Ten

It was a beautiful morning at the end of the summer, with just the barest hints of fall beginning to flicker into the air. The sky was blue with those puffy white clouds like in a child's drawing, and the air was still warm, though you could tell autumn would be on its way in a few weeks.

I was in art class, gamely attempting to carve a flower shape out of a small square of copper sheeting with a wooden tool. I am (and was) terrifically awful at most artistic things, but was soldiering on anyway, chatting with the three other people in my Tuesday morning class, probably faintly worried about my "advanced placement" history class (this was a Big Deal in sophomore year of high school), but generally enjoying a relatively peaceful morning.

It was, really, the kind of morning that you picture when you get nostalgic about your childhood. Filled with back-to-school feelings and those oh-so-typically high school concerns. Will I pass that history test? Will I ever be good at the multiple choice? Geometry is a nice surprise, but what if my writing isn't good enough for the AP? Blue sky, and the smell of new notebooks, and the feel of concentrating exclusively, in that way that you can when you're a child but is so much more elusive as an adult, on what is happening under your carefully focused hands. Because we were children then, for all that we felt so grown-up in our second year of high school, with our skirts trimmed higher and shirts defiantly un-tucked.

It was a lovely morning. And then the loudspeaker came on, and it wasn't.

A casa

I'm deliberately leaving the title open to interpretation. I've just returned to Reggio: am I back home, or back from home? It's increasingly difficult to tell. This is kind of a satisfying sensation, in that I can be all 'yeah, I've made a foreign country feel like home!' but on the other hand, does not particularly bode well for eventually leaving here and going... home. Other home. Gli stati uniti. Whatever.

(Deadline for said return to the States has been set for July 2012. If I am showing no signs of packing up and heading out by then, I give you full permission to take action and intervene.)

Whoever you may be. Um... or not.

Anyway.

So, the highlights of this summer started off with a couple of days in London with a little side trip to Oxford, all of which were delightful. First time in the UK = complete success.

Next, four weeks at home (NJ home) with the parents and the brother, working in ye daycare of olde (olde meaning two years ago). This time, little little people - ages 2-12 months. Adorable! This meant spending my days rocking other people's children to sleep, aiming very small amounts of food into very small mouths, and strapping very small people into very small diapers. I suppose it depends what sort of person you are, but I always find it delightful. Think about it: paid to sit in a rocking chair with a warm little blob gurgling and smiling in your lap. Win! Also, very ego-boosting: you will rarely get smiled at so enthusiastically as when you rescue an infant from their crib, post-nap, and also I am declaring myself the Nap Whisperer. I will sell my secrets to tired parents for a goodly sum. (NB My secrets do not involve drugs of any kind, don't worry.)

Other notable things from time in NJ:

1. Ethnic food is delicious and I don't understand why Italy can't just get some. I'm willing to travel to Bologna for it, but I'd rather not trek all the way to Milan. Can someone make this happen please? In particular, Indian, Mexican and Thai. Thanks!

2. Borders has gone/is going out of business. Epic fail, America. This is a tragedy of such proportions that I am unable to speak about it, eloquently or otherwise, except to say that I have spent so many excellent hours in Borders' stores all over the place that I do not know how I will fill my time when I return to the US permanently.

3. Apparently you can now order food in movie theaters. No, seriously. You push a little button and a person comes to take your order, and then they bring you food. You put the food on the little table next to you, which is conveniently housing your very own bottle of ketchup. That way, you can spend your time squirting ketchup on your food instead of watching the movie, and thus promote both obesity and the creation of sub-par films at the same time! Another fail there, I'm afraid, America. Sigh.

4. This list is a bit depressing, so I will move on to the rest of the summer now without adding to it...

Next stop: south of France for some quality time with the mother. Highlights include the beach at Argeles (where a complex system of ratings including water clarity and fineness vs. prickliness of sand was devised in order to select beaches to return to in the future), the old walled city of Carcassonne (amaaazing!), and a brief trip into Spain to check out the beach there, and the fact that they speak Catalan. Did you know that if you speak French and Spanish you can just about read Catalan? Excellent discovery.

Finally: a day or two in Paris to say hello to the grandmere and Paris itself, before returning to Reggio to get back to life as usual. In Reggio, it appears to still be summery, despite today's downpour. Good work, Reggio. I'm proud of you. If you could maintain these toasty temperatures for another couple of weeks, it would be very helpful in allowing me to pretend it's still summer and thus much appreciated.