such with the family, it gets old to sit around pretending like I know what people are talking about. So I've had a lot of time to sit and just think. Journal a bit; but mostly just extended time sit and be in my own thoughts.

3) The kids. They are not only super cute, but curious and sweet. And they understand English.

4) The fact that at night I watch Alias with my host parents.

5) Enjoying running for the first time in my life ever. I dont understand how it happened, but I am going with it.

6) Being chewed out by a grumpy neighbor because we were playing soccer too close to his car. And not understanding a word. Take that old man. Stop wearing neon running tights, its disturbing. Also stop going through peoples trash to figure out who isnt sorting it correctly. It was me, and I literally can't tell you that.

Things that are a challenge: 

1) Not being able to rely on my people skills.
I used to work in the ID office at school and we would get new international students all the time. I remember listening to people in my office try to explain things slowly to them. The students would say, "I don't understand English."
And the office worker would try to explain it again, using different words. Still no understanding. They played this game a few times, and usually the International students pretended to understand and left. I remember thinking, "If they don't understand English they don't understand. You can't just pick new English words and hope its going to work. Their life sucks right now." Well, now people do that to me.

At camp last summer we had two nuns visit from Slovenia. They didnt speak English very well, but it was wonderful having them. I remember when we were setting up teepees I avoided working on the tee pee with them. Why? Because it was awkward. I didnt want to deal with the elephant in the room of misunderstanding, so I just avoided it. I remember thinking at the time, this is so wrong and I'm a terrible person, but whatever. Well now I have people running away from me. Actually running.
I get it, I really do. I'm not offended. I'm just not used to people avoiding me, if I'm being real. I'm also not used to people feeling sorry for me but that is definitely happening.

Fun fact about the Slovenian nuns: We did a rescue first aid simulation, and some counselors were pretend "hit" by lightening. Then a "hidden" actress fell off a log and had a fake spinal injury. Our task was to figure out how to get her to safety in the midst of this "lightening storm". The sister didn't realize it was fake until we were almost done. Whoops.

2) Its not that I feel isolated. Thankfully that hasn't hit. I'm just very overwhelmed. People always say, "You need time to process." So I've tried. But I dont even really know how to start. Do I just sit down and say,
"Ok, now I am going to start thinking about the fact that I am in a foreign country with nobody I know and I am in charge of the lives of two children and I don't know how to communicate anything to their friends and their teachers. But its fine because I'm processing it. But actually I'm just freaking out." 
I'm not sure.

I went into town the other day to try to learn my way around. I'm terrible with directions, and I don't like crowds. There was an economic festival in town the day I went and I realized I didnt know my way around at all.
I started sweating a lot (this is usually what I do when I am internal freak out mode). On the outside I look calm and collected. But I seriously sweat like a maniac. So I walked into a shoe store, because I could pretend to want to buy shoes. Well no shoes were on display, there were only boxes on boxes and a woman who said, "Prego", as in "Can I help you?" uh...uh....bye (that was me). Why the heck were no shoes on display in a shoe store? Italy is weird.

So then I walked into this insanely beautiful church that they call small but I don't. Just so happened, Mass was about to start. If you accidently walk into the best party every you don't just leave. So I sat down and breathed, brought my heart rate down and tried to prepare myself for mass. Then I realized the Italian women were giving me weird judgy looks. "What the..." Oh shoot. I was wearing shorts. Not super short shorts but finger length khaki shorts. People generally don't wear shorts in Italy and in church?! Heaven forbid. Get out you sinful child.

Another thing about me: I hate not being dressed appropriately for attire or weather. I usually change outfits 10x until I get it perfect. I wish I were kidding.
One time (only one time) in college I went last min. to a party in my apt. complex. I wasnt planning on going, and I still hadnt showered, but one of my roomates was going so I thought, "Why not? I'm not doing anything." Lo and behold every girl there was dressed in anthroplogy and wedges and cool swingy dresses that would look like a moo moo on me.
Shoot. Did they care what I looked like? Heck no. If anything it helped them look cuter in pictures. Did I? Oh heck yes. Remarkably I stayed, but I never forgot the vow I made to never do that again.

So here in Mass I said, "Jesus. I really want to be here and participate in this gift. You obviously want me here. And you don't care if I show up to the party dirty and stained and under dressed. Especially since I didn't know I was coming until a few min. ago. You're just estatic I came." So I stayed. The Italian women rolled their eyes, and I forced them to deal with my legs.

So much of being here has forced me to screw what people think. Its hard for a people pleaser like me. Its hard for my perfectionist nature, and how much my heart longs to fit in and be in the middle of the action. But that's what happens when we go on an adventure. We meet the unpleasing parts of ourselves that need work. And ultimately, I'm ok with that.

Eat Pasta run Fasta

Hello again! I am now officially in week two.
A few observations:
-This landscape is still ridiculously beautiful, and I still feel like I'm walking in a calendar. The Italians seem confused when I geek about how beautiful it is. To them I say, "No. You do not understand. Have you seen SC midlands?" They haven't and nor do they want to. I love SC, but I get it. 

-How am I doing?
I'm doing well! I went to Florence this weekend because the family's niece had her first communion. I met up with a fellow Young Life leader from Clemson in Florence (he was studying there for a few weeks. Sorry, is studying. I guess he's still there.) It was nice to not get lost alone, and to speak English and just to see a familiar face.
Also Florence was alright.

Also can I just say that first communions are crazy here? This sweet 9 year old got (I kid you not:) A bike, five full new outfits, an ipad, Frozen bedding, new luggage, etc.) There was more I promise. I mean unreal. Bump the nice cross and a book of prayers I got from my grandma, I want to redo my first communion in Italy.
 
A bit about food:
- The  P A S T A situation is real. And by real I mean awesome; but also an issue. Here is a typical day of eating:
Breakfast: espresso, bread, nutella, or jam, or any other pastry.
Lunch (1-2pm), pasta, meat, veggies or fruit, bread, dessert, espresso
Snack (3-5pm) Bread, nutella, pastry, bread, bread, bread, cheese, bread
Dinner (8-9 pm) pasta, meat, veggies or fruit, bread, yogurt

If anyone who knows my eating habits you can understand why I am afraid.
For the past year and a half every morning I have a banana and peanut butter and American coffee. For lunch I either have a spinach or kale salad with beans and chicken; or a kale or spinach chicken wrap. Also usually a granola bar or a cliff bar and a piece of fruit.
For dinner around 5 or 6 usually some sort of quinoa veggie and meat mix with either salsa or soy sauce. 
Around 9 I'll eat peanut butter and jelly with a spoon, or tortilla chips and salsa.
This menu also allows for chick fil a twice a week, pizza at least once,  and small handfuls of dark chocolate throughout the day. I really dont know why I just went into so much detail, but there you go.

I do not eat pasta or cheese (not worth the carbs--I am very sensitive to them.)
So woof.
People have told me, "Well in Italy everything is fresh and not processed so its good for you!"
Good for the taste buds, I believe it. Good for my overall health, I have yet to believe it. Its been a week and I already feel a food baby.  
Granted, it is delicious. People cook with real ingredients and use veggies and fruits that are in season. Its great, I am just realizing I am going to have to learn the art of saying no. And portion control.
And the fact that although Nutella is delicious and beautiful, it is not a friend.

Its also hard because everyone here (including my host family) is so thin. I literally have no idea how. They even made the comment, "Emily your parents won't be able to find you when they get here if you continue eating like that."
As they said that I was done with a 2 cup portion of pasta that was the size of my face. No joke.

I can't win.
So what am I going to do?
A)Run often. The landscape and me craving alone time are actually making for some pleasant runs.
B)Try to relax. About everything. Whenever I am in new situations I freak out and expect the worst. Then things calm down and I'm fine. I've yet to arrive at the calm down phase, but I know I'll get there, I always do.

I'm Here!

Hello all! I arrived on Friday evening, and I am finally writing a post. Why so late? Well my bag just arrived. When I talked about my delayed baggage to any Italian they all said, "Welcome to Italy..."

I don't even know all the places it went. And I don't care.

So initial thoughts:
- When in doubt, ask if they know English. It saved my butt twice in my travels.
Time #1: My "short" flight from Frankfurt to Milan was going longer than it was supposed to. The captain made an announcement first in German and then in English. I couldn't understand the English because a) I had been awake for 36 hours and b) the accent was thick. When we started descending I looked out the window and saw we were over the Mediterranean sea. Thanks to my sub par geography skills, I knew Milan was not near the Mediterranean. So I politely asked the man I had been sitting next to for an hour, "Do you speak English?" "Yes." "Ok. Where are we?" "Ah, we are in Niche, France." "Got it. Thanks. Why are we in France?" Thunderstorms. But all is well we made some circles around Milan waiting for a hole in the clouds and made it.

#2: I made it to the train station, and then I made it on the train. It was not that simple, but I am trying to condense because I like you.
Once I was on the train I looked at my connecting ticket and realized it did not look like my first train ticket. (I had to switch Trains in Verona). I asked the woman (who spoke English) what it meant, and she told me what to do and looked up the times for the departure. She said, "Well, we have three minutes to catch it, so we are going to run." So I followed her sprinting as best I could with my 40lb backpack (I weighed it, that is not an Irish exaggeration), and I jumped on the train. She then handed me the ticket she ran to verify so I would not get fined. I then shouted as the train pulled away, "Thank you so much you didn't have to do that!" "I know but it is your first time traveling in Italy, I want it to be a good one." That really happened.

When I arrived in Trento I found out Dennis (The Dad of my host family) was waiting for me in Verona the whole time. So all of drama was actually unnecessary.
But I got there!

B E F O R E

A F T E R. Still not sure if my eyes were open, but I was trying.

And let me just say, this place is unreal.
I was face timing one of my best friends today and I mention that I hate the phrase "I can't even." Here are my thoughts: "The English language is beautiful and intricate and because of the huge mix of cultures, languages, ethnicities in our country; we have more words than any other language. That is true. Now stop saying you can't even, and pull out a dictionary and even. Its the least you can do to your former educators."

But honestly, I don't know exactly how to put words to this place. You know that scene in Beauty and the Beast when everyone is opening their shutters and saying good morning, walking down cobble stones to the bakery and such? Well its kind of like that.

I'm in a region of Northern Italy used to be part of Austria; so it looks very Austrian. (YES. I know Beauty and the Beast was set in France, but it is the best comparison I came up with.) Its right in the Alps. So think Sound of Music.
Now think cute village where everyone knows each other and you can walk to school with the kids and then stop at the supermarket right next door and then stop at Francesca's house to eat a huge pasta lunch just because. Then you pick up the kids and walk to the garden where they can play for hours. Oh and nutella. So. Much. Nutella.

 If anyone who knows me well and knows about the Summer of Nutella sandwiches, you can understand my concern.

This village overlooks Trento, which is where the Council of Trent was held in the 1500s. This 20 year meeting established the doctrine of the Church, no big deal. Also right down the road is a midevil castle. I mean... I'm sorry. Right now I feel like I died and went to my childhood romantic history heaven. That's the best I can "even."

D (the boy) claims this is his fountain. Which is impressive because it is in the city's main square. 

I kind of hate myself for saying that. Moving on.
Mostly I am excited just to Be. I came here to be apart of this family, and to love them and let that be my adventure. I do not have grand plans of globe trotting while I am here; I hope to make friends but that is not my main objective.
For the first time in many years I do not have multiple obligations. I am not in charge of anything other than these two kids. And trying to learn some Italian. Please, just some. It's awkward.

Sweet S. (classmate of D.) She doesn't speak any English, but we make it work.

Like I said, Sound of Music.

What a blessing to just be, and take things as they come.
And I'm pumped to be around buildings that are OLD. So unbelievable.