We landed in Rome on a Wednesday morning and took the Eurostar train to Florence.  A short cab ride later we were at our hotel, Il Guelfo Blanco, and taking our first showers in what felt like a year.  I quickly found out that despite phone calls before I left confirming that my ATM card would work in Italy…IT DID NOT.  So I had to keep a running tab with my friends, who provided me cash.  I did not enjoy this crippling of my independence.  BUT!  I did enjoy our first Italian dinner, at the Trattoria Za Za (pronounced by our concierge with quite a bit of flair–I imagined him throwing a hot pink boa over his shoulder as he confirmed our reservations).  My journal documents this first meal: artichoke, salad with prosciutto and pear, caprese salad, fettucine with pesto, pasta with truffle cream, pasta with boar meat (all pastas homemade OF COURSE), steak Florentine, Prosecco, and red wine.  Our waiter chased us as we left the ‘Zsa, carrying a tray with Limoncello shots.  Neon yellow and tasting vaguely of Comet.  On our walk back to the hotel, some soccer/football players complimented our mothers, saying they must be beautiful.  Weird, but a welcome alternative to the typical guy at a New York bar (“You’re hot.  Want to go home?”).  Thus began our fascination with being romanced by Italians, sincerely or otherwise.

My spiritual documentation is even more precious than the other memories.  As I write this, I’m just getting into The Time Traveler’s Wife (preparation for the movie, natch; the BF says it’s one for me and the girls, natch) and feeling a little like Henry while I sit here in 2009 and relive the exact same day last year.  Knowing now what I didn’t know then.  Sharing a moment with the Lord as we both smile at me a year ago, learning and trying and getting some things right and some quite wrong.  I think about how he does this every day–watching me walk and stumble, fly and crash, and loving me the whole time.  This entry is hopeful–I did just land in Italy, after all–and I write about being surrendered to his plan not because I’m out of options but because I really do trust him.  And that peace can only come from a choice like that, one made not out of fear but faith.  I love watching myself get that then.  And I love God’s infinite patience as I think about how I am still working on getting it now.