bye bye baby curls

When she was born, she had straight black hair. That hair fell out within a few weeks. It came back reddish brown and got blonder and blonder as she got older. By age one, it looked like the hair was growing into little curls. By 18 months, she was a headful of ringlets. She was a true Goldilocks.

And now (sniff, sniff), my little Bambina's hair is getting longer and her ringlets are growing out. What's more, the new hair growing in at the roots is (sniff, sniff) straight as an arrow.

The Frenchman cut off a lock last week and I nearly shot him for it. But he made the point that soon, there will be no more curls to cut and we need to have some kind of souvenir.

I hope that she at least retains a bit of the wave. Anyone know someone whose curls returned later in life or should I just give up all hope?

social doos - just don't.

Here in Rome, we are expected to do a certain amount of entertaining and socializing, meaning we have to invite people for dinner from time to time and we have to do our fair share of attending dinners, cocktail parties, concerts and other evening doos, be it at the French Embassy, the Villa Medici or an actual person's house.

I don't mind having people over for dinner, as at least then I can choose whom to invite and I always make sure that the invitees consist of a good mix of people whose company I enjoy. I don't mind preparing the meal either, especially if the Frenchman chips in for the meat, which he is better at preparing. The only real downer is getting the guests to leave. I get tired far earlier in the evening than most grown-ups (at 10PM, I'm happy to be reading in bed) and these dinner doos usually last longer than my eyes and brain can stand.

The social events that take place somewhere other than our own home are, for me, a drag. A couple of weeks ago, we had to listen to this concert of "contemporary" classical music at the French Embassy. I thought I was going to die of boredom or my ears were going to tear themselves away from my body to get away from that place, the music was so bad (you know the kind of music that I mean - not one major chord in the entire piece). After the torture, I mean concert, there was a cocktail complete with prosecco and finger food. And it is always finger food at the French Embassy in Rome, never real food. The kind that you know some stranger in the kitchen has had to maul with his sweaty hands and dirty fingernails for a good 10 minutes per piece to make it look perfect. It consists mostly of seafood (which I don't eat anyway), a plate of gorgonzola and ricotta (ditto), and tasteless stale white bread with the crusts cut off.

Then there are the art exhibits at the Villa Medici. Not that I don't enjoy some contemporary art but frankly, I have had enough of the exhibit after looking at it for about, er, ten minutes, at which point I am ready for the food, which admittedly is very good, as long as you don't mind having to make conversation with the people who sit next to you at your table.

But the worst are the dinner parties in people's homes because they go on so late and I am trapped. I am not allowed to leave. Our hosts are usually some other French couple living in Rome (why don't the Americans ever invite us??). And we talk about...what DO we talk about? Absolutely nothing relevant to anyone. The French have this thing about remaining on subjects as impersonal as possible. So we talk about the situation in the Middle East, French politics, Italian politics, our jobs and doing business in Italy. But the conversation never goes into our personal lives, which I find a bit of a shame. The closest we get to it is where we are going on vacation next summer. Boring. The food is okay but inevitably there is too much of it and I am full by the time they serve us the main course. And they always choose to serve something that I will refuse to eat (fois gras, anyone?) and then accuse me (in a teasing way, of course) of having too many Anglo-Saxon sensibilities when I hand over the plate without taking anything.

And no matter what, I am always dead tired by about 10:30 PM.

Not looking forward to December!

house call

So yesterday, the doctor came to our house (they make house calls in Italy - a big perk). She was French, recommended by the embassy. I was (and still am) afflicted with a sore throat that could cut an ice sculpture, trembling, feverish, and my left ear really hurt.

She didn't bring her bag of instruments with her. Said it would have taken too long to get here. So she didn't have her otoscope or thermometer. She felt my forehead.

"At least 38 degrees," she said. Then she looked down my throat.

"Very red. Definitely a throat infection."

She did have her stethoscope, and she placed it at various points on my back to listen for inner murmerings. She didn't hear anything bad but I guess she was impressed by the view of my spine because when she was done listening, her only comment was,

"You are too thin. How much do you weigh?"

This is the second French doctor to make this remark to me (both women, I might add). I swear, they are obsessed with weight.

"Er, in France, I weighed 57 kg. Here, I am closer to 55 kilo. Not that I have been on a diet. It just happened. Why, do you think low weight has caused my illness?"

"No. But you are nevertheless too thin. Look at me. I am the same height as you and I weigh 70 kilo!"

I looked at her. Her morphology was totally the opposite of mine - skinny legs, larger waist. No way I would ever look like that, no matter how much weight I put on.

"Yes, but this is just the way I am. Even if I gained ten more kilo, I would still be skinny up top," I replied.

"C'est pas vrai. [Basically her way of saying "Rubbish and you don't know what you are talking about"]. What do you eat for breakfast?" she asked. I then told her what I ate for breakfast. Then she wanted to know what I ate for lunch and supper and she proceeded to devise a calorie-rich meal plan for me. All this during a visit to look at my throat and ears.

Meanwhile, my body temperature was over 38°, I could feel myself sweating, pain seared down my throat every time I swallowed and I was wondering when she was going to get down to diagnosing what I had.

After spelling out a meal regime that had about three times the Frenchman's daily calorie intake, she wrote out the prescription for my throat. Now, back home in Canada, a prescription was a small piece of paper with one illegible word scribbled on it that you handed to the pharmacist. In return, you got a little brown bottle with exactly the number of pills that you were to take over the next few days. No more, no less.

In France and in Italy, prescriptions are a whole different ball game. You don't just get one medication. You get a whole laundry list of things that you are supposed to get from the pharmacy. AND, you get the whole box of each item, not just the number you have to take to get well. So I now have:

- Box of Cefixoral (the antibiotics)
- Bottle of FROBEN spray (to spray the back of my throat to numb it. Does not work as far as I can tell).
- Propolis spray (some kind of natural substance also to spray at the back of my throat, in the event that I really want to delay the antibiotics and try to get better without them. I tried it for two hours. Decided that I had suffered enough and took the antibiotics.)
- Acqua di Sirmione (Water that tastes and smells like sewage. I am not kidding. Apparently, it will keep my nose clear and ear tubes clear. Needless to say, I won't be going through one tube a day as prescribed.)

And I have enough Froben, Propolis and Acqua di Sirmione to last me through three or four more illnesses, at least. All paid for by insurance, of course.

Sick of Being Sick

Woke up this morning with a very sore throat and aching muscles all over. I am so sick of getting sick in this country. What is it about the weather here that is so conducive to microbes? I'm supposed to be the hardy Canadian and yet every month, I have another version of cold, cough and flu. Without fail. The Bambina is sick less often that I.

Ok, I'm going to go to bed now.

Farms to visit near Rome - Agricultura Nuova

There are a few organic farms around Rome that you can visit and even buy fruit and vegetables, eggs, milk and meat. We always head to Agricultura Nuova.

I always feel a little bit conflicted about visiting this farm. On the one hand, we contribute a lot more carbon emissions by making a point of buying our food there than by heading to our local GS supermarket. On the other hand, they have a much better selection of in-season fruits and vegetables, the food we get there tastes fresher and home-grown, I see how the animals are being raised and I have the assurance that there are few if any nitrates in the Bambina's spinach and swiss chard. AND, if we have reserved ahead of time, we can eat a real Italian farm meal (all organic) on the cheap at their restaurant (which is really more like a big dining room than a restaurant, as you are seated at one table with about ten other people - quite fun really).

Agricultura Nuova is at Via Valle di Perna, 315 - 00129 Rome, near the south end of the Grande Raccordo Anulare. Make sure to call and reserve for lunch. Telephone 06 50 82 82 94 / 06 50 70 453.

I'm back

I know, I know, it has been eons since I have written a post. I have been busy completing a six-week course on writing, put on by the Writer Mama (great course, by the way. Any moms out there interested in launching a career in freelance writing should check out Writer Mama's courses).

Today, I just wanted to write an observation that I made this week when dropping the Bambina off at her fairly international preschool:

What North American moms are wearing when they drop their kids off at school: track pants and sneakers (Why do we do this? We look so hideous. Why, why why?).

What French moms are wearing when they drop their kids off at school: pencil skirt, silk blouse, high heeled shoes (My question: how do they manage to walk on the cobblestone streets and climb up the 80 or so stairs to the school without breaking a leg?).

What Italian moms are wearing when they drop their kids off at school: designer velour track pants purchased at La Perla or Armani, Converse or other designer sneakers with not a scuff on them, gold necklace, gold earrings, counterfeit Cartier watch.

I think the Italian moms have got a good compromise going between comfort and style...

Autumn in Abruzzo

Here in Rome, the leaves on the trees are still green and yesterday afternoon, the temperature hovered around 24 degrees celcius.

But the day before, in the mountains in Abruzzo, just two hours away, it was five degrees and the leaves had all turned to hues of yellow, orange and read. I felt like I was back in Canada (except, of course, in Canada, the leaves look like this by the end of September!).

Then we arrived at our destination, Santo Stefano di Sessanio. Definitely not Canada. Here is a glimpse:

More on this incredible destination another day.