Chapter 2

Trains are like friends. You never sit still with trains. You are either moving on or going back. You come and go into each other’s lives. Stopping in when life allows. People either take you places or bring you back. Neither one is bad. Sometimes you need people to bring you back. But you also need them to have your mind, your hand, your purpose and take them somewhere.

I boarded the train with the heaviest purple 62 linear-inch suitcase in tow. A beautiful French woman handed me the lunch she bought for the ride. We said goodbye. The last task to accomplish before departing to Florence was complete, though not without tears.

One chapter closes (sent out with a boost from peanut butter m&m's), another begins.

The snow I saw from the train window scared me a little. The last thing I wanted to deal with in Florence was snow. The express train charged through the seasons with the same exigency as a spring day in Idaho. It left the rain, passed through snow, and arrived in the sun within a matter of hours. Just breathe.

I was the first in line to exit the train. Imagine a small gray carry-on suitcase, a blue vinyl messenger bag on one shoulder, a giant net bag on the other. The purple monster suitcase, hand crafted with the purpose of transporting 4 pig-sized items (My Whitlock grandparents sponsored sending an American pig to Africa once--the organization probably used a suitcase as big as mine to transport it). One door. Three steps. 20 Italians waiting behind me. If anyone can imagine the reason horns are honking the millisecond that a stop-light turns green, then one can imagine that holding up a line is a No-No. Nervous, I fidgeted by the doors waiting for the moment they slid open.

In my mind: I effortlessly lifted the pig-appropriate, purple monster in one hand while simultaneously stepping down the three steps with my burdened shoulders and other hand filled with the carry on and made "contact" with the cement below.

In reality: I tried to step over all three stairs at once to the platform with the monster. The net bag on my shoulder slid off, as it always does. The monster barely begrudge itself to leave the ground in my attempts to lift it by the handle, as it always does. My leg that was left behind on the top step fumbled a little causing me to lose any graciousness, as it always does. The carry-on was in the way, as it always is, for a moment on the stair only to be handed down by the next person in line. What gives?

But, my room is beautiful. I live in city-center, which is amazing. I have the most adorable roommates (one is dutch, one is brazilian) who are 18. We love to eat together at night. It is the best part of the day. I started school on Monday so today is end of week 1 of 4. I cross a fantastic bridge every day which I will take a picture of later. I successfully avoid death in the narrow roads. Don't walk two by two, you might get hit by a vehicle. Which could, of course, be a bicyclist, or a rickshaw. Ok, not a rickshaw, but smart cars might as well be one.

Peace and Love

and present simple/present continuous tenses of speech

m. jean

Le festin est sur mon chemin. . . .

Newsflash: Happy New Year. What did you do on New Year's Eve? I was packing. After I told the family I was leaving everything snowballed from bad to worse to unbelievable to as bad as an ending I could have imagined. Luckily, the kids and I are still friends. They are sad that I am leaving, but I think we will all be ok after a while. I am living with a good friend just one little clock tower over. I offered myself as a maid, cook, or whatever to "earn my keep." I am certainly shaken, but I feel so much better already. After my French-Italian family moved me, I spent the night talking to my mom on the phone for 3 hours so that my mood swings were monitored. Moms. My attempt to save her worry and not tell her lasted about 15 hours. I also got to talk to my most special Boise friend who is practically me as we have the same name and love of food (Megan Nichols). Then my besties Trevor and Lindsey stayed on skype with me for another while. So at 5 a.m. I went to bed and I have officially started my life unemployed in Italy. I think the thing I have learned most from all of this is patience. I had to have so much patience to even begin this journey. Then I had to have patience to quit, and now I have to have patience to begin again. Now a little side note about why my title is in French, something I can't understand and definitely can't pronounce, follows below.

Le festin est sur mon chemin (http://alexutzova.wordpress.com/2008/03/07/dale-vietii/) . This is from a beautiful song on Ratatouille. After getting over the horror of rats touching food that was meant for eating, I really liked that movie. My affection for it has grown since I have a French woman in my life. She is so full of love for the little things in life. She is funny. Once we were talking about our mutual hate for our jobs and she said, "I don't need a psychologist to help me get through work, I need an assassin." I am sure we all feel that way sometimes.

Marid-Claude and her family have helped me so much. They gave me a place to go where I could just be worry-free and able to have the calm Sunday experience that I love so much. I made her this dress that she wears with so much grace. She told me what she wanted and bought the material.





Her face lit up when I gave it to her and she parades around in it at church. She is so French as she twists around to show everyone the "mark" I put in it so she would not forget me.


I made a bow tie out of the same fabric for her husband, hoping to make them the prom queen and king by matching their outfits. Alas, he and I have no idea how to tie a bow tie. Her husband, Robbie, is the absolute sweetest man alive. When I left the house of the family he turned to the gate, stuck his tongue out, touched his thumbs to his cheeks and waved his hands. Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah. He does all kinds of things for me like gets me natural water because he knows I hate it carbonated. Or he carries my EXTREMELY heavy suitcase up three levels of stairs, even though I should have done it. He always finds little books for me to help with my Italian. He gets me the thickest wool sweaters that they have in the house so I can stay warm. They are everything I could have hoped for as a help to me. Thank you my French-Italian family. I am leaving soon, but I won't forget you.

Le festin est sur mon chemin means that the feast is on my path. As I start YET ANOTHER adventurous idea, I have a feeling like everything will be ok. I am excited to study the English language so that when I write blog posts at midnight or later I will have automatic mechanical perfection. I leave for Florence in a few weeks. Separated from this experience in Turin, I will truly have a New Year before me. I am so ready to go and kick butt being the top of the class, improve my skills, leave people stuttering because of my amazingness, start getting dressed again (something I lost a little zeal for during the days of freezing inside the house), and as always, meet new people, eat new food, try new things. Basically, the feast that is life is on my path.

Now I have just decided to make one New Year's Resolution: Blog Post Censuring. No matter what I try I can't stop the flow that comes from these fingers. I am not promising they will be shorter, but maybe less fluffy, like every word written has a purpose. Thanks for hanging in there. I also promise Grandpa Clair to write with him in mind. Found out at Christmas he is a big fan! LOVE IT.

To feasting, loving, and celebrating!

love,

megan jean