I’m Going To Italy

As with any major shock in life, the kind you first refuse, then resist, then deny, eventually you must take it in and make a space for it.

I am going to Italy in September, and that is that.

What will I do there? I don’t know yet. I hold in my mind, as a kind of mantra, what Joe said to me: “I can’t tell you exactly what will happen, but something will.”

Taking this trip will be a matter of faith. What is the game children play in school to help them learn to trust others? They fall backwards and let others catch them. So I must fall backwards into the arms of Italy and hope to be embraced and treated gently. Still, should the arms of Italy be slightly askew when I land, I have to make some preparations for my being dropped there for three months.

Will I go to the famous museums? Of course, but not too many. Will I go to the great churches? Of course, but not every day. Like a newborn, I will discover life and language at my own pace in this new world.

For the last year or two, my three daughters have communicated with me daily from their various places in the world by e-mail. If I can continue to connect to them from Italy, I will be happy. However, no computer expert to whom I turn for advice seems quite sure how this will work or if it will work; I am cautioned by everyone that Italy is famous for how nothing works as expected. The Italian phone lines are different, equipment from the USA may not recognize Italian dial tones. But slowly I put together a plan: I buy a modem, a voltage regulator, an Italian phone jack, plug adapters, surge protectors, even a portable printer. I subscribe to an internet server that promises a connection in Florence but cautions me: there are no guarantees. The moment of truth will come the day I try to log on.

I begin to hear from friends who learn of my travel plans: one will give me the address of a woman she knew in Rome thirty years ago and who now lives in Florence in a 500 year old farmhouse. Another will put me in touch with a professor at the University of Florence. I might look into the Jewish Community Center, or the American Church.

The more I do in preparation, the more confident I feel. My spirit is lighter, my heart happier. When I find a neighbor boy to feed my cat and discover that they actually enjoy each other’s company, I am filled with relief and pleasure.

I attack my desk with zeal: I pay $200 in advance to every service I can think of: the phone company, the gas and electric companies, the water department, the Department of Motor Vehicles, the car and home owners’ insurance company, the gardener, even the plumber—in case a pipe bursts. I pay estimated taxes up to the next century, it seems. I arrange for my sister to take care of our mail. I plot to use up all my perishable food before we leave.

My blood is up. An adventure lies ahead. At my time of life, this is no small matter!