Mangiate bene!

Certainly a four hour train ride should give me ample to time to write a blog. I got on the wrong train, on purpose too, as mine was late- so I thought this one would get me to Florence faster. Totally got what I deserve, as the one I am on will get me there 1.5 to 2 hours slower. FUN!

Despite having an entire row of 3 mid section seats all to myself, I was still unable to sleep on the flight from NYC to Rome. As much as I would like to blame it on the excitement, I think it was just too dang loud! Having lost my Bose noise reduction headset (seriously, my brother Jared SPOILs me!), along with iTouch, memory cards, and oh…my passport @ JFK, my sensitive ears just couldn’t take it. Although my body was not in knots, my eyes had sunk down to my chin upon arrival to the land of golden food opportunities, and I was desperate for sleep. From the airport, I promptly hired a room that was to be ready within the hour (8am) next to the Termini train station in Rome, and 2 hours later- I was there, being told the room would be cleaned in 30 minutes. I went up to the room, hoping just to wait for the cleaning service to clear away the cigarette ash from the floor and desk, and give me new sheets, all the while bumping into each wall as I struggled to get out of my trekking size backpack.

For the next 3 hours, I jerked and turned carefully on my self supplied “clean” bed , in the non-sleep of the waking dead as doors all around me opened and closed with a slam, hurried feet took to stairs, and the polizia whistles directed traffic outside my window. At 2pm, a clerk arrived to clean the room, I compromised and took clean sheets, a towel, and an empty garbage bin, plugged my ears with foam and slept decently for the next 3 hours, though noting with resign that the sun had come out and the afternoon looked warm and inviting, compared to my cold cell of a room.

I finally dragged myself out of bed at 5 to discover Roma, brushed the grit from my teeth, and slammed the door behind me as my feet pounded the stairs to the door. After wondering around, and inquiring at a few hotels for a possible upgrade, I came upon a internet café and was able to check my email for any news from Matteo, a fellow burner and couch surfer Italiano de Roma. There he was in black and white telling me to meet him and some friends at a bar off such and such street after work, and I could then return with him via a car to sleep upon his couch. Now, suffice to say, it was great to finally get an email from him although it seemed to me that some details were missing, like…..the name of the bar….the time that was considered “after work”, and perhaps some sort of description of Matteo. He did give me his number, and after waiting for 30 minutes at the fountain facing the 2 “bars”- one restaurant, the other said bar and gelato- I finally went to the one with the world bar in it and waited for another hour until I ‘asked’ the owner with lots of gesturing if he could call the number for Matteo. He did, Matteo answered, “Pronto” and I told him I was here, and he said he’d come out to the fountain. I rushed to the fountain at about the same time a tall skinny version of Mario de Nintendo (minus the overalls, plus a fro of curly black hair- keep fat bushy mustache) walks past me circling the fountain, stops and scratches his head in confusion. I approached him, “Matteo?”, and he jumps back a little before giving me two welcoming Italino kisses on either cheek and says, “Kory. I thought you were a man!“ I’d forgotten how my name can cause confusion, even with the gender hinting, “k”.

What proceeded was a foodie’s Italian dream. We went into the restaurant, aka ‘bar’ to meet his friends and help them finish off their 2nd bottle of white vino, scooted (okay Giovanni did, we car-ed it) over to Giovanni and the expecting Annachiara’s for dinner (their daughter is due on my birthday!) .

Holy Wow! Annachiara had already started dinner by the time we arrived. Vino rosso was poured as delicious smells were pouring out of the kitchen. I stupidly forgot to take pictures of people that evening, and I only caught two of the four courses we had on film.
*Fresh mozzarella and sun dried tomatos (Giovanni was excited for me to try this…he lived in L.A. for two years, and says not even Whole Foods can get this). The mozzarella was so amazing. It has a skin- that is a little thicker than any I‘ve consumed previous, and the inside is so chewy and salty and flavorful! In the states, I’ve never had a wet fresh mozzarella with so much flavor! It is usually the dry ones that have a distinctive flavor to them, and this had both the doughy chewy lightness with a clear aroma and flavor.
*Ricotta herb torta (individual sized soufflés), with sun dried tomatos on the side. I inhaled this so quickly not one word of praise could escape my lips until I had finished it. Think of the best lasagna you’ve ever had, take away the noodles, and put the tomatos on the side, yet only after they’d been sun dried. One fork of steamy cheesy herded heaven that just melts away (no chewing required), closely followed by cooling chewy sweet tomata. Bellisimo!
*Pasta (like spaghetti but not and I forgot the name so don’t ask me) with thick chunks of bacon ( from the pig’s cheek- from Annachiara’s parent’s farm) covered in Asiago cheese. Giovanni then pounded fresh pepper corns (from the family farm) with mortar and pestle and artfully sprinkled my serving. Nothing else added, no oil, or cream or anything! It was divine. It was creamy oily heavenly and melted in my mouth, and kissed my lips so I had to keep licking them and rubbing them together between smiles. Giovanni opened another vino rossa, this one grown only 1000 meters from the first. Mama Mia!
* Prosciutto wrapped in pounded chicken, served with wild greens
Um, yum. These were bit sized portions, and I watched Annachiara pound the chicken flat with just one or two expertly place wacks, wrap up the prosciutto, and then throw it in a pan to sauté to a golden brown perfection. The greens, again from the family farm, were like Sorel yet more bitter and not as tough.
* Ricotta Torta for dessert. Smooth and sweet ricotta in a pie crust, with a hint nutmeg. Italiano cheesecake. Had to have two!

What an amazing Italian awakening to an exhausting day!

Ciao Roma! I have eaten well. Ho Mangiato Bene!

The next night, Matteo’s roommate Alberto made pasta vegetable soup with bacon, and baked eggplant, tomatas, and Parmigiano. Everyday I have tried I new baked good- pine nut cookie, rice pudding cake, and gelato-pistachio, cappuccino. And of course everyday had a cappuccino, pizza, or vino in it!

I am looking forward to Florence, and a nice sit down restaurant.

The ABCs of Renting: Asking, Believing, Committing

As many of you know, I own a townhouse. Yes, I bought at the top of the market in 2006, and yes, my mortgage motivated me to work- hard and often.

And yes, perhaps you noticed the past tense of motivated.

I have decided to be bold, and DO some of those things I have always talked about. In October, I will leave the United States-heading East in search of service. Delicious food served to me, and my spirit of energy and hard work served to others. I hope be spending my time volunteering with varies NGOs and nonprofits , as I travel east across this amazing planet of ours.

I have saved this past year to make this happen, yet I am still in need of one thing: a renter.

So, as with most of the endeavors that I take on that have significant meaning and scope- I ask for your blessings and help. Last week, as I was walking home contemplating how to find a renter, the idea of asking all of you for help entered my mind and heart. This overwhelming and humbling belief filled me with awe as I thought back on all the undertakings so many of you have helped me to accomplish (just to name a few: Aids Ride, Marathon to benefit Leukemia, Special Ed Teacher, Cameroon School Supplies, etc).

Here is my proposal:

This Sunday, July 5 2009, I am asking you to commit to asking one person if they know of anyone looking for a new place to live in the bay area.

Yep, that’s it! It is that simple. I am convinced that by asking all of you to ask someone –even if you are in New York or Berlin, that our collective efforts of asking and believing, committing to this simple yet powerful idea that each one of us individually supports the whole, you will succeed in helping me to find a renter.

I was worried that this would come off too cheesy and goofy, yet the memory of looking at a donation sheet from the 1997 Aids Ride 4 bolstered me. I will never forget the feeling of humility and strength I felt as I looked over the names of those who contributed to the cause. Every time I felt tired and cranky as I pedaled through deserts, hills, and into head winds- I thought back to all the people who believed in me, simply because I had asked. This strengthened my commitment to complete the almost 600 miles on my bike, to pedal every mile, and ride across the finish line with all you as my tailwind.

Please join others and me this Sunday, July 5 –by taking 30 seconds to share my belief that your commitment of asking will give me a new tail wind east.

With love and affection,

Kory


Please feel free to give out my phone number and email.

What Inspires Me...and maybe you

Tonight I danced. The class was over an hour, yet I estimate that I danced for a total of one minute.

It first happened during warm-ups, and lasted about 11 seconds. I felt my eyes go to the ceiling and I saw my happiness flow out of my finger tips as I threw my hand over and swung my hip away. I was free and floating. I was a dream. I was dancing.

Then I became conscious- aware of where I was, and the manual controls took over and the moment with it.

Sitting here typing I can't recall the exact moments it happened again. Yet it did and that in itself is fantastical enough. I had forgotten about them, those moments of body, mind, and soul uniting me to be, well- the me I love to be. Dance had completely lived on in my mind, and only slightly more, on the kitchen floor.

I have so many, "I should find a class," " I miss dancing" "I'm going to a dance again" floating about my tongue, and finally inspiration bounced them straight out my mouth and into a studio.

It was Becky, if you must know, and her email with video clips, from "So You Think You Can Dance" that inspired me. In fact, I believe it was even the very first clip in the queue of many, of these two young kids dancing to , "Bleeding Love". My heart ached as I watched them. ACHED. I wanted to dance so badly.

So the next day, I looked up dance studios in my area. I found a class right around the corner (go earth power!) and watch SYTYCD videos on You Tube until the appointed hour of the class. I did a bit of freaking out...should I bring clothes and try to dance tonight? And ended up rushing out the door at the last minute with the idea that I would observe the class, and if I liked it-go the following week.

I watched. I loved. My heart fluttered. And then I spluttered for two weeks. Afraid to see myself in the mirror. Afraid to fail. Afraid it was too late. Afraid my body would not be able to do it anymore.

But it did! First for 11 seconds, and then again for 20, and later back down to 5 and then 9 ....yet over time it added up.

And now, I am at home typing this for you. 'Cause who knows...what inspired me, well-just might inspire you.

#17 is the same for me

Agree or disagree:
Laughter invokes tears
Tears invoke laughter

As much as I proclaim not to be a Facebook fan, I think I am checking my home page at least once of day....mainly to see if anyone has said something to me.

...and I hit paydirt tonight!

Typically, I sign in to read any message that people have left specifically for me. Then I continue scrollin' 'round thinking that I should respond now, 'cause I most likely won't later- yet somehow ingeniously induce Jedi mind tricks to keep the scrolling versus typing type activity continuous.

I scroll down through all the pictures, and I especially like to see the tibbits of what my family members are saying to each other, although I haven't quite figured out how to follow a particular comment's thread to its impetus- thus often leaving me confused or imagining scenarios that are quite unlikely to be true yet could possibly add to the mainly (though I orginally typed manily -which would be a great pun as I have so MANy brothers) nonexsistent family drama that I feel obligated to dream up since my family is so GInormus and surely should have more than it does. Anyway, I digress.

Tonight I scrolled down and saw that my sister Cyndi and commented on something that my Sil (sister-in-law) Laura had posted. First of all, I have no idea why if my sister is talking to one of my Sils and not directly to me it should show up on my homepage. I guess Facebook makes eaves dropping a thing of the past?

After reading Cyndi's comment, "#17 is the same for me", it was compelling enough (pehaps just way to vague really) to try to understand the impetus of the thread, nor creative enough to inspire imaginative family drama. So, here I realize I have the opportunity to find out what two of my family members are up to. Ha! A twoforone! So I ventured out on, on my own...into the Facebook world.

I clicked on Laura's name and it takes me to her homepage. I see the beginning of the thread that my sister commented on entitled, "25 random things about me" and notice that another Sil has also commented. So I read her comment first, zip my eyes back up to the thread only to realize that it is truncated. It only shows numbers one through five and I need 17! What the #*&$#! (hence the adult viewing status required to read this page)

Duh. No need to panic, just click on the thread title and out pops the entire thread. I quicly scan down to number 17:

17. There's no one I can laugh with like my sister.

heart beat skip, tears drip, smile slips

Agree or disagree:
Laughter invokes tears
Tears invoke laughter

AGREE!

love you too Nin