Tag Archives: culture

Red, White, and Guns

reddirtlattes/ February 18, 2018

I am from Florida. Most of my family still lives in Florida. I want my heart to break for the school victims, I want to cry and scream, and it did and I do, but my heart can’t break much more because it’s already broken. It broke with Sandy Hook. It gave up with Sandy Hook. If little children dying

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You can’t go home again

reddirtlattes/ November 9, 2012

I keep thinking of Hilary Mantel, winner of the Booker Prize, twice. The New Yorker did a wonderful article on her in which she referenced an old belief that one must return to one’s own country within 10 years of leaving or risk never fitting in again (she lived abroad for 9 years before returning to England). We’ve been out

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reddirtlattes/ August 30, 2012

There are quite a few things that have surprised me here in Rome. Of course I come from a bias of NY Italians and the Sopranos, but I think the stereotypes throw a wide net. Here are some of my observations: I see more Romans drinking white wine, not red, even in the cold of winter. I wonder if this

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reddirtlattes/ July 10, 2012

As my sojourn in the states comes to an end and Italy looms closer every day, I find myself reflecting on all I will miss and the things I most certainly won’t. _____ Things I will miss: The diversity. Brunch. Endless hot showers in wintertime. Heated cafés and restaurants in wintertime. Considerate drivers (at least here in LA). Enormous playgrounds

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Warm milk

reddirtlattes/ March 21, 2012

Yesterday, I went to Korea. I soaked in soft mineral baths and steamed out a week’s worth of wine before following a tiny Korean woman into a wet room where I was placed on a table and for an hour and a half bathed. At first she scrubbed my skin with what felt like sandpaper, but there was no pain,

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Breaking bread

reddirtlattes/ November 2, 2011

I love how Italians eat lunch. The middle of the day is not just a stop to refuel, to grab something on the go, to get to the next point, it is literally in the Italian language a “pause.” You must pause, stop completely, rest. It was the same in Uganda. Day after day I would marvel at the locals

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The advice

reddirtlattes/ May 17, 2011

My husband was recently in Yemen for work. One afternoon, during lunch, an unnamed official from the Ministry of Education kindly offered him some help. You see the conversation had turned from work to life and the difficulty on spouses who are moved from home to home, continent to continent where they alone have to set up shop and maneuver

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Empire State of Mind

reddirtlattes/ May 16, 2011

I feel the pull. I think it started with a picture. Or maybe it was just a word. But the roots I felt were slipping, slowly untangling and shredding have found a concrete barrier and tug me back towards them. I don’t need much. Just a fix. Just to know it’s still there while we jump from place to place,

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Take a deep breath

reddirtlattes/ May 12, 2011

I am going to paint a picture for you. Imagine a small windowless room down a flight of stairs in a nondescript strip mall in the outskirts of Rome. Next door, to the right, is a pizza joint. To the left, a nail salon. In between these is an empty room that holds the flight of steps. Down this flight

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Problems of the privileged

reddirtlattes/ May 11, 2011

Kampala, Uganda I remember once when my husband (then boyfriend), who had just come back from Kenya, sat listening to me patiently in NY as I went on and on about my problems. Oh, I don’t even remember what I was upset about. I am sure I didn’t get a job I really wanted, or a neighbor was being too

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