Adventures in AndreaLand

So I’m no longer homeless. I’m managed to get myself a great big apt to myself which is part of a huge old Renaissance palazzo and it happens to be 5x my nyc studio. Every room has big windows that open up to a courtyard and rooftops and the building is filled with young noisy college kids that make it just a little less lonely. They’ve even invited me to go out with them, despite my elderly status… perhaps next time.

After getting settled in, I spent the past weekend exploring this unbelievable city that despite the noise of Vespas, american tourists and random love of neon, has managed to preserve the ambiance of its Renaissance past. If I put in my ipod (which I’ve only recently mustered the courage to use due to the aforementioned deadly vespas) and squint just right, walking down the very narrow and winding cobbled streets of terracotta walls, I can somewhat imagine that it hasn’t changed much in the past 500 years. Except also that I’m a female allowed to walk the streets unaccompanied by a chaperone with no laws forbidding it. 

I spent the entire weekend walking, exploring, thinking, trying to take it all in. I walked up to the Piazza Michaelangelo, (no whackers this time), with its stunning views overlooking the city and wrote some and tried to sketch it but there’s a reason I only study art and don’t try to create it myself… I visited the Boboli Gardens, acres and acres of lush trees and winding trails and hidden statues that have stood for centuries. Some areas were so quiet and isolated it felt like I was deep in a Renaissance forest all by myself, while other areas were exquisitly designed and beautifully manicured to perfection with ponds filled with goldfish and a promenade of cypress trees.

I started my work yesterday, mostly being toured around by the collections managers, through most of the 60 rooms, each one filled with paintings, sculptures and randomly assorted pieces from the medievil and renaissance periods, mixed together with pieces from the 19th cent pieces, sometimes in 18th cent frescoed rooms, along with birdcage ceiling fixtures, seashells and homemade decopage, in a stunning and overwhelming collection. I was given interesting facts about the former occupants and their personal history, but the villa itself seems to breathe the air of a former time and era when plays were put on in the lush green gardens and the statues were witness to the life of the priveliged. I was even allowed to sort thru a box of bric a brac with the archivist, finding Mr Actons old calling cards and reading glasses and vials of prescriptive juices.

But now I need to head on down the hill and find myself some pasta and good thick cheap wine.

ìBonjourno! Today I arrived in Firenze- via planes, trains and many automobiles later via Paris and Pisa. I would love to say that I,m sitting comfortably in my cozy flat overlooking the Arno but the reality is I,m pretty much homeless and staying in a hotel for now. So much for nyu hooking a sista up. At least its a cute little hotel that I,ve stayed at before with my dear Caty, so filled with fond memories (as well as bright frescoed walls).  The wine and gorgonzola ravioli helps. Mommy is worried that my love of vino and creamy sauces will affect the size of my arse- but after walking the city for hours in search of a place to live I can assure her that the homeless here have both great figures and even better wardrobes.

The past month has been crazy and wonderful and much needed in many ways. Home was home- green fresh alive and nourished my heart head soul like the best bowl of chicken and dumplings. New bonds were created and old ones grew stronger and I returned to NYC for a few days to start my life as a baglady infused with the energy that is drawn from the unknown. At first NYC was almost too much for me after life in the fishing village- as I ventured out for my first cup of much needed thick iced Mud the sirens people cars honking buildings crumbling jackhammers and smell of urine incense dogs and too much life in one place made me recoil. But later when I made it to wash sq park and heard Bush (the band not the idiot) playing in a rally to save CBGBs and watched families trannies students beggars and professors dancing together in their love of punk and heard 37 languages being spoken and saw 98 ways that different people can coexist, I knew that NYC was home in my heart as well.

Paris was wonderful, but how could it not be? To spend some time in the city of lights with my beautiful friends and eat good rich food and have sweet red wine and flavored vodka in a hot sticky smoky club and talk until the sun comes up is more than a girl can ask for. Paris was warmer than I,ve ever enjoyed and we layed by the Seine and laughed in the parks and even visited the musee d,orsay for the first time. Three friends, three countries in three months, that is the plan.

So now I,m here in Italy, to begin yet another adventure. Driving up the long dusty magnificent path through the cypress trees that lead to the villa was overwhelming, even though I,ve seen it a million times in pictures. To be surrounded by rolling hills and olive trees and purple wildflowers that smell sweet in the humid breeze is a lovely start to the months to come, as was a delicious dinner I ate in a familiar restaraunt while Pink Floyd sang I wish you were here. Ciao.

Yesterday I was loathe to awake to a brilliantly sunny morning only to head on in to my fifteenth consecutive day of work. My summertime temp job of bagging ice,  grilling salmon, hauling china and groping hot young dishwashers started out fun- but seven weddings, five company bbq’s and two gay birthday parties later, I’m exhausted and over it. Gina called me at 10am and told me to get home as she had no intention of going to work and called in sick so I was out. I drove into the driveway- only to find two dirty sweaty treetoppers hauling the arbor property line away with their brown muscley arms. The black haired green eyed punked out greaser style one looked butterfly inducing familiar. Its funny how the past can sneak into the neighborhood trees and whispers tales among the blackberries of late stupid teenage nights and stories gladly forgotton.

Apparently part of the twelve step program is creating a list of those you have wronged, seeking them out and asking forgiveness. And apparently I was on this list. The aforementioned black haired green eyed one approached me and profusely and sincerely apologized for a silly teenage incidental that resulted in outraged gossip and titillating scandal among the lake washington kangaroos. As my man Willy once bemusedly sang, ain’t it funny how time slips away…

The rest of the day was one long hot afternoon of girly laugher and hometown vacation time. Gina and Samora and Bogie swam in the Kirkland marina (I was having no part in the greasy bay with floating bandaids and toe tickling milfoil that brought be so much joy as a child). We had juicy pink cocktails and salty french fries in the early afternoon and tried on 80’s power suits in the consignment shops. Then we headed out on the boat and picked up Sherry and Piper and sipped iced white wine in Lake Sammamish while being cruised by horny underage boys. Piper said she had been contacted by a twelve stepper recently, who had stolen money from her in high school.

The sunset was beautiful but my friends are more so.

They say that in order to really know someone you need to walk a mile in their shoes. I think what they really meant was you need to spend some time in the neighborhood and on the streets in the place that shaped their formative years, where they first rode a bike, kissed their first boy, earned their first speeding ticket. Driving around on the roads where I grew up is both amusing and alarming. In the short time I’ve been away I’ve forgotten about automobile life on the ‘burban streets. For instance, when someone breaks to let you in, even on the speeding freeway, you must cheerily wave your hand, signaling visible appreciation. This is quite common and probably the most extreme case of deadly politeness- Yes, hello hi, yes you back there 17 feet behind me going 75 miles an hour in the celadon green subaru, thanks so much for allowing me to slide on in front of you and not just plow right into you in my ‘hurken monster truck. See my hand? Elbow-elbow, wrist, wrist, wrist- up high in the window so you can see it- thanks gobs! Now let me get back to this cellphone call and change my dave matthews cd.

Another thing I’ve noticed is that pedestrians run the show. If a driver notices a pedestrian even remotely near a crosswalk visible from a half mile away, they will slow down in anticipation of the cross. Slow, breakhard, glance, crossing?  Here,  go right ahead, and please take your time, and let your 6 year old child drag 10 feet behind you, all the while looking directly at me because he knows he’s making me wait. Even on busy streets (and ‘burban busy I mean over 35mph) drivers break to let someone cross, even if the pedestrian is on the other side of the street. My old hometown has set up construction-orange hand-held flags along posts throughout the city, to hold while crossing and better alert drivers of your higher order of pedestrianess. Gina decided they make great wakeboarding man-down flags for her boat.

Lastly, if you want to ride on the most energy-efficient form of transportation (including walking) ever created- the bicycle- you simply must wear a helmet. It is the law. Even for grownups. Not only will you readily be stopped and fined by local police (on bicycles themselves), on the lovely bike trails which run for miles, you will be shamed. Shamed and mocked vocally by fellow bicyclers- hey! where’s your helmet?- who must feel both hot and ridiculous in their large plastic aerodynamically shaped alien helmets. I recently made a trip to the microsoft campus for work and was amazed by the number of people in full-on bicycler’s gear (or do they call themselves "bikers?"), all decked out armstrong-style just to ride home from work.

But this is also the same crowd who fancy the bald on top, long pony in back look and whose style du jour includes spiderman tshirts, khaki shorts, birks, white socks. I’m just sayin.

goodnight. drive safe.

Sunday morning, 7am and I am up with the chickens. Literally. No, not the moans of the mangy flying rats suburban park-goers call "pigeons," who inhabit the roof of my NYC prewar studio and wake me up with the pathetic hum of their need to breed. This morning I awake to the sweet chirping and cool breeze of pacific northwest woods waking green lush wet alive. It feels good to be home.

I am forever grateful to my wonderful friends who made this past week very special and memorable, with healthy doses of rich confection, awkward speeches, vodka breaks and warm embraces. There were several wonderful surprises (so great to see you Val!) and a few as-to-be-expected. I break from New York feeling much love and look forward to my return in the fall. But in the mean time, I will enjoy my time here in the quaint fishing village with all the nice white people in their khaki pants and jean tuxedos. Fully emersing myself in the suburban way of living, I need to jump in an suv and go run some errands so I leave you with a poem created in my honor by legendary poet and published author, Deborah Schwartz:

  O Andrea! Our Andrea! Hot summer’s almost done;
       The Heritage dinner’s in the past, I heard Golf & Tennis was fun;
       Autumn’s coming, early closing, 3:30 Happy Hour,
       Picnics by my favorite statue - Cat: dignified: Ape: dour.
       But O Visa! Passport! Ticket!
       Your papers are all in order,
       Soon you will leave the isle of Manhattan,
       And fly across the water
       O Andrea! Our Andrea! stay and answer the Membership Line;
       So many grandmas still waiting for their senior memberships to arrive;
       And who will lead us in that next great Mailing House/Museum fight?
       Who will remain at the bar until the bar closes for the night?
       Here Andrea! dear Co-worker!
       We drank a little more than we ought to,
       Then cut a rug at the summer staff party,
       Now you’re flying across the water.
       Our Andrea will surely write us about her Florence goings-on;
       My Co-worker! now my best source of gossip will be gone;
       Who will do impressions of Nonna; who will have your super smile;
       Who will shake that sassy shimmy; Who will have that West Coast style.
       Though not Jewish, O Blankenstein!
       Few could have served this Museum better.
       Now you’ll set all of Italy on fire
       After you’ve flown across the water.

According to DGM, I have two days and a wakeup left. Today it finally hit me as I took a taxi along the west side in to work that my days at the Museum are limited- and its feeling bittersweet. Denial has been much, much easier. I sure will miss all the nice Jewish people with their funny little food habits and affinity for neurosis. But I will not miss this sick sweltering heat that makes hot and dirty a bad thing.

Subject: Risparmi la data
>
> Large friends of Andrea,
>
> We ask that you conserve Thursday date, the 28 July in order to come with us to the (email for details) in Battery Park City for one celebration of goodbye for our beloved friend, Andrea. Here a lot drink will occur perhaps and merriment and there will occur as well possibly a level of dance.
>
> Andrea soon leaves the comfort of the Museum. And that what is more, leaves the state and country, moving to the warmth embrace of Florence, Italy. Here, she studies and catalogs the beautiful Italian art. She drinks much wine while in Italy, but its wine will be sweet with the taste of memories of time passed to the Museum. Aide us to fill up her glass with much memories, therefore to make her drunk with nostalgia — enough to last her an entire stay to Florence.
>
> After when Andrea is sufficient in nostalgia and perhaps is to dance, we will move the positions towards another place of the convivial merriment.  This place of the convivial merriment is still however to be determined, but a lot probably will be situated from the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
>
> We pray you remain for further information. We hope that you join us in saying the goodbye, or, as they say in Italiano, Arrivederci!
>
> -FOAs (friends of Andrea)
***guest post by Deborah Schwartz of Debcentral.com fame

Well I’m no Debcentral, but thought this would be a great way to keep in touch with everyone and give updates on all my upcoming adventures.
Stay posted- cheers!!