As the boy and I prepare to cross the Pond back to America, this time to put down some roots for a while, it is amazing to be able to come back to a place where we lived. Over the past two years, we spent nearly a year in Italy and a year in England. Returning to a place you once called home, even for a while, is a chance to measure where you've come from, not necessarily how far, or to suggest that all our journeys are linear. Far from it. My life seems like one big serpentine-like circle, constantly revolving in on itself.
It's just that to see a place you had come to know with fresh eyes again is a great experience. The things you took for granted or made you crazy, are now seen through the lens of 'isn't that quaint?' Or 'Isn't the gruff, never-smiling owner of the cafe where I used to write a lot so charming?'
The boy was always annoyed by the staring eyes of the local Vicentini (Italians aren't shy about staring). This time it didn't bother him. Either he blended in more, after having lived outside of America for so long, or his self-conscious teenage sensibilities are parked in neutral at the moment. He even went so far to declare he loved all things Italian, which just goes to show, visiting a place is never ever the same as living there.
We came back here for a few days to visit dear friends before heading Stateside for a decidedly longer stint this time. The boy has declared he wants to go back to a real school (no more homeschooling for now) with his friends of long standing. So he'll start 8th grade in the Fall on home turf and Have Son, Will Travel will be relegated to mostly summers. It seems like a fair deal and he has been an amazing traveler and adventurous sport these last few years. But now it's time to go home, grow a garden, get a dog, and unpack the suitcases -- for a while anyway!
actor-writer-director, improviser, mother, traveler, general renegade and rabblerouser.