They say that it's in the leaving that we appreciate what we have.  I feel like I've/we've appreciated what we have here in the being here, and in leaving, we may appreciate it more, but really, we've been cognizant of the beauty of our life here -- the closeness of things, the later getting up in the morning (I often got out of bed at the hour I would have been leaving Waltham for TA), the bars, the gelaterias, the ability to travel, the walking everywhere, the time.

In the almost leaving, perhaps, there's a nothing-to-lose-at-this-point feeling.  Yesterday we went to watch Connor at mountain biking -- he goes Mondays and Fridays with his friend (Emanuele), and I'd not yet seen him (Emanuele's parents pick the boys up from school, feed them, bring them, lend Connor the bike and helmet, etc.) in action.  Daniel, Sebastian, and I found Cristina (Emanuele's mom), chatted, sat in the sun watching.  Another mom was there, the mom of Lorenzo, who is in Mary's class.  I see Lorenzo around town a good bit, and he always says, "Ciao!" with a knowing look, and I'm aware that he knows who I am even though I don't know who he is.

In fact, many folks here in Viterbo know who we are even when we don't know who they are: we're the Americans.  The most common comment I get when I meet someone or think I'm meeting them, but actually I've met them before is, "Cammina sempre."  Yep, that's me: I always walk.  I'm thinking there must be a way to learn better face recognition, and I should learn it soon.  Fisionomia, Cristina tells me.  But then, I'm also thinking, as we again purge and pack and clean out our apartment (weren't we doing this a year ago?), that maybe I'll start using the Italian workbooks that we purchased from SYA in anticipation of learning Italian.  I want to keep learning, fill in the gaps, and I think, Maybe I'll keep learning when we get home.  But really, will I make the time to do that?  I have every intention of making my Italian stronger, but I'm not sure that that is in the near future.  It may need to wait until before our next trip over here.  I've done the math: when Hannah graduates high school, I'll be fifty-seven, so perhaps I can come back and teach at SYA that year.  Perhaps that will be the year I learn both Italian and fisionomia better, too.

In my tough-on-myself moments, I think, Maureen, you have got to look at people more so you remember who's who!  In my generous-with-self moments, I think, You know, virtually every place, face, and word here in Viterbo has been new to me this year, so I am going to cut myself some slack.

Back to mountain biking.  Connor lit up when he saw us.  Emanuele sped around.  The coach spoke with us in English.  I explained to Cristina how during the school year both here and at home I have a hard time feeling awake and aware enough to even think of doing things at times.  Only once before had it crossed my mind that it would be nice to see Connor at mountain biking: it was something he did with Emanuele and Cristina or Marco.  With my days more open, I felt that I had to see Connor mountain bike.

Lorenzo's mom was watching, too.  She asked after Mary, a reminder that Lorenzo is in Mary's class.  She offered us cigarettes and talked with me.  And instead of hiding, buoyed by Cristina on my right, who speaks only Italian with me always with patience and kindness and an of-course-you'll-understand-if-I-explain-well-enough attitude, I spoke with this mom.  In Italian.  Because of Cristina and Marco, I feel confident speaking sometimes.  They remind me that I am fine in Italian.  Months ago I was telling my oldest friend about my struggles with Italian.  She listened and then said that basically she didn't buy it; she thought that I likely did just fine.  Her confidence buoyed me at the time as Cristina's does now.  I don't talk about my language struggles with Cristina.  We just talk, and I stumble and we keep going.  When I learn more Italian, I will likely be mortified at how I have spoken, which errors I have made, but I also know that it's okay.

As I spoke with Lorenzo's mom, she complimented all of us on learning Italian so well.  Of course she didn't realize yet my limited vocabulary, nor had we spoken long enough for her to have Sebastian translate for me.  She told me that she didn't want to speak English with me because she was afraid that she'd make a mistake.  I told her that that's me all the time with Italian.  But I felt comfortable enough to keep talking anyway.  In Italian.  And I feel like that's the risk, the nothing to lose feeling.  I'll mess up, sure, but I'll just have to keep going.

I'm not sure which other nothing-to-lose situations or moments will arrive this month.  Cristina's invited Connor to stay over, having him for almost two days, and rather than feel like we're imposing even more on her, I said yes.  Hannah wants to have Alessio over tomorrow, maybe even for a sleepover, and we said yes.  Mary wanted a birthday party last weekend, and as much as it caused me angst to host a bunch of Italian girls and greet their parents in Italian, I said yes.  Classic Mary: she gave us all assignments, and we just had to follow her directions, i.e. Daniel and Sebastian: make a playlist; Daniel: lead musical chairs and guess that song; me: make brownies; adults: order pizza and get chips and soda and strawberries; me: send message to parents on whatsapp.  When the parents arrived to drop off their daughters and I hid in the kitchen working on batch #2 of brownies (since I'd botched batch #1 -- though actually, Daniel and I ultimately preferred batch #1 which were super fudgy), I said to Sebastian something like, "Oh, golly.  I hate this: what do I say?"

Sebastian said, "You look nice.  That's great.  Don't worry about what to say.  Just be happy."

Really, that's all I had to do?  Easy.  I walked out and greeted the moms and we discussed dying pants green for the final school show a few nights later.

Sebastian's advice reminded me of something my mom would have said: simple, succinct, wise.

And this reminds me of a comment of Hannah's earlier in the day.  I told Hannah, "I miss my friends.  They're all together at our 25th reunion."  Hannah said, "Oh, mom, you've got us.  And you're in Italy.  You're fine."

Be fine.  Be happy.  Go out and greet the world even when they think you're the nutty American who walks everywhere.