Golfing in Tuscany: Heads Up Retired Folk in Florida

Description:
HOTEL AND GOLF IN MAREMMA
MONTE ARGENTARIO
A luxury resort located in Monte Argentario, it has 56 junior suites including private balconies. The Club Junior Suite is the jewel of the resort. It is characterized by an ethnic style. The Tuscany Junior Suites and the Gallery Junior Suites are characterized by a medieval Tuscan style. The interior decoration is enhanced by an elegant and refined style. It is completely immersed in nature.
The aesthetics center called Espace is the ideal place to relax and regenerate your body, it includes a Finnish sauna, an indoor and outdoor swimming pool and gym.

Just when you thought the most life had to offer was retirement in some residence in Florida, I hand you Golfing in Tuscany.

It could be the beginning of your own golfing world tour.

Click here for details.

Adventures in Hair

Today I took my daughter to the hairdresser's. I went blonder and she straightened her hair. She has the most beautiful curly hair, but dreams of straight hair..and so, for a day, I made her happy. At a certain point she complained she was hungry, so she flipped her straight hair and said, "Mommy, can we go to Simona's to get a sandwich, please?" I looked at her helplessly, base smeared on roots and tinfoil wrapped on highlighted hair pieces, shrugged my shoulders and said, "Let's go!"

As we walked down the street of our small town, people stared at my foil-wrapped head. I smiled back at them and held Sofia's hand. We walked into the "Alimentari" and a woman flat out looked at me and started laughing. She said, "What happened to you?" I replied, "Highlights and a hungry daughter."

I'll sacrifice my vain self to satisfy a few hunger pains.

Every now and then, the American in Tuscany in me begs to be let out of the cage. If my seven year old daughter can walk around in one ponytail and one braid and feel beautiful...what's a couple of pieces of tinfoil and base?

Deviate

I collapsed on my daughter's bed...really long day. I looked up and saw it. There it was- the same flying buglike thingy in the same place below the lamp...flying. Not the type of free flying that we would all love to be able to do to escape from the boring-two-legged-daily-strut, but a flight pattern in the form of a square.

Now I've seen the suicidal dive-bombing into the windshield bugs, but never have I ever seen this type of bug-like phenomenon. I sat observing this unidentifiable flying bug for five minutes and not once did it deviate from the square-shaped flight pattern. Over and over and over again it flew in a square. The same pattern. THE SAME PATTERN!

Like men, some bugs just never change.

Stiletto

I arrived in Tuscany as a 25 year old newlywed, new Mamma- your typical American in dirty sneakers and sweats, hair in a ponytail. I went from playgroups with my other teacher friends, we all delivered within six weeks of each other, to strolling my child alone down the streets of Tuscany.

I found that old Italians are a lot friendlier with babies than old people living in Floridian residences.

Growing up, I read fashion magazines filled with Christie Brinkley, Cindy Crawford and Kate Moss. Since Kate Moss was just so not an option considering my ass was bigger than her entire body, my only other woman choices were Cindy and Cindy. I remember sweating to the Cindy Crawford work out tape in college with my other sorority sisters and I must say that it worked. Then I got pregnant and 50 pounds later, I shelved Cindy.

I don't know how I managed to ignore Italian fashion for twelve years, maybe the fact that I was too big to fit into the clothes helped. And then it happened. The great wake up, and I will never forget the day I stood looking around the Corso of Grosseto thinking, "Where the hell am I?" As if for the first time in a long time, I actually realized I was living in another country. At that precise moment I craved America, because I could not identify with anything in my immediate surroundings and it scared me. I flipped my ipod back on and retreated.

Slowly, I assimilated. I observed as an outsider wondering what it would take to pull me back in, while at the same time I rejected being pulled in.

For example, I dated a man who insists that women wear high heels. Never, ever in my life have I worn high heels, I'm already tall. Because I had never even considered wearing heels, I had limited my shoe-shopping to flat. Now, a whole new experience in shoe-shopping has appeared before my eyes. Sounds superficial, but apply that to your daily encounters. I didn't wear the heels to satisfy him, I wore them to try something different for me. I felt sexy. *Smile* Until I almost tripped and broke my ankle...but then I laughed because even when playing dress up, I am still me.

My skin changed.
So did my wardrobe.
And my hair.

People started whistling and seeking conversation with me. And I had no idea how to react or act. Old habits began mixing with new- my time spent as a cocktail waitress learning to diplomatically send obnoxious people away - mixed - with me realizing that the new me is international and even stylish...compared to sweats and sneakers. The best way I can describe the experience of being newly single is that of a 38 year old woman fresh out of high school, thrown into a sea of sharks carrying luggage.

I'm not interested in planning a future, settling down, having a family- I've already done that and my kids have an exceptional father, I'm just trying to fill my new heels and to see how far I can get without breaking an ankle.

Mother-in-Law Lipstick

Yesterday, Jordan decided to stay home with a friend and Sofia transferred to my mother-in-law's house- she says for a week.
And
I
hit
the
beach!

I met a friend of mine who's a flight instructor in Brussels. We updated ourselves on our lives and soaked up some June sun...until it got really windy.

Then, we headed to the top of the beach establishment, grabbed a table and she went to get us two cups of iced coffee. As I'm sitting there, a crowd rushes to the beach and I follow. Apparently there was some type of beach mini-tornado warning. As I'm observing the crowd, my eye glimpses this adorable little girl on the jungle gym. I look again and think, wow, she really looks like Sofia. But I'd never seen the bathing suit and her hair was in a braid- I never put her hair in a braid. I return to my seat as the drama ends, but that little girl thing bothered me, so I went for a closer look.

Suddenly, I got a glimpse of the little girl's lips...smothered in mother-in-law salmon lipstick. And then I knew.
THAT little girl was my daughter!
I yelled, "Sofia!"
She turned her head, smiled that horrifying salmon smile and yelled, "Mommy!"

Some things, my friends, whether you're from the USA or Tuscany, are as universal as the choice of mother-in-law lipstick pink.

Buses, Yachts, Sushi and Church

The morning began with a bus almost running over my foot...the slogan on the bus: Intolerance Kills.

I took the hint.

Then, I headed to the beach for a half hour of free time. As I was driving home, a yacht turned the curve on its way to docking at the port for the summer.

Later that night- sushi in Grosseto (miracle of all miracles) with my girlfriend. We had endless sushi and sashimi and finished the dinner off with ice-cream crepes topped with bean jelly. Don't ask.

We girltalked forever, said our goodbyes, double-cheek kissed and I made my way to the Church where my son had a concert. After three hours- consider I was late- they ended the show with two Grease songs. There's something extremely comical about watching middle school children dance to Grease songs sung in an Italian accent.

I sung along with them- love those Grease songs!

And so ended another day in Tuscany...

Playing Hooky

I am a huge believer in mental health days both for my kids and myself. Every now and then, when I see my son ready to collapse from exhaustion, I let him sleep in...my daughter rarely needs one of those free days-she provokes them:-)
So, after spending 48 hours in front of the computer working on a project the entire weekend, Monday morning I broke free.

To the beach!!! How does a human being live twelve minutes from the beach, having lived 3 hours from the nearest ocean forever and not escape?

Note: I never once played hooky in high school, and from what I heard, Robert E. Lee Park was the place to go.

I spent one hour and fourteen minutes here, just my ipod and me. And I was reborn.


Today, on the other hand, I spent 53 minutes waiting in line at the post office to pay some bills. I can wait in line for ice-cream and for the Nordstrom annual sale, but waiting at the post office is sheer torture. Never go to pay a bill the first of the month in Italy, everyone over the age of 60 is in line to collect their monthly pension, nightmare. However, I met a friend of mine standing there outside..and he informed me that a tourist "resort" called Riva Del Sole had recently opened a heated salt water swimming pool and that he would be playing hooky later in the afternoon.

I slapped him five.