Remember the lawyer I mentioned over a month ago who had a job prospect for me? Well after being stood up for our first meeting, then running into him on the street while I was holding a bag of dog poop, then two more conversations and coffees at the bar, followed by a glass of prosecco on my birthday, finally we had a real meeting about his idea.

He has an agriturismo here with his own vineyard and wine label of Vino Rosso and Vino Nobile and the setting is gorgeous.  He has beautiful guesthouses and acres and acres for people to enjoy on their holidays.  But what holiday would be complete without taking a cooking class with a real Tuscan chef?  That’s where Iacopo comes in.  He’s a pretty well known chef in this area (and possibly cuter than the other chef Fabio) and I sat down with the two of them yesterday to flesh out the idea of cooking classes for guests of the agriturismo.  Iacopo would teach me four or five Tuscan dishes and I would help facilitate the cooking class for the English speakers.  We chatted about menu ideas and presentation etc, and if it actually happens it will pretty much be my dream job.  Even if it doesn’t take off and I just get to learn the dishes, I will be thrilled.  I am also invited to be on the Saverio’s squad for picking grapes in September so that’s my backup plan!!!!   All part of the adventure.

It was some much needed positive news on the job front.  I have my first student for English lessons this week.  He’s a seventeen, super sweet and has an exam that he needs to pass in September.  And, tomorrow I am meeting with the owner of my favorite winery here to possibly teach English to her two kids.  Fingers crossed on that one.

There is a big festival tonight in town and I’m heading up the Piazza Grande soon with Bonnie and the kids to see some flag throwing and other festivities.  My student, Michele, is playing the drums, so it will be fun to see someone I know performing.  I’ll try to take some pictures.

Leo that I am, I love birthdays.  Not just my own, but friends and family…pretty much any excuse for a party.  I especially enjoy making everyone’s favorite cake–for my own birthday I usually make “THE BEST CARROT CAKE RECIPE IN THE WORLD!!”

But because I’ve only been in Italy a few months, I kind of figured that the day would pass without much fanfare.  I was pretty certain that without my daily reminders that my birthday was coming, my friends in New York wouldn’t be thinking of me.  Sure enough, with the exception of Cheryl (who still retains best friend status) not one phone call or email.  But since I’d already prepared for that, I was more concerned about making a fun day for myself here.  After all it’s not every year that you get to celebrate your big day in Tuscany.  What I hadn’t counted on were that my new friends here would want to celebrate with me.

Wednesday was Bonnie’s daughter Natalie’s sixth birthday and because mine was only a few days away, Bonnie invited me to dinner with the family and they celebrated my birthday along with Natalie’s.  It was super sweet.  I made chocolate cupcakes for Natalie and got her a “grown up” purse.  Every girl needs her first Italian handbag.  Bonnie bought me a beautiful leather journal, and Zack gave me an Italian birthday card that neither of us could translate completely.  We had a really fun night.

My gift to myself was a haircut and then two days ago, my neighbor Marinella brought by a gift for me of a deliciously scented citrus bubble bath.  Then today she gave me some of her homemade marmalata that she’d made with susini.  Carla stopped by yesterday with a huge bag of tomatoes and cucumbers from her garden.  And today, I’m getting together with Angela for a birthday glass of prosecco at the bar.  I am a little overwhelmed by everyone’s kindness.

As for my normal baking tradition of “THE BEST CARROT CAKE RECIPE IN THE WORLD,”  I had pretty much given up on the idea.  It has a decadent cream cheese frosting, and…well, you’re not likely to find Philadelphia cream cheese in Italy, right?  Much to my surprise, it was the easiest of all the non “Italian” ingredients to find.  It’s in even the smallest grocery store.  Coconut and buttermilk were the challenges.  Buttermilk it turns out is not available here, so I improvised with lemon juice in milk to make the acidity.  And after asking the manager at the supermarket if they had shredded coconut and he told me they didn’t, I’d decided to buy a whole one and try to make the flakes myself.  But as I was making one last pass around the store, on the very bottom shelf in the section with the nuts, I found it.  Flaked and perfect.  I resisted the urge to show it to the manager, since I’m a grown up with 39 years now!!!

This morning I set about making the carrot cake in cupcake form so that I can share with everyone and they came out surprisingly well.  The cream cheese frosting was a tad lumpy as my hand mixer began smoking before I’d even creamed the butter–it’s the second one I’ve gone through!  I do MISS my Kitchenaid!!!

I brought cupcakes around to the girls in town and to Marinella and everyone seemed to like them.  I wanted them to taste them before trying to explain the ingredients, which include the tropical ingredients pineapple and coconut as well as the carrots and walnuts.  I just told them it is a famous cake in America and everyone seemed satisfied with that.  Caterina seemed to particularly enjoy the cake and gave me a significant “birthday” discount on my cheese purchase.

The afternoon was a blur of prosecco.  First Angela made me some concoction with Campari and prosecco, then I lost count of the glasses I consumed.  (I’m told that the Italian word which corresponds with tipsy is allegra and when you are three sheets to the wind, you are ubriaca.  I was somewhere in the middle, but I forget the word for that!)  It was over 90 degrees, the Italian sun was shining brightly and I enjoyed being the center of attention.  Many glasses were bought for me and many toasts were made.  Cinder too had a blast and at last count, she’d consumed a discarded ice cream cone, half a tuna sandwich, and a whole tray of bar snacks that fell on the ground– they have little round chips here that taste like Doritoes and Cinder is a fan!

The day ended with dinner at my place and the carrot cake cupcakes.  Angela came over to supervise as I was a little worse for wine.  All in all a terrific first birthday in Italia.  AUGURI!!!!

Summer is officially here.  I know this not only because it’s really hot, but because I saw my first fields of sunflowers (I Girasoli) yesterday!

My friend Angela took me on a little road trip to try and find a full length mirror.  I have a small mirror in my bedroom in which I am able to see my top half and, if I stand on the bed, I can see my legs, but it’s hard to leave the house when you don’t know how you look as a whole.  Of course, finding a full length mirror, “lo specchio lungo” in Montepulciano is not easy.  Angela thought she had the problem solved when she took me to a nearby glass maker that makes the mirrors for her bar.  As soon as I saw the place, I knew it was going to be out of my price range.   The starting price for the simplest mirror was over a hundred euro.  I briefly panicked wondering if I was going to have to buy one so that I wouldn’t offend Angela, but then realized if we were going to be friends, she’d have to “get” my situation.   Angela opened her wallet to show me that she didn’t have much money either and I immediately felt better.   Nothing like bonding over poverty!  Angela explained that the “zona” in which we live has lots of people with money who are used to plunking down hundreds of euro for custom made items when they need something.  Obviously this is not an option for me right now, although the mirrors were lovely.

I explained to Angela the type of thing I was looking for: the simple frame, can find it any hardware store or Target type of store, and it’s CHEAP.  Angela consulted Massimo by phone and we took off to a town out of our zona called Magione.  It was on the road to Lago Trasimeno in Umbria and about a half hour away.  With the car windows down to beat the heat and the scent of manure wafting through when we passed through one town, it really felt like a summer day in the country.  I spied a cow standing near the road and told Angela it was “pericoloso” or dangerous.  She started laughing uncontrollably and as we passed it, I realized it was fake!!!  She said she enjoyed seeing “her” towns through my eyes.

We made it to the Mercatone Uno and I at once felt at home.  It was like a Pottery Barn and Ikea rolled into one with everything imaginable for “la casa.”  Mirrors were abundant and I found one in my price range (20 euro) of just the sort I had described, and we spent another hour soaking up the air conditioned comfort and just browsing–Okay, actually, the store was designed in a way that we couldn’t find our way out so we were forced to stay longer than intended!

On the way home flush with accomplishment (sometimes it’s the little things that make me happy) and trying hard to remember the direction so I could one day find my way back to Magione alone if I needed to, I asked Angela to slow so I could take some pictures of the sunflowers.  She slowed her light-speed driving down a few notches and I got some nice shots.  Angela explained that the seeds of the sunflowers are harvested for oil for frying and are not just sitting there looking pretty.  We ended our road trip back at the bar and I headed home with my new mirror.   It doesn’t reflect perfection, but at least I can see my whole image!

If I’m feeling a bit like I’m starring in my own version of the Sound of Music, there are a couple of reasons for it.  Or rather, five.  I spent last night and today with my new American friend Bonnie and her five kids.  I’m booked for a couple of nights of babysitting next week (hooray first job) and so last night was an opportunity for me to get to know the kids a little.   It was also the day that Montepulciano’s music festival, otherwise known as XXXIV Cantiere Internazionale d’Arte di Montepulciano, began it’s two week schedule of music and theatrical events.  As I met Bonnie in front of her building for our walk up to Alberto’s restaurant for pizza, the band was gearing up for the trek up to Piazza Grande–if they weren’t playing Climb Every Mountain, I’m sure they were thinking it.  The kids were beside themselves with excitement and as the band began parading up the street with townspeople following behind, the kids ran ahead to be right behind the music.  Henry, one of the four-year-old triplets ran to me and asked to be picked up and so I burned some extra calories as we danced our way up the hill.  Thankfully for the band they didn’t have to start at the town’s gate, which is at the bottom of the mountain, or no doubt they wouldn’t have had any breath left for their instruments.

When the band snaked up a side street, we made our way to the restaurant.  The kids had already met Alberto and had eaten at the restaurant the week before.  They sang the praises of both.  Alberto was swamped and working the whole time we munched on delicious pizzas and drank a lovely Brunello (Bonnnie and me).  I have no idea how he manages to run both the language school and a popular restaurant.  He said he’d call me to set up a lesson this week, which is probably good since I’ve spent most of the past two days speaking in English.  (Caterina and Antonella, my Italian friends as well as my best conversation partners, are both on vacation at the beach, leaving the stoop oddly bereft.  Obviously they are the glue that holds the shopkeeper circle together!)

After a lovely dinner with everyone surprisingly well behaved, we trooped to the Gelateria for…well, for gelato of course.  The kids were already well known there and the young guy behind the counter started spooning out everyone’s favorites.  I definitely was feeling “Maria” like as I trailed behind the blond, rambunctious, ice cream-eating gang marching down the cobbled street on the way back to their house.  I was given a tour of everyone’s rooms and Natalie told me she was happy to have some “girl time” because it’s not easy being the sister to four brothers.  Henry the “Romeo” of the group, who’d showered me with attention through most of dinner, told me he loved me.

Cinder met the kids this morning and we paraded over to my place so we could bring her home before going to the park.  Dogs aren’t allowed in the park which Cinder and I both think it’s a big bummer.  It was a fun morning of swings, hide and seek and bubble blowing, and I had a great time getting to know each of them a little better.  We’re going to continue our outings with more musical entertainment tomorrow–Do re mi fa so la ti do….  We’re taking a trip up to Piazza Grande to see a production of “Dedalus.”

This past week has been full of highs and lows.  Altalena is the Italian word for seesaw and this pretty much describes it.  The only job offer I received, after another full week of searching, was to take care of two elderly women.  This didn’t sound bad on the surface until Caterina explained to me that it would involve changing diapers for the two bed-ridden women in their nineties.  In her exact and blunt words, when I wasn’t fully comprehending, “caca and pee pee.”  I did contemplate the job for a whole day because I really do need to find something, but I just couldn’t find the intestinal fortitude to handle all the nursing requirements that the women needed.   As I was giving my answer to the signora, Caterina and Antonella were both behind her urging me in with energetic gestures, not to say yes.  I’d already reached that conclusion on my own, but their confirmation made me feel a little better.  As I was relaying the results, or rather lack of results, with finding a job here to my new friends, I began to cry.  Just a few tears mind you, not a full breakdown.  I think this was just the culmination of weeks of frustration, which was not aided by the fact that the Italians aren’t much for words of commiseration.  Other than a “Si, È difficile,”  or “it’s difficult,” normally my job hunt stories end with my friends agreeing that everything is pretty hopeless.  All you want to hear is that yes, of course you’ll find something, but that isn’t the way it works here.  Optimism is not part of this culture and I sometimes feel like a freak of nature with my “rah-rah” attitude.

For me shedding tears every now and again is not unusual, but my new Italian friends didn’t know what to do with me, and stood around looking uncomfortable.  I felt like I was in a movie: “Crying?  There’s no crying in Italy.”  Then I heard, “Sta scerlando!”  Another new word for me, which basically means she’s losing it.  In the street, no less.  It was definitely mortifying, but it’s best the Italians know that I’m a crier early on!

Not ten minutes after this, while I’m puffy-eyed but feeling a bit better, Caterina introduced me to an American who has been living here for fifteen years with his Italian wife.  He is from New York.  After only a few minutes of talking with Robert not only did I feel better, but I felt determined.  He relayed his own work difficulties when he’d arrived here and didn’t try to sugarcoat it.  But he did leave me with the impression that I will find something.  Eventually.  This was all I needed.  We brainstormed work ideas which were “out of the box” including my baking dolce Americana since my baked goods are always well-received.  Robert especially liked this idea since he is not fond of the Tuscan pastry.  I promised him an apple pie for his help.  He introduced me to three of his friends while we were talking, and handed each of them my cards, introducing me as his friend.  It was very sweet.  I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed just to chat with an American here.  It’s been two months and although I’ve been speaking in English to friends and family in the U.S., I haven’t had anyone who understands what it means to be a newcomer in this country.  Having a full conversation in English, and hearing the pragmatism of a New Yorker was just what I needed.

As it turned out, it was my day for speaking English.  I was in Caterina’s store while a group of tourists my parents age came in and were stocking up on cheese.  They didn’t know that it was okay to bring back pecorino in their suitcase, so I showed them which cheeses they could take back to South Carolina, and helped Caterina ring up a humongous sale.  As the comedian of the quartet said, “We’re doing Tuscany on 1000 euro a day.”

My next encounter with Americans came in the afternoon.  It had been widely reported by the butcher, Silvano, that an American family with five kids was moving in to a palazzo across from Antonella’s store.  The family had in fact moved in a few days prior to my meeting them, and are staying here for two years.  Bonnie and Mark are from Colorado and this is the second time they have picked up roots and tried a new place.  Of the five kids, three are triplet boys aged four, a girl who is six and the eldest a boy, eight.  Bonnie looked remarkably unfrazzled for someone with her hands full to overflowing.  None of them speak Italian, but everyone is getting enrolled for Italian lessons and the younger kids are already the darlings of the street–blond, energetic sweethearts that charmed  Caterina and Antonella from minute one.  The older ladies of the street don’t seem quite as enamored of this vocal tribe.

I shared some of what I’ve learned by trial and error over the past couple of months with Bonnie and Mark, and Bonnie and I are getting together next week for a chat after the kids are asleep.  In the beginning when I moved here, I was adamant that I would only speak Italian and that I wasn’t going to hang out with expats.  But I’ve realized that sometimes you just need to speak to someone in your native language.  I really did try to explain PMS to Caterina and Antonella, but it just doesn’t translate!

The highs and lows of my altalena continued with a gift of a bottle of wine left for me by some guy I’d chatted with at my coffee bar for two minutes, which was sweet.  Then I had a lesson with Alberto and he made a phone call on my behalf about work, which felt like a step in the right direction.  The next day Giuseppe, one of my new pals, gave me some translations to do for his store.  A tiny amount of work, but I’m grateful.  Unfortunately the excitement of these highs was overshadowed a bit by some stalker-like text messages I’m receiving from someone who obviously got my number off one of my flyers for English lessons.  The hazard of living in a small town with only two degrees of separation is now abundantly clear.

But this morning, this same two degrees of separation worked to my advantage when I met a lawyer who owns a nearby vineyard, agriturismo and wine shop.  He is a regular customer at the bar, and Massimo and Angela had told him about me.  I stopped in this morning for a coffee and he was there.  We chatted for a good while and he seems keen to help me find some work.  Cinder approved right away as he tossed her a chunk of his panini.  Angela chimed in to the conversation whenever I got stuck with my Italian and I was grateful for her help.  He’s going to call me on Tuesday morning and we will have a proper chat about job possibilities.  Angela and I did a happy dance after he left and I returned home feeling much better.  So while the week was one of highs and lows, thankfully it ended on a high… and it’s always exhilarating to be at the top of the see-saw!

We all have that secret fantasy of something we’d like to be really good at, but we’re not sure we will ever achieve it.  For me it’s gardening.  My lack of proficiency in this area is particularly egregious because my dad is an amazing gardener with the greenest thumb around.  He once smuggled a coconut back from Hawaii and grew a humongous palm tree.  This gene skipped me–I’ve only been here two months and already I’ve killed my beautiful hydrangea bush that I bought when I first moved in.  I didn’t murder it on purpose, of course.  It happened because I am stubborn.  Barbara, from my local flower shop told me when I bought it that it wouldn’t survive inside because there wasn’t enough light.  “But if I leave the front door ajar (as I always do so Cinder can go in and out), it could work,” I insisted, until she finally told me to “Prova,” or try it.  One by one I watched the humongous, cotton-candy pink blossoms wilt and die.  I tried moving it to the porch, but it was too late.  But if there is one thing you should know about me, I don’t give up easily.  No matter that my cherry tomato plants in New York produced two tomatoes, or that my herbs always looked rather sickly, something in me feels compelled to keep trying.

To this end, today I bought two basil plants.  I don’t have space for a garden yet, but it’s in my long range fantasy, where I see myself walking among my grapevines, harvesting olive trees, and digging potatoes and onions from the earth.  It’s good to dream!

The basil plants were an impulse purchase when I was buying Cinder’s dog food.  I use a lot of basil and yesterday at the mercato, my fruttivendolo didn’t have any.  He is a very sweet guy, calls me “cara” when he sees me, which always makes me happy, though he says it to all the old ladies too.  Last week he introduced me to susini which is a little yellow plum (here plum is prugna) and they are delicious.  Okay back to the basil…

The pet food store has a nursery on one side and outside are tons of plants.  The fragrant aroma of the basil beckoned me over.  I consulted with the owner as to whether the two hours of sunlight I get in the morning was sufficient and after he said that it was plenty since it was at a strong time of day, he explained when to snip the plants so that they would grow fuller and not tall and ungainly.  A small bag of soil (and ten pounds of dog food later) and we were on our way back up the hill.

When I unloaded the plants I was filled with uncertainty.  What if they died immediately?  I’d be the shame of the street.  My neighbor Paolo and his girlfriend have gorgeous window boxes of basil, sage and rosemary and I watch enviously as they pinch off what they need for their weekend lunches.  I pictured them snickering at my pathetic attempts to garden, which is unfair as they are actually a terrifically sweet couple and if I asked for their advice, I’ve do doubt Paolo would gather his tools and come to the rescue.  Thus far, my gardening has been limited to some lovely geraniums that despite my best efforts appear to be thriving, and I do feel guilty about it since they are still in their original plastic pots because I never bothered transplanting them.

I tried to find Marinella or my neighbor Carla, so I could get a more in-depth consultation, but strangely neither of them was at home.  Marinella is wonderful and is forever bringing me delicious zucchini, lettuce and string beans from her garden since she knows I make a lot of salads.  She gave me some of her “salsa” yesterday, which is her homemade tomato sauce.  It’s fabulous and if I can get a recipe, I will post it.  Carla is a new friend who invited me and Cinder to her l’orto or vegetable garden this week and I saw in action what a real gardener can do.  She gave me a jar of her marmalata that she makes with the susini and so I was able to taste both the fresh fruit and the jam.  It’s been a good “foodie” week.  Carla has graciously offered to show me a thing or two about working in the garden, and I will gladly take her up on it.  But of course, I am too impatient to await instruction for my basil plants, so I do a quick internet search, and then haphazardly begin my task.

The container I have is not perfect as it doesn’t allow drainage, but the plants are in and when Carla came by she told me they were fine.  She also told me when to snip them and to not over water since there was no drainage.  The end result is pretty, and the first rays of my morning sun are hitting them as I write so let’s see how they do.  I bought tomatoes at the market yesterday and some of my basil leaves are ready to be snipped now, so I guess I know what I’m having for pranzo.