Begin Again

You're right on time

I have had this substack account, waiting until the moment when time slows down, when life felt less chaotic, when I could get to this on my to-do list after all the other things, when I had figured out this platform more, when…when…when…

I’m at my kitchen table in Italy, my writing desk/armoire behind with doors closed because it’s now full of papers and art supplies and a huge old printer and everything else that my family of 5 can fit in it that there’s no other space for in our small apartment. It’s full and a mess. The corkboard on the inner doors have fallen off on one side, the other side is barely holding on as the corkboard has unattached at the bottom. But there are photos of Mimmo and I the night before our wedding, pictures of Salvatore when he was in the hospital and on the day that we let him go. The other side where the corkboard fell off and just the adhesive remains, I thumbtacked a seasonal mandala I made with Corporeal Writing. A circle divided into 4 seasons, filled with words in each season. I packed it in my bag with me this time to remind me to write. To remind me how writing is cyclical like the seasons, with different feelings, themes, associations in each division of time. It whispers to me from behind, of the book I’ve been writing for so long, that I spent pockets of time during summers visiting and working on it at that desk. It says begin again.

I’m not sure yet what is forming. Both in my life and what will come on the page, but I know that whatever it is, it is a new beginning.

My house in Napa flooded on August 8, 2022. The culprit was a flex hose that burst under the sink. It looked like a snake trying to eat its way out, the swollen tubing like a mouth when it ripped open, water was spouting out so quickly and in every direction as it criss-crossed walls and doors under the kitchen sink. In that moment, I didn’t know where it was coming from, just that I needed to turn the shut off valve to make it stop. When we found what caused it, I couldn’t believe something so small could cause that much damage and change life so quickly.

I jumped on an airplane a week later to meet my family who was in Italy, visiting their nonna, cousins, zie, and zii. They were due to come back in a week, but that wasn’t enough time to find affordable short-term furnished housing in the Napa Valley for a family of 5, with school about to start and Mimmo going back to work. Where would we live temporarily while we had to be out of the house? I told Mimmo to stay there with the kids, I’d come meet them, and we’d be in our apartment, right behind Mimmo’s mom’s apartment. We’d figure it out from there, as it was estimated that the construction would take at least a couple of months. Very quickly, independent study/distance learning set up for the kids, an unpaid leave of absence from work for Mimmo, my work was portable online, we had housing, family right there for support, and instead of the kids seeing their home damaged and having to move, they accepted the news from afar that their vacation had just been extended.

Do I continue with the mundane details or do I speak of how I got to here? This moment, of finally touching black keys for something more than an email or to give feedback to my students on assignments? I could tell you about my computer dying on the day I was to begin teaching online or how my bank card, driver’s license, and credit card all got lost one day after a trip to the beach. About how much I’ve lost and how much I’ve had to get fixed and how much I’ve had to let go. About how I still can’t get my airline ticket changed and am waiting on the 3rd supervisor’s call back to change it manually. About how I have not been able to stop laughing at all the mishaps, that I told my mother-in-law yesterday, I know it might seem like I’m losing my mind, but if I don’t keep laughing, I actually will lose it, and not have the “forza” to continue to confront the challenges and keep going.

I’ve also been thinking about the coexistence of grief and love. Beauty and pain. That deserves its own story.

We received an email, sent on September 19th, on Paolo’s 7th birthday, on what would have been Salvatore’s 15th birthday, that we could no longer live in the house. That we had 2 months to move out. The details of getting there and where we’ll be and what we’ll do are still blurry, in formation. The only thing that is clear is that our hope to return to our home when it was fixed is gone and something new and unexpected will be emerging in this story.

So, this is where I start. This is where I begin again. Thanks for joining me on the journey, from wherever you are.