testing, testing

I am back in the Old Country. Exactly nine months after i said my goodbyes and blogged my last, i arrived safe and sound in Venezia. My chosen date for departure from the US was, not coincidentally, August 16th, exactly two years since I left for Italy the first time. I figured it's a good day, a day I trust.
The flight was bumpy and nerve-wracking, and I had chosen to fly in a sundress, anticipating a romantic arrival. This made sleeping difficult, and I was freezing cold, or perhaps it was all psychological, anyway. I was nervous and jumpy and my head spun the entire time. All of this seemed like a great idea back in February, June even, when there was so much to be done and so much to look forward to. A couple of days before I left, however, the nerves kicked in. Tricked myself into thinking I could just stay home, move to Atlanta, find a little coffee shop job and date some other boy with cute glasses. I tricked myself into thinking my life in Italy would be easy to forget, that it never even existed possibly, and that surely the safe thing would be to just stay home. My ticket was nonrefundable, however, and I get really pissed at myself for wasting money, so i figured I had made my bed, and now I had to board the plane. Adding to the impossibility of just forgetting the whole thing was FL, who called and wrote continuously the days leading up to my arrival. His voice, even in writing, seemed a whisper, expectant, like he was holding his breath. Could I really let him go? I try not to break hearts, at least not other peoples.
And so I arrived. Felt like I was going to vomit, or that my heart would beat out of my chest, and I lugged my 200lbs of luggage out of the revolving doors into the lobby of Marco Polo International Airport running on sheer adrenaline. He was there, and, how does it go- "his hair was longer, but his eyes were the same old blue"? So surreal and right before I burst into anxious flames he smiled, took my computer bag off my shoulder, wrapped me up tight and sighed, "finalmente". What in the world was I even worrying about, good grief, I almost laughed at myself, as my vision cleared and I started to breath and the blood went back to my legs. I had spent the last 48 hours being the worlds biggest idiot. It was all ok, exactly the same, like no time had passed. This, I think, bodes well.
A quick breakfast in Venice revived me completely, and we drove back to Cormons. It seemed like I had just walked back into a dream I had once had. Everything so familiar, but in a way that felt like there had been a part of me that thought I would never see it again. Cormons is still here, it exists. So does everything and everyone in it. The tall, pointy cypress trees, the feral cats, the aged buildings and cobbled streets. The grapes are late-summer ripening on their vines as the sugars start to form, and even the dolomites look the same, though with a little less snow covering their peaks. As we drove into town I became more and more breathless, this time with excitement. I remembered! I remembered why I loved it here, what I finagled and worked for. FL was about to enter the main road into town, but swung left instead.
"Want to see our house?", he asked.
We drove out a bit into the country, and turned down a little unpaved road with a wooden sign that read "Via Bosc Di Sot". Friulano for "lower forest", in a rough translation. Up a hill, around a curve, woody vineyards on either side and the view of town obstructed. The house is small and white, brushed stucco with a flat facade, as is typical in Italy. Red tiled roof, wooden front door. To the side there is a pergola covered with grape vines. Underneath, a long wooden dining table, a view down to the garden. The garden is lush and romantically overgrown, pear trees, fig trees, cherry trees, a tiny olive grove. To the side there is a view of the mountains and rolling hills, covered in vineyards. I had no words for all of this, just covered my mouth with my hand and whispered, "my god, amore"!
Just then a little old lady walked out of the house next door. She had on a polka dot apron and shrugged with the weight of her old back. She waved and continued on her way, picking up tiny sticks for, i imagine, a tiny stove. At this point I lost it.
"Oh My Holy God! Is she our neighbor?? That old Italian lady is our neighbor?! I bet she knows everything"!
Dreams. Come. True.
So now I am here. My internal clock is all out of whack and I haven't quite gotten over the airplane stomach that left me feeling crampy. Trying to take it slow, hold back on the pasta and go for some greens. FL is happy to comply to my slow-paced diet by making me delicious salads consisting of bresaola, arugula, and shaved parmesean, tiny prosciutto panini, and fresh tomatoes. FL's family is so incredibly kind to me, so hospitable. His dad even laughed when I made a stupid little joke! The kids at Porchis pool applauded my arrival and acted as though I had taken the sunshine with me to America and the clouds could finally part. Fabio LOVED the pool beer pong racks I brought, and we are discussing setting up a tournament some weekend. All in all: Tutto a posto.
I'll try to blog regularly, and please let me know if the text colors are hard to read.