May 17, 2012
In Italy I find myself whispering—for I haven’t stopped talking to my mother—”Are you living this too, madre mia?”
It feels as if I’m picking up where she left off. A leitmotif of my life has been actually doing the things she talked about doing but didn’t because she was saddled with four kids. My mother deposited her dreams into me, like moms always do to daughters.
Gradually the house has become a home. The decision was long, and so far it seems right. Je ne regrette rien. Non mi pento di nulla.
Here are snippets from my new world (yes, I have a thing about green):
