My son, Brandon, posted pictures tonight of the things he missed about his life in Italy. It made me think...and become a bit nostalgic.So I decided to put into wors some of my special memories for my children. It is something that is hard to explain to those who have never made their home in another land. So instead of trying to explain, it becomes easier to keep it inside. And yet there is a part of each of us that wants to know and be known by others. When you make the decision to allow God to lead you, it doesn't just mean being away from family and friends, or struggling with a new language, or even trying to figure out what the good "involved" parents do after a school performance. Do you show up with flowers? Do you bring the teacher flowers? People around me understood what we left behind, and understood the pain that we struggled with when we both lost a parent while living in a far away land.They understood 11 years was a long time to be away. What few understood was that it did not stay a foreign land. It became our home. What few understood is the pain that came with leaving that "foreign" land, that has become your home. That eleven years is a lifetime to your children.That there are things about my life in Italy and Greece that I loved more than in America. I miss the evening walks strolling the streets of Florence. I miss trips to the train station for the International Herald and a burger from Italy & Italy. I miss the mornings when my children were all in school and Terry and I would spend the morning at the large bookstore on Via Nazionale. Then look through the racks at Coin for a new linen blazer for Jon or red felt hats with shiny red ribbons for the girls. We'd stop by the newsstand and pick up packs of "figurini" for Brandon. I miss the summer evenings sitting out under the grape arbor in Renata and Lorenzos garden, with chickens and cats at our feet, eating for hours..and talking and blowing the horns whenever Fiorentina scored (there was a little tv set up to follow the game of course!) I miss preparing for Carnevale, sewing the costumes, and spending hours in the square at Scandicci while the children and their friends threw streamers of curly paper at one another- followed by a trip to Mario's bar for Torta della Nonna. I miss the waxing and buffing of my marble floors, and the clean smell. I miss sitting out on our terrace on Via Cecioni and watching the rollerskating and soccer games, and my children yelling down from our sixth floor apartment to their friends at neighboring terraces. Then there were the daily walks into San Donato in Poggio for a paper and fresh fruit. Not to mention my butcher who would pick fresh rosemary to roll up in the arrosto and our own drunken priest who weaved down the main street in the evenings. Oh, the bouquets of wild flowers we would pick on those walks into town...not to mention the Speedy Pizzas we consumed:) Or the trips on Thursday mornings to the market in Tavernelle Val di Pesa. We always had roast chicken and potatoes bought from the vendor. I loved the last minute phone calls from former students who would be at the train station with their new spouses- wanting to share their memories with them.The many late night runs to Piazzale Michelangelo for gelati. Sunday Agape's where Mario would roll out the plastic cloths over the boards in order to feed everyone at church...not wanting to forget the 2 ft. by 6 ft kitchen gallery where the huge meal was prepared. The early years when I understood so little of the sermons, no nursery, and a husband who was everywhere BUT sitting in the pew beside me:) Memories of Greece are sweet, but overshadowed by the deep concern I had for my children who were not with me. I remember watching the Towers come down, and wondering where my son was. I had just left him at a new school in a new state, an ocean away. I knew he was scared and alone, and for the first time I wasn't there. But, oh, the beauty of walking the streets of Mykonos at night, or riding the cable cars up the side of Santorini. I miss the powerful worship services in Athens, with Dino singing LOUDLY, ",,,if I should die upon a foreign field some day...". I miss the excitement in Jordan's eyes when he was picked up from his little Greek school. There were many wonderful hours sitting out by the pool sharing life with young people (two of which became my son-in-laws). So many wonderful blessings. So much I miss. Life has been wonderful and full of blessings. I am grateful beyond measure for each place God has taken me. Each town has been a gift. But just for tonight, I will be indulgent and say, I would like to go back in time, when all my sweet children were safe under my roof, and yell "Si Mangia...come to the table". And we would head out to the table in the courtyard, where Vivaldi was playing from the upstairs window of the villa. I would yell to Jon to get more Spumante from the cantina, and to Chelsea to grab one of the baskets of fruit. I would tell Katie that Miranda had left a bowl of pasta "bianco" for her by the back of the stove, and remind Brandon to share the pizzete. I would call Jordan and Christian from the basketball court and announce the Dad was ready to thank God for our meal. "Grazie Dio per questa cibo...".
