Mezzo Life

Eek! I'm moving to Italy in 12 days. I am leading some sort of mezzo life. Not yet done with the old, but not yet starting on the new. Mezzo life is like the holding pattern a plane flies when you are waiting your turn to land. It is comfortable enough, but you aren’t quite anywhere yet, just passing time.
I think I’m ready to leave Philadelphia, but am I ready for Roma? I feel that my life as I knew it here in Philadelphia has come to a close. Josh and Charlie are long gone and even the cat hair is starting to disappear from the far corners of the apartment. Almost everything is all packed up or has a designated home. I’ve started doing things for “one last time”. What I thought would seem like a lifetime of solitude has quietly slipped by. I’ve done most all of my very favorite things in Philadelphia in no particular order. I’ve sat by the pool, one of my favorite summertime neighborhood activities. I still can’t believe they let you in there for free! What a steal. I’ve strolled through Rittenhouse Square and hit all of my “go-to” clothing stores for one last attempt to represent our nation well in a land of fashion icons. I’ve eaten at some of my old and new favorite Philadelphia restaurants, Cuba Libre, Alma de Cuba (there seems to be a theme here), Marathon on the Square, and Sushi at Misu. I’ve even gotten my palm read (not really on my list of favorite things to do in Philadelphia, but good spontaneous fun nonetheless). I’ve spent some good quality cardio time pounding the pavement on my favorite running trail and even tried to hit the gym for old time’s sake. Next week, I’ll even have to pack up my desk at work.

Despite all of this healthy closure, I find myself strangely clinging to my mezzo life. I’m getting used to my mezzo apartment and my mezzo job and my mezzo routines. MezzoLife has enough resemblance of old Philadelphia life to feel familiar and is more comforting than the thought of the new and unknown Roma NuovoLife.

Moving Milestone #3 - Sister Mary Katherine Kimmie

So I have had one week of the single life. Seven days to reflect and be at peace, one hundred and sixty-eight hours to think and focus on just me. With twenty one days to go until I reunite with Josh and Charlie, I had better got used to my solitary lifestyle. Don't misunderstand me, the single life isn't all bad and I have plenty of good friends to keep me company; but I've definitely experienced some lifestyle changes since the cat and the husband left town.

I feel a bit like I'm living in a convent. Not that I have a lot of experience with convents, but I imagine that there are some similarities. First, my furniture "situation" or lack there of. Here are the highlights of my current worldly possessions: three plates, three bowls, one skillet, one toaster, one fork, one knife, one spoon, one TV (currently sitting on an old storage cube that will eventually be sitting outside on the curb), one mattress, one box spring, one old coffee table turned into makeshift desk, one old beach chair turned into makeshift office chair, assorted boxes, lamp borrowed from my office. Actually, when listed, that sounds like a lot! You get the picture though; everything is a makeshift solution for something that I used to own. It does bring a certain feeling of exoticness, I feel like I'm camping in my own house, if you find that exotic I guess. There are some advantages to this current set up. Dishes are really easy, although I no longer have an excuse to use the dishwasher. Cleaning is a real cinch; there is nothing to sweep around, and no cat hair to sweep up for that matter. You might think that it would be easier to find and harder to lose things, but I haven't found that to be true.

The second most noticeable change when you are in convent camp is the vow of silence. I certainly miss Josh, but I'm surprised how much I really am missing the cat. Since Josh and I had a pretty active and busy lifestyle here in Philadelphia, I'm certainly no stranger to being home by myself, but I was used to having something alive to come home to. Charlie would faithfully greet us by the door upon every arrival and escort us out at every departure. And I, being the pseudo-cat lady I have become, would just as loyally give him an enthusiastic hello with a pat on the belly and proceed to tell him all about my day. Each morning I had a routine of bidding him a good day, just a quick final word before I left the house. He never spoke back to me, but I certainly appreciated his ever ready (or captive) ear. After I arrive home now, I have absolutely no reason to speak out loud. This, for a chatty girl like me is a real lifestyle change!

Living alone has already told me a lot about myself, but I have learned a few things about Josh as well. He wasn’t nearly as dirty as I thought he was. Miraculous, somehow a week after his departure, there is still dirty laundry on the floor sometimes, strange smells in the bathroom, an unmade bed, dishes in the sink and a trashcan full of garbage. Could it be that I am not as tidy and pristine as I thought? I would hate to think so, these things are probably still leftover after his departure, and after all, it has only been a week. Charlie however is as dirty as I thought he was, I may miss our daily chats, but a fur and litter free house hasn’t been the worst thing in the world.

All and all, it is a bit like hosting a slumber party, but I’m my only guest. Every meal is exactly what I want to eat (quite a perk if you are married to a picky eater, sorry Josh). I get to watch countless hours of whatever I want to watch on TV, I get to plan my days to do whatever I want. I never leave myself without hot water. I can be really loud in the morning and dry my hair in front of the TV with the radio on. Each and every decision is about me and I’m always the center of my own attention. Despite all of this, it is definitely more fun to have friends at a sleepover.

Moving Milestone #2 - Il Gatto Sta Saltando

People have had a lot of different reactions and responses when I tell them that I am moving to Italy. The most common question I have received so far (after the formalities of the polite "how wonderful") is "do you speak Italian?" If only people knew what a tailspin of insecurity this starts for me. In short, the answer is simple, I don't speak Italian. I am determined to make this a temporary state however. One of the best things about moving to Italy is the chance to learn another language. I've always been so envious of people who were even semi-fluent in a second tongue. Soon, this will be me and I will be able to answer a question that I have long wondered. When you are speaking in another language, what language are your thoughts in? When I do learn Italian, will I then begin to day dream in Italian? I sort of hope so, it seems that I might have more exciting day dreams, like scenes from an old Italian movie... how romantic.

Anyway, in order to save some sense of pride when answering this question, I began in earnest to at least attempt to learn a little Italian before I leave. Since I have had a pretty hectic schedule and not much time to spare, I'm trying out Rosetta Stone. You may have seen the carts at airports hawking the software. Apparently the program teaches you in a "natural" way, similar to have children learn their first language. Like any good shopper, I searched around for a good deal and found someone willing to sell me level one and two (not that I'll need it) for only $70, almost a third of the purchase price. I love Craigslist!

So I've been working my way through the different lessons, learning the basics; man, women, colors, time, etc. etc. The problem with learning like a child when your 27 is that your learning like a child when your 27. It takes a bit of patience not to want to know how the noun and the verb relate and worry about conjugation. The program strictly limits me to toddler-like "the blue car", short-choppy sentences. I'm getting there though. I had quite a break through in the bathroom one morning before Charlie and Josh left. Charlie hopped up onto the bathroom vanity and in a sleepy haze I realized that I could verbalize this momentous event. "Il gatto sta saltando", I cried! The cat, was indeed, jumping.

Moving Milestone #1 - Selling the Couch

As I am feeling overwhelmed about the work yet to do ahead; it might be useful to reflect for a few moments about how far we've come. It became pretty clear early on that the best thing to take to Italy was nothing or at the very least, as little as possible. Thus began the process of purging, in both a physical and psychological sense. Most of our extraneous possessions and furniture were pretty easy to let go of. With the help of Craigslist and a 4 hour sidewalk sale, I had an extra $200 and little recollection of what I actually sold or gave away. In fact, it was hard to tell that we were missing anything at all. The couch, however, didn't leave so easily.



Just look at it, a lovely tan color, at any time full of friends, always ready to support my napping habits, just wide enough that Josh, Charlie and I could all comfortably sleep the afternoon away together. The couch was the only "real" piece of furniture that we had (or ever owned for that matter). It was the first joint purchase that we made after Josh completed graduate school and we were a "dual income family" again. The $900 we spent on it was an agonizing purchase that involved dragging Josh around to sit on and test countless models and colors before we found our (my)dream davenport. That, by the way, did not include the optional stain resistant treatment or delivery, each of which we sprung for in the end. Since our tiny apartment didn't have much floor space, the couch served as an extra guest bed, a dining room table, an office and movie theatre.

The couch, you see, was very central to our peaceful Philadelphia existence. This collection of wood, stuffing and fabric, complete with tufted buttons represented something for me that I was surprisingly attached to and very sad to leave behind. I listed the couch for $500 on Craigslist and found a buyer that I thought could provide a good future home for such an important part of our history. They were a cute artsy couple that had potential to be mindful of crumbs and provide a roomful of equally well designed furniture to provide accompany my beloved couch. I won't lie, I shed a tear before they came to take it away. I also took a picture for posterity, after all, you only have one first couch.

La Dolce Vita May Give Me A Toothache

So it begins, our attempts to live the American Dream by moving to Italy, go figure. Three months ago my husband Josh and I decided to pack up our lives and move to the Eternal City, Roma. The past 90 days have been filled mostly with paperwork and purging as we have packed up or given away most of our life here in Philadelphia in exchange for an attempt at the famous "dolce vita" in Rome. As my friend Kelly put it, "one day Josh was interviewing for the job, the next day you were putting a chip in the cat." Josh and the cat (Charlie, complete with a European microchip) left 4 days ago while I remain here for a few more weeks to finish up some work and close out the rest of our business here in Philadelphia. Since I have an abundance of quiet moments, I thought I might share some insights about the whole process.