PROLOGUE

Craigslist: Milan, Italy. August 2, 2009

“Family looking for EMT to babysit 4:30-8:00 PM, Monday-Friday. Responsible for picking up 9-year old from school every day and getting him to afternoon activities: tennis, soccer, and catechism. Occasional babysitting in the evenings or weekends by request.

Studio apartment offered in Navigli, Italy with all expenses paid in exchange for speaking only English with two boys, 9 & 12 years old. Help them perfect the English language, enjoy dinners with family, and have mornings, early afternoons and weekends to yourself. Work to start first week of September.”

My first thought was, why does this family need an Emergency Medical Technician as their babysitter and English tutor? I applied despite my lack of training hoping it would be overlooked. Ten days later, when I was offered the position, I didn’t mention we hadn’t discussed the EMT requirement. Perhaps it wasn’t such a big deal after all. I chuckled to myself when I discovered just prior to my departure that what they wanted, and were getting in me, was an English Mother Tongue caretaker.

So, why was a professional 47-year old mother of 5 grown children applying for a babysitting job? I would love to say, “fulfilling a lifelong dream”; “for the love of children”; or, best yet, “career advancement opportunities”.

The simple truth is I ran away from home.

And I use the word home loosely. If home is where the heart is, than I, an empty vessel, was surely homeless. If home is where you hang your hat, well, ditto. Within a 2-month period I found myself without my job, my boyfriend and any semblance of a place to call home, for my heart or my hat. Running away from all that I had lost seemed the only reasonable thing to do. I did it quickly and without reservation.

What in the hell

was I thinking?


Chapter 1

May, 2003

Anxious to share my excitement of the past several weeks with my husband, I forsake the evening graduation festivities at Hostelliere Bérard with my peers. Slipping out unnoticed, save for Kim, whose husband was also awaiting her arrival in Nice the following day, I boarded the train for the jaunt to the sea from the Provençal countryside. I swore my friend and classmate to secrecy, knowing full well the boys would call to inform us once they arrived safely from Denver. Wanting to insure my surprise would be just that, Kim and I cooked up a story as savory as the bouillabaisse we learned earlier in the week to prepare to perfection from Master Chef René Bérard himself.

It’s nightfall when I arrive at the station with map in hand and one brimming suitcase. I’m instantly thankful to Sally, who offered to lug my other one back home, as I wind and weave through narrow sidewalks on less than smooth surfaces. I am impressed once again with the women of Europe who manage to stay upright and poised while gracefully sashaying over centuries old cobblestones balanced on stiletto heels with my-feet-aren’t-that-narrow

pointy toes.

Rounding the corner to Hotel Le Grimaldi, my heart flutters a bit as I take a deep breath. It is only in that moment when it occurs to me Bob might not be there. No bother, I’ll wait in our room if he hasn’t arrived or is out to dinner with Joe.

Through the front window I see the familiar balding head tilted slightly backwards knowing he’s laughing at something and am at once both pleased and giddy. Clearly embroiled in a jovial conversation, neither man sees me approach the lobby entrance. I’m glad they’ve had a chance to get to know one another - Kim and I have been seriously contemplating joining forces upon our return to Colorado. After all, we were deemed the “best tongues" in culinary school and always, like a firm-bodied Cabernet and prime rib, worked seamlessly when paired together.

Leaving my wheelie bag at the front desk, I press the finger of one hand to my lips, while pointing towards the bar and the two men with my other. The clerk gives me a knowing wink and approving glance while observing what unfolds. I caught Joe’s eye first, quickly repeating my gestures. He watchfully ignores me with flawless timing. Gently embracing my husband from behind, I murmur in his ear, “Surprise, I love you”.


Chapter 2

I’m happy we'll go immediately back to Italy where my journey had begun a month ago. As beautiful as the French countryside was, I felt more at home in Asti, surrounded by our warm instructors and local townspeople alike. Of course, the fact that I took a handful of Italian classes back in the States didn’t hurt - I could ask for the things I needed much easier than I could in French.

Bob was amazed at how well I was communicating those first few days. I was able to order our meals, check into rooms and rent a car with little difficulty. What he didn't know was that I managed by stringing several memorized words together, forgoing any verb conjugation or proper sentence structure. It all sounded just foreign enough to make an impression on him and I was happy for that.

I was keen on him being proud of me during this trip. It was a dramatic shift in attitude from when I proclaimed I was resigning as operations manager and developer of our jointly owned technology firm. Emotions had run exceedingly high that cold November day in 2002. Any explanations I offered appeared to fall on deaf ears. Try as I might, I wasn’t able to enlighten him on why it seemed a matter of life or death to pursue my avid interest in cooking to any degree beyond a weekend class at Williams-Sonoma.

Now, thousands of miles away from our collective five children and daily rigors, this excursion was designed to reconnect us. I had high hopes we could recover from the insult our marriage had taken five months previously. The healing had begun while my full-time program was in session in Colorado. I observed Bob slowly moving from disbelief and anger to a place of resignation to finally sensing a glimmer of support. He recognized how ecstatic I was; my joy having quite the positive effect on our large family, and that he could not fail to notice.

Looking back on the photos taken at my stateside graduation I saw a content and adoring husband, someone full of pride. I left for Europe feeling optimistic and with the fortitude to see any remaining challenges through.


Chapter 3

“Cakes?”, Bob whispers my pet name as I’m doing my morning bed stretch; back arching, arms over my head with a slight high-pitched moan escaping my mouth. I’m in our large bed in a small room in Cortona on day 7 of our action-packed journey. “Yeah baby?”, I say as I stretch the other way, always having to be symmetrical. “Um”, he says, pausing, “I have something I need to talk to you about”. Words like this should never be heard or spoken on a vacation unless, of course, there's no “um” followed by a very

pregnant pause. This is a telltale sign that whatever follows can’t be good.

Laying next to my weeping husband two hours later, I can’t quite believe what finally comes out of my mouth, “Honey, it’s okay - we are bigger than this, we will survive. Truly, I’m not mad.” Groping for his own words, I can see he doesn’t fully trust the sentiment, but for now is content to accept it. We shower, dress, pack and head to the next town.

We’re in the made-famous-by-Rick Steeve’s

town of Varenna our last several days. Our adventures have taken us from Nice to the Cinque Terre, Florence, the countryside’s of Tuscany and Umbria, and finally to the peaceful village on well known Lake Como. Our time together has been picture perfect. It has been a honeymoon all over again. The only exception was the confession in the hillside town, but I was determined to see to it that a drunken one-night stand that didn’t see its way past some sloppy body rubbing was not going to ruin: a) my time in Italy, or b) my marriage. It wasn’t until 24 hours before we were to depart from Malpensa Airport that Giovanni threw me a curve ball.


Chapter 4

“Are you fucking kidding me?”, asks Chip, sitting on his couch thousands of miles away in Denver. “You have

to take this job. Seriously, when will you ever have another opportunity like this in your life?”

I can almost see my first husband’s overflowing excitement while my second is sending heat waves of rage in my direction. I’m sitting on the floor leaned up against the bed with my back to Bob, who is wordlessly fuming, and I can feel it.

My close relationship with the father of my children has never been something Bob has been comfortable with. In spite of the fact that we have now been together over nine years, close to surpassing the years I shared with Chip, he has not accepted this part of my life. My bond with my ex went against the grain for Bob who only experienced hatred, lies and resentment in his own life's past relationships. The fact that I was now discussing my immediate plans with Chip was not boding well and I knew it; however, I simply didn’t give a damn and continued.

“Are you sure you don’t mind having the kids full time for the five months I would be gone?” I inquire. I press on, “It means everything I do you’ll have on your plate. I know you’re more than capable”, and then to lighten the mood a bit add, “but what happens if Cass has to go to the ER again?”

Chip laughs and reassures me, “You know he only gets hurt when it’s your day”.

The reminder is all too true. Our middle child is a magnet for accidents, but seems to have a guardian angel on call, making sure he’s in my level headed presence for such situations. His dad is the first to admit how lucky the kids are when they’re with me should they be sick or get injured. I appreciate his complimenting affirmation.

“Okay”, I say with a slight groan and a heavy sigh, only because I know what is ahead of me, “if you don’t hear from me by tomorrow afternoon, you’ll know I’m on the plane”.

With an 8-hour time difference, it will be 2 am in Denver when I am either elbow’s deep in dough with Giovanni’s sister at Nilus Bar in Varenna, or at 30,000 feet headed home.

“And Chip”, I add with warmth, “Thanks. I love you”.

With that we hang up. I sit for several very long minutes. The deafening silence rings through my head like the clanging church bells of Italy. What I thought seven months ago was life or death paled by comparison with the territory I was preparing to enter.


Chapter 5

It is now November as I head to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. With each passing month, since my return from Italy, I’ve pondered all I would have missed had I stayed.

All five kids had birthdays between June and October - the girls turning 13; the boys 15, 16, and 18 respectively. The end of August would usher four of them back to school. The summer brought a bevy of travel as I accompanied Cass to his diving meets. It wouldn’t be long before we would be sending DVD’s to college scouts, already taking notice of his talents, and I wanted to be sure we had ample video footage. Truth be told, the trips on the road with him were also an escape from the reality that was becoming my marriage.

In August I also registered my new personal chef business with the state of Colorado and secured my first client; they would quickly become my bread and butter customer. With the signing of that first contract, my business took off and by September I rented commercial kitchen space. The first of October I booked two large catering events, one of which would pair Kim and I in the kitchen again and net us both a handsome sum of money.

As we turned our clocks back in October, I had almost completely stopped going to the office to assist Bob in the business that had brought us such good fortune in the early years. I could only hope the technology boom we once experienced would pick up again after its bust in the months following 9/11. Perhaps as business picked up it would lift my husbands brooding mood as well.

The days had become progressively more tense between us after the near silent flight home in May. The nights were even worse. Once the children were back in school, I sought solace in my cooking. I was as happy as I had ever been in any job I’d ever held. I had found my passion and inside me it stirred. What Bob was doing with his days didn't seem to phase or bother me anymore - I buried my head in my work and in the sand.

I thought a lot about Italy and the Nilus Bar in those months. I knew in my heart I had made the right decision; however, I vowed to myself and to Chip that I would find the opportunity to return once again…someday.

I recalled the conversation he and I had just weeks upon my arrival home.

“Why didn’t you tell me he cheated on you?”, my ex-husband demanded.

“Because I didn’t want it to sway your decision any and I knew it would”, I retorted.

“Well, I was willing to take the kids anyway, wasn’t I?” he reminded me. “You know the bastard will do it again, don’t you? Leopards don’t change their spots. You should have stayed. Just promise me you’ll go back.”

“Thanks, now you sound like my mother”, I scoffed.

"Kar, I mean it" he stated sternly, "You owe it to yourself. Give me your word you'll make it a goal."

"I'm sure I’ll get back one of these days”, I said only half-heartedly. It had been a miserable few weeks and I was tired. He let me off the hook that day, but persisted throughout the ensuing months, ever reminding me that Italy awaited.

Reflecting on all of this now, I made my selection, uncorked my favorite Chianti, and set out to drain every drop. It had been a long day. I put out 165 meals, had another argument with my husband over the not-ours-anymore

business and still had laundry to tackle.

That night I dreamed of the Tuscan hillside where the wine I consumed hailed from. Once again I awoke with the visions of Bob and the mystery woman. Yeah, I'll go back. My resolve was firm once again, as I cried Sangiovese tears.


Chapter 6

August 2004

Organizing my things for the long flight to Paris tomorrow comes easily. I simply set aside what I needed for my 24-day trip abroad a few weeks earlier when I moved out of the home I shared with my husband, children, and Bear, our yellow lab.

As my chef clientele grew, the consulting business I once was a part of fell to pieces. Was it honestly a shortage of new business or was there more to the story, perhaps a lack of desire to continue at all on Bob's part? I didn’t trust much that came from my husband, the leopard, these days. The fact of the matter is; it doesn’t much matter. The damage had been done, in his eyes, the day I “deserted” him to pursue my own interests.

Whether it was abandonment issues of his childhood or a narcissistic nature he hid behind passive aggressive behavior – we seem doomed to be another statistic, both in our joint business pursuit and our personal life. In an effort to put some physical distance between our growing angst and anxiety with one another, I made the unilateral decision to move out.

What is of more importance to me today is covering the details Kim and my sous chef, Dustin, need in order to adequately run the business while I am gone. I was thankful to my friend, who a couple of weeks ago, offered to step into my shoes so I could take this trip. Her only caveat was that I bring her back authentic Balsamico from Modena. I would be only more than happy to comply as I would be working for a spell in nearby Castlefranco Emilia at the Villa Gaidello agriturismo.

Kim knew how important it was for me to return to Europe and the timing was perfect. I would visit my daughter and her dad in their new home in France before setting off for Italy once again.

The decision Chip and I made to have our youngest accompany him on his new adventure was exciting and nerve-wracking all at the same time. It seemed surreal to me that the European lifestyle that I had so longed for the previous year would come to pass for my child! I was thrilled for her and satisfied to live vicariously through both of them for now, while I welcomed the respite from the flurry of changes taking place in my life.

Just as I had spread my business wings, I finally felt some relief in my personal life. What will happen remains to be seen. At the moment, I am thinking about nothing more then the plane I am anxious to catch in a few short hours.


Epilogue

September 7, 2009

I have just returned from celebrating my 48th birthday with my Milano family, who treated me to a delicious classic Milanese dinner at the nearby Osteria Conchetta. I’ve been on Italian soil now for just 11 days and have already had one visitor with another due to arrive in just two weeks. Cass, who made Milan his last stop on his latest 2-month European tour returns to Denver the same day his dad departs DIA for France on yet, another house-hunting expedition. Chip will break up his 3-week stay with a few days spent here visiting me in my new digs.

Over dinner I explained to my gracious hosts that I had attended a coffee given by The Benvenuto Club of Milano. It is a group of English-speaking women Ex-Pats like myself and, I hope, a venue for budding new friendships and business connections. I met several great women from all over the world and am excited to meet with them again next week.

As I sit in reflection tonight it’s not lost on me the overwhelming sense of discontent I felt during the coffee meet. I struggled over and over again as I was asked the same thing, “where is home for you?” and "what brings you to Milan?".

Just where is home for me? Is it Colorado, where I spent 16 years of my life raising my now, adult children? The place I left behind two ex-husbands, five children, and a booming business?

Is it Kaua’i - the island where I sought refuge with my youngest child at a difficult time in both of our lives? The spot on all the earth I expected to spend the rest of my days once I landed there in 2005?

Is it Florida – home to my parents for the past 37 years and the city where I celebrated my 30th High School reunion less than a month ago? The very city I lived in most recently and where I ran away from another broken relationship, family, friends and business?

Is home now Milan? And just why am

I here? These are two of the many questions I have yet to answer for myself. When I left 11 days ago I made one very short journal entry while on the plane:

“I am on a journey – a journey that I have longed for and finally created for myself. It was a promise and one I have kept. I know not what I seek only what I hope to find – a way to cease crying American tears and begin finding laughter. Perhaps in time, it will be in Italian.”

There is one thing that is for certain - it is to Italy that I have brought both my hat and my heart.

Impressum

Texte: All photos and content Copyright © Karis Vail, 2009 All rights reserved
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 24.11.2009

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For Chip. My travel inspiration and chief cheerleader.