Home Sweet Home

I must begin by apologizing for the recent lack of posts, but darn it I've been having too much fun back home in The Lone Star State!  I've been promptly attending cocktail hours, frequenting the hot tub in dad's backyard, relishing in the fact that I don't need a jacket here most days, catching up on the TV shows I can't get my hands on abroad, enjoying the blessed tradition of brunch, sleeping past 10AM, donning my cowboy boots at trashy honky tonk bars, reminding my taste buds of the glory that is queso (oh sweet Jesus how I've missed you!), singing along to American pop radio in the car, meeting friends at Austin-y hole-in-the-wall coffee shops -- it's been a busy few weeks, everyone!  I've reunited with family and friends from across the state and country, celebrated Christmas in 2 cities, had a tour-de-texas-comfort-food, and rang in the new year with my best friends.  Now I find myself in that interim period where all my Austin friends are back at work and I desperately need to catch up in my journaling.

probably why I've lost weight in Italy.

I've had a great time seeing my family, and I'm feeling incredibly at home in this region of southern hospitality.  It's an added bonus that here I can indulge in a bath, use wifi just about anywhere, and get away with finagling free drinks at bars.  None of that is really possible in Italy.  What's the old adage?  Home is where the heart is.  Or is it where your bed is?  Sometimes I think it's where your mom is, but not everyone has one.  Home seems to be what you make of it, because I find myself at home in the Woodlands sipping on wine at cocktail hour, in the Heights grabbing tacos and holding my friends' baby, in downtown Houston catching up over all-you-can-eat gnocchi, in Austin decorating cookies and crafting, at Kerbey Lane for brunch with my best buddies.  And somehow I'm missing Italy a bit already - my little room with the ghetto internet connection, the old ladies peering off their balconies, the riotous crowds at the marketplace, even having to put my clothes on the line to dry.  Yet at the same time I'm ecstatic to be back among my most loved people in the world in a city that just fits like an old leather glove.  So if home is where my heart is, then my heart must reside in several planes of existence, and several time zones, for that matter.

with friends at a country bar - just prior to line dancing.

I've come to realize that even when you leave what you consider to be "home," things still change.  People change.  Buildings go up, old hang outs are torn down, people move away or have new priorities - but some things never change.  In Italy I've struggled with the professional lack of hospitality in establishments, which is part of Northern Italian culture.  Yet once I met a few Italian friends I was immediately treated like family to an extent I'd never known.  This strange dichotomy of experiences in hospitality has both annoyed me and astounded me in the past few months.  Through a few conversations with old friends over the holidays, I've been given a new perspective on the idea of hospitality.

God bless tacos and homemade tortillas.

Simply having a personable waiter at a restaurant can drastically improve your overall experience.  Heck, someone smiling during a 2-minute transaction at a shop is priceless in the way it makes everything easier.  As far as service is concerned, Texas, and the US in general, has trumped Italy.  But look at our idea of hospitality in a more personal sense.  As Americans we expect proper notice and opportunity for planning before allowing someone in your house or meeting for dinner.  We don't like inconvenience and things need to be on our terms - we'd never offer our guest room to a traveler we just met on a train (reference to a desperate moment of mine while traveling near Milan in 2008).  It's just not part of our culture.  We're nice to people we just met, but strangers are kept at a distance - we'd never give an acquaintance's friend our apartment keys for a week (reference to offer by a girl I'd just met in Torino when my roommate's boyfriend needed a place to stay last minute).

old friends, new year.

Isn't it odd the level of trust required these days to let people into our home, into our lives?  Italy may have a poor level of customer service, but they're rich in hospitality.  And while I can feel at home in a restaurant or shop here in Texas, it's often possible to feel like you're inconveniencing someone when asking them to make time for you.  There are people who once made up your idea of "home" who now can't seem to make the time to meet for coffee.  But the true nugget of wisdom here, if I can even claim to be a blogging sage, is that the beauty of true friendship and family is that those who love you could be too busy for words but would happily rearrange their schedules, change their plans, drive out of their way, and do whatever it takes to see you and spend time with you.  And to me, that's exactly what home feels like, no matter where you are.