Italy in Indy

Just this afternoon, as I spent a few mindless hours surfing the net, I managed to come across a website all about Indianapolis. Feeling a bit homesick I clicked through photo gallery, looking at photos of a city had I come to love. Memories began to flood my mind:the concerts I had attended on the lawn of White River, the nights spent club hopping with friends, dinners out at my favorite restaurants. How many times I had I watched the sun rise at "The Circle" after a long night shift on the ambulance? How many times had a driven to and from work on the highway that passes by the city center and how many times did I admire the beautiful skyline? More than I could count. I started feeling homesick and suddenly had the urge to book a flight to Indiana ASAP. Then I came across a photo that made smile. There on the canal, in downtown Indianapolis, was a gondola complete with a gondolier dressed in a striped shirt. I couldn't help but giggle.

Since my move to Italy, faux gondoliers had arrived in Indy ready to take giddy tourist out for a spin on the canals of the Cirlce City. I clicked on the website of the company offering the gondola rides and was shocked to see the price. A half hour ride cost no less than $150!

I pictured myself in Indianapolis watching the gondolas on the Not-so-grand Canal. For sure the sight would have made me feel homesick for Italy. That is the thing about being an expatriate, no matter where you are there is always some place you miss.

On the upside, in just 2 hours time I can be in Venice riding around in a REAL gondola. And for the same price a gondola ride in Indy, I will have the beauty and enchantment of Venice surrounding me.

Life is good!

A New Month

A new month has arrived. I felt this might be a good time to get back to blogging. To say that our home isn't the same without Roscoe feels like the understatement of the year. He was such a happy, fun loving cat who constantly made me laugh. He was a wonderful companion and a true friend. At last I can look at his photos without bursting into tears. However, I have cried everyday since his passing. They say that time heels all wounds, but they also say absences makes the heart grow fonder. How can it be both? I miss Roscoe more every day. Time heals all wounds? It feels more like time has its finger stuck in my wound, ripping it open even wider.

I have friends and family who are going through terrible times right now. People who have problems much greater than a pet that has passed away. At times I feel guilty for feeling so awful because my cat died. I know I should count my blessing and be thankful for all that I have.
Other times I don't feel so guiltyy. After all, grief is grief isn't it? Whether you are grieving the loss of a loved one, the loss of a relationship, the loss of job or the loss of a pet. In that moment of crushing grief, is the pain not the same? We all grieve for the unwanted change in our lives. We grieve for what was, what would have been, and what will be no more. We grieve for the life that we knew and for the life that no longer exists.


Some may say that it is strange to grieve so deeply over a family pet, while others will read this and understand just how deep my pain runs. We open our homes to these sweet animals and in turn, we open up our hearts to them. We care for them, love them, play with them, cherish them and yes, we even talk to them. When they are no longer here, it leaves a gaping hole. A hole that I know will never be filled again.

Life marches on with or without me. The season is changing whether I want it to or not. Just this morning I awoke in a haze. The kind that comes with a restless night of strange, broken dreams. The sun peered into my bedroom, peaking from behind the gray clouds which covered the morning sky. The Italian had already left for work while Opus was curled up next to me, his paw stretched out across my shoulder. For a moment my mind was foggy, I wasn't even sure what day it was. Then I heard a familiar sound, muffled popping sounds carried by wind. From that sound I understood that it was Thursday; in the fall Thursday is the day the hunters are permitted to hunt in the morning. Instantly I thought of Roscoe and how much he hated the sounds of the hunters guns or any sudden, loud noise. He would always scamper under the bed until it was late morning when the hunters returned home.

The sounds of the hunters guns are a clear sign that fall is underway in Italy.


Outside the leaves are just starting to turn color. The kids have gone back to school. The velvet peaches of late summer have been replaced by golden apples and sweet pears at the farmer's roadside stand.

The season is changing.

Life marches on and so must we.