Unconfirmed Bachelorette

Today is my 49th birthday. My last birthday with a 4 in front of it. I awoke this morning at the Hotel Bernini in Florence. Last night, I had a four-course dinner at a wonderful restaurant, including too much wine. The meal was so fabulous, I’m not even going to try to top it. I’ve also grown a bit weary of getting lost. Florence is a maze! But since I was out the door at 7:30 this morning, I made it to the Uffizi and didn’t wait in line for long. The museum was spectacular. After I meandered amongst the statutes and busts and Botticelli paintings, including the Birth of Venus, I spent the next five hours wandering through the maze of streets that is Florence. I’ve finished being lost, and now I’m sitting in the hotel bar.  It’s lovely, decorated in traditional Tuscan furninishings of purple and gold.  I’m sipping on a delicious chianti and watching people. Not a bad way to spend a birthday.

Ive got lots of photographs left to post, including those from my favorite day of all:  Cinque Terre, the Italian Riveria. The coast was spectacular. As was our cliff-side lunch.

This has been such a fabulous trip. I’m not sure how I’m going to top it next year: 50.  Any recommendations?

Here are some sights from my second walk near the villa. Tomorrow, I make it to the top of the hill!

We have at least one cooking class a day at the villa with Valentino. The food has been spectacular. Here are some shots of making grilled veggies and pork roast, lasagna, osso bucco (melt in your mouth!), and tiramisu. And, mustn’t forget the wine tasting!

I went for a lovely walk yesterday in the town where the villa is in which I’m staying: Vorno. I’m going to do a repeat today. Here’s a sampling of yesterday’s walk.

The days have been so full I’ve gotten a little behind on my posts. Here are some shots of our visit to Lucca, which is a walled city in Tuscany. It used to have a moat, as well.

Here are some shots of my morning walk, followed by the lunch cooking class:

There are only four of us in the group: a couple from California and a Scottish woman who lives in Australia. And me; the lawyer from Austin. One of our hosts, David, is an English filmaker who now lives in Tuscany. He’ll be leaving us tomorrow to go to the Cannes film festival. He invited me to go with him. Maybe next time, although I’ve surely made a new friend to meet up with at South By Southwest. The man loves Austin.

Today I awoke with the sunrise to a cacophony of birds. Beautiful. Here’s the view from my bedroom window:

We have two cooking classes today, lunch and dinner. Right now, I’m off for a cappuccino. Before i go, here are a few pics from yesterday:

After 12 hours of flight time, I made it to Tuscany and I’m at the villa. It’s lovely. But I’ve yet to sleep on a trans-Atlantic flight. I was plied with Prosecco and Italian salami, olives, and cheese upon my arrival. The chef’s name is Valentino. Perfect.

I hadn’t intended to nap. The plan was to push on through. But then the light rain began, and it was so cozy that I thought I’d rest my head for a moment. A moment turned into a three-hour nap. I feel rested and ready to continue the adventure.

I’m off in search of my villa-mates, whom I haven’t yet met. And more Prosecco.

I’ve been on antidepressants and back in therapy for a little over four months. It’s difficult to remember how tired and apathetic I was. How disinterested. But slowly over the past four months, I’ve begun to emerge from the pit I had dug for myself. Not entirely, though.

You see, the pit has a certain allure. It’s an easy place in which to live. I get to feel numb. Feeling numb is great when you’ve got more shit to deal with than you’d like. Seriously. Who wants to deal with a sister who stayed married to her pedophile husband after he molested their daughter? The whole world seems out of kilter when you’re faced with that shit. Deep dark holes are where it’s at.

But I’m not hunkered down in the hole any more. And the pedophile is still here. He was at my brother’s memorial last weekend. He consoled my mother. I fantasize about choking him. I think I’m making progress, emotionally.

Now that my mother has acknowledged that he’s still wasting space on this earth, he’s exhibiting a sense of entitlement. The man glared at me across the aisle when I turned around to look for my brother, Seth. I kid you not. He glared at me. He glared at me for having the audacity to say out loud what he is. A man who sexually molested his daughter. For years. How dare I tell my mother and brothers what he’d done? You’re supposed to keep that kind of behavior a secret, don’t you know. So he glared at me at my brother’s memorial and made no effort to keep his distance from me. Yes, he’s feeling emboldened. I wanted grab him by the hair and shove his face into the holy water, holding him under until he begged for mercy. And then dunk him again, just to be sure I’d made my point. Yep, the medication and therapy are working.

If he had molested someone elses daughter, he’d be in prison. Not hanging out in churches.

But if I’m shining a light, I may as well shine it on my sister, too. If it wasn’t for her, the man wouldn’t be around any more. What kind of woman stays married to a man who molests their daughter? What kind of mental gymnastics must she perform each day to keep her head from exploding? What does she tell herself? What could she possibly say to justify his behavior, and hers?

My sister is a horrible person. No way around that. And the co-dependent cycle continues with my nieces hiding their father’s secret, as if his shame were theirs. I really don’t get it. I don’t understand how she could stay with him. Does she have her own holy water fantasies? Does she imagine beheading him and putting his head on a spike in the forest for the crows to pluck out his eyeballs? Or does she block it all out with the contents of her plastic travel cup that she carries with her wherever she goes?

I’m guessing she finds her redemption at the bottom of a travel cup.

What I remember most about my childhood is moving vans and boxes. But no matter where we lived—Chicago, Saginaw, Denver, Long Island, Houston, Charlotte—we always spent our summers in the same place: Lake Superior, Ontario. Here are some photos from my last visit, September 2011. I took over 500 shots, so I had a tough time choosing.