Life comes at you fast… it did for me!

I’d always known this phrase existed and could be applied to for different occurrences in one’s life. However, it wasn’t until recently that I ran into it face first, the reality of it hitting me like a bulldozer. I suppose it always seemed slightly distant, this promise that my life could change so drastically. I expected it to happen eventually, but would never have imagined to be caught so wholly off guard. It was like closing my eyes for only a second, and then opening them to come face-to-face to a world altering decision. Even now, it’s as if I’m standing on the very edge of a cliff, looking down into the unknown, my breath held in fear and suspense, and some unseen force daringly whispers to me: jump! The temptation to do just that makes me inch ever closer; readying for that careless spring. And I know, I KNOW everything will change once I take that leap… the way I wake up in the morning, the places that greet me when I go out, the people I’ll run into in the street, how I’ll get ready for bed in the evenings… basically, I will change. Chaotic indecision suddenly wrestles with a rising desire to jump and be free, leaving behind all concerns and insecurities.

But I have a choice… accept that, change will come, and that, perhaps, this is my time to take a chance and soar… or to step back from this, leaving behind the risk of falling, and quite possibly denying a great opportunity to do something incredible for myself.

By: V.S

A breath of Italy

Italy…

I want to say so many things about this beautiful place:
How leaves sparkle with green and gold colors in the morning sunlight,
How thick trees rustle invitingly through afternoon strolls,
How grapes practically glow with ripeness along the vineyards,
How mountains tower undauntedly, almost proudly, in the horizon,

I want to remember so many things about this peaceful place:
How there was an air of uncomplicated serenity once stepping outside,
How a sense of home always precede upon entering the nearest village,
How the languid Italian-lifestyle waits quite patiently to be enjoyed and appreciated,
How the simplicity of taking pleasure in a day could be so fulfilling it was easy to smile,

I want to cherish so many things about this inspiring place:
How the historic structures mark the passing of time in each town,
How a spirit of kind cordiality is emitted through the people that inhabit them,
How the touch of the Italian language can feel so right when conversing with others,
How the past can be so respected and valued through yearly traditions,

Italy…


By: V.S

The Italian Way

Round and round I’ve gone in my head, trying to find the precise words to describe taking part of an Italian tradition: the lifelong ritual of picking grapes to initiate the procedure of making wine. However, I soon realized this poetic business just wasn’t working out. The job was simple, and so my words must follow suit.

Plucking grapes may sound exhilarating and pictorial, but the truth is… it’s pretty straightforward and to the point. Grab some work scissors, get out there in the vineyard, and cut down those grapes. You can slash through the stems to get to the grapes, or you can sever a few fruit filled vines, leaving them for others to finish off. The outgrowth goes into baskets, which later will be collected and transferred to the bed of a tractor, soon to be driven off and put to wine-ly use.

It may sound like a piece of cake, but you can actually build up quite a sweat. There are no fifteen minute breaks. No air-conditioning offices to cool down in. No outdoor furniture to relax in. You arrive on a full stomach ready to work and you keep going straight-through till sundown.

You get tired. You get thirsty and hungry. Your hands get roughened and sore. You’re practically a human-buffet for the insects lining up waiting to have a bite at you. And yet… with it all is a sense of appreciation for hard labor. You get a feeling of pride as you use your hands to work. A notion of kinship grows amongst all of us who refuse to give in to fatigue. We seem content to be rewarded by two things. The scent of the grapes, which is so pungent and sharp one can almost taste them - the aroma is sweet and juicy, like a mixture of fruit and candy that lingers in the air. And by the overwhelming impression of satisfaction that seeps in after a long day of hard work.

As for me, I was no expert. In fact, it was my first time picking grapes. I sure hoped I was of help, although I’m almost certain I might have slowed down their party. But regardless of this, I was still excited because for one day, I got to do things the traditional Italian way.

By: V.S

I just love chickens

Baskets at the ready, waiting to be filled