N.B. My tech problems are hopefully solved, but as my IT guy and I are still a bit nervous as to how many of you are getting each post, could we ask you to leave a brief comment today so that we have an idea of how it’s working. One word would suffice and would be so helpful. You will find a Comment section at the end of this post. Many thanks.

A few weeks ago, I began a project that I’ve been contemplating for a couple of years: the gradual culling of some 370 essays I’ve written over the last 10 years, with the intention of publishing a collection. As I wrote in my previous post, the thought of engaging in this work felt overwhelming, which is why I’ve procrastinated for so long. But like most things in life what one thinks often has no relation to reality.

So far I’ve made the first cut through essays written in 2011, 2012 and most of 2013. It’s a fascinating journey, for many reasons: the memories it stirs, the ongoing questions, sometimes yielding an answer, some of which at the time felt so certain but upon revisiting are proof that very little in life is certain. At this stage of the editing process, I try not to cement thoughts and ideas about how the eventual collection might be arranged. Still, it’s exciting to note the many possibilities.

Already I see themes and subthemes reoccurring. Some of them are exciting in their depth, consistency, and evolution. Some are painful for the inner, ongoing struggles they reveal. More painful are the ongoing historical, national and global struggles e.g., the devastations of hurricanes, tsunamis, wars, famine, racism, misogyny and the attendant political evils; and of course, most recently a pandemic. Yet there are other, more positive threads running through the essays, whether it be the recording of the leap of faith Joel and I made in relocating to Europe; the survival from various illnesses and injuries; the good fortune of having a wealth of friends and family; our ever-deepening connection to nature. The kindness of strangers shows up regularly, too, especially here in Tuscany where we continue to try the patience of the natives with our grammatically impoverished Italian.

Perhaps more than anything, the gift of revisiting this last decade is the continual evidence of the 50/50 nature of life. Take this past Friday. We left early morning for Siena for Joel’s immigration appointment. He carried an inch thick folder of required duplicate documents which we checked and re-checked several times in the preceding days. We arrived an hour early, having learned from my own experience there that the queue would be long. We ended up second in line and although the Immigration Officer was a bit grumpy all went well. When Joel’s application was completed I plucked up courage to ask the Officer if she knew when my Permanent Residency Card might be ready, having applied for it more than 2 months ago. She kindly took my document #, typed it into the computer and told me it was on its way from Rome and should be ready for me to collect within days.

It was a gorgeous sunny morning and having a couple of hours left before our dental appointments we strolled the cobbled back streets of the medieval city, happily noting that, unlike the deserted streets of a month ago, now life was bubbling up again. Shops were opening. Bars had the cheerful sound of chatter and espresso machines. Tiny grocery shops proudly displayed their local produce; fruits and vegetables arrayed in wooden crates as tender as babies in bassinets. Early morning sunlit laundry wafted gently from window sills and outside each ancient door a neat bundle of household rubbish would soon be carted away.

The Campo, that glorious brick beach in the centre of Siena, while not flocked with pre-pandemic tourists, was gently peopled, the younger ones sitting on the sun-warmed ground, parents watching a child chase a pigeon. We chose a table in the sun and watched it all go by as we enjoyed our cappuccino and croissant stuffed with frutta di bosco. We spent an hour there, mask-less, close to tears at times to be feeling the gentle pace of life. It felt like the calm after the storm. And it was. As it turned out, it was also the calm before a storm.

One of the recurring themes so far revealed in the essays are my teeth. Or rather, the gradual disappearing of them. Since childhood I have had several horrific dental experiences; like the time a hungover dentist dripped anesthetic down my throat. So much of it that within minutes I was unable to swallow for two hours! Try that for one minute and you’ll have some idea of how much saliva has to be spat into a box of tissues. And no, I did not stay for the scalpel! Horrifying at the time, it eventually became a hilarious story.

Here’s the beginning of another. On having my teeth cleaned earlier last week there was some concern about an upper right implant. X-rays showed some infection. No worries I was told. I should come back on Friday and it would be taken care of. Wrong. The doctor and his head nurse ushered me into the surgery where they talked me through the X-rays findings. An infection over my crowned canine will be getting root canal next Friday. Three days later my upper right gum will be cut and flapped back like turf in order to remove the implant which is about to fall out due to bone loss and the infection over that area will be cleaned out. Blood will be taken from my arm and mixed with a compound which will be stuffed into the hole where the implant was in the faint hope that it will grow enough bone for another implant to be inserted. Then I will be stitched up and sent home crying.

If this graphic commentary has caused testicles and vaginas to shrivel, I do apologise. But hey, a burden shared….I didn’t cry on the way home; I was too shocked and terrified. I was also horrified that I might be entering the age of the toothless hag. You bet I’m vain. Damn right I don’t want a gaping hole exposed every time I talk or smile. When we arrived back in our little village, we decided to go to the gelateria for a container of coffee ice-cream and a few cones. The day was still beautiful. The garden is bursting, the grass newly cut. The perfume of jasmine filled the air along with bird song as we sat on the dondolo and licked our cones.

On 18th May we celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. We were married just up the road from here between the colonnade of cypress trees - on the estate where we taught for 7 years – surrounded by 44 family and friends who celebrated with us for a week. If we are here when our anniversary comes around we always take the walk at the same hour we vowed our love: six in the evening. This year the weather was identical to our wedding day. Much has changed since then, but the cypress trees still stand like sentinels and as we walked the aisle we felt the spirits of all who had witnessed us, some of whom have already left us…

*walking down the aisle with my daughter and brother*

As we turned to walk back to the car, our dear Gianni was walking toward us. He didn’t remember it was our anniversary, but had felt called to come there. So Gianni. An hour later he came to our house and presented me with a bouquet of wildflowers.

And half an hour after that, my gardener, a shy, discreet man of few words came to our door carrying an extravagant bouquet for me and a small, formal speech for both of us in which he told us how special we are to him and from whom he is always learning.

Remember that Judy Collins song? “I’ve looked at life from both sides now.” It’s worth a listen.

Life: full of love and hope, illusion and disappointment, success and failure, kindness and cruelty, gelato and dental woes. It all comes and goes. The beautiful moments are to be enjoyed and let go of. The hard ones are to be experienced and let go of. And yes, it is the hard ones that teach us, that give us the jolt of reality. You bet I’m terrified of my upcoming dental surgery. I’m not afraid of dying, I just don’t want to. Yesterday I woke up feeling sad. But all day long a question kept arising: how do I want to live whatever time is left to me? The answer was always the same: in kindness; without ambition; with love, and laughter and cleansing tears.

When we finished our cones, I put my head in Joel’s lap and wept. Then I started laughing. How ridiculous…a raging infection in my mouth and I’m feeding it sugar!! I immediately went and rinsed with salt water. That’s life: 50/50. Coffee gelato and a salt water chaser.

PS. May I please remind you to leave a brief comment?

With love, Maggie

BOTH SIDES NOW

UPDATE

Mother Nature