Brava, Valentine by Trigiani Adriana

Brava, Valentine by Trigiani Adriana

Author:Trigiani, Adriana [Trigiani, Adriana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-01-14T05:00:00+00:00


8

Be Careful, It's My Heart

AS THE PLANE DESCENDS INTO Buenos Aires, it dawns on me that my mother should be living my life. When she was thirty-five years old, she had four children, a husband, and a teaching degree that lay dormant like hyacinths in winter. The closest she would ever come to leading the life of an international jet-setter was listening to the rhythmic rumble of the airplanes over the old neighborhood in Queens as they made the turn to land at La-Guardia.

Mom was practically giddy at the airport as she helped me check my luggage. Whereas most normal travelers loathe the paperwork and lines, my mother revels in the boarding process. She counts on the helpful redcaps. She waits patiently as she takes her place at check-in where they hand you your seat assignment. She makes pre-boarding relationships, cultivating "new friends" on her way to "new experiences." My mother holds a boarding pass the way most people cradle a winning lottery ticket.

I peer out the window. Nightfall over Buenos Aires is a swirl of purples; the clouds dimpled with blue hold up a moon that looks like a silver pocket watch.

I planned an evening arrival in order to get a full night's sleep before hitting the ground running in the morning. The hotel arranged a car service to pick me up at the airport. The Four Seasons Buenos Aires is deluxe--and I would never have the means to stay there, except that Gabriel tapped into his Carlyle hotel contacts to arrange the deal of a lifetime (though I'm told bargains are the norm in Buenos Aires). I put on fresh lipstick, because you never know who you might meet. My mother once ran into Dr. Christiaan Barnard in 1975 and still moans that she "didn't have her face on."

I wonder what this trip will bring. Fourteen days to fill with possibilities. Will I meet anyone like Costanzo Ruocco--the great Caprese shoemaker--or the likes of the Neapolitan D'Amico sisters who make our shoe embellishments in Naples?

This time, unlike on my trips to Tuscany and Capri, I won't be distracted by a boyfriend who cancels at the last minute or a hot Italian who wants to step into the void. I won't be worried about Gram's welfare. I won't be concerned about my father's health or my mother's hope that I marry before she needs a facelift. I'm on my own.

When I'm working in the shop on Perry Street, I have to steal time to sketch new ideas, because building custom shoes takes up most of the day. There are also appointments with vendors and fitting sessions with customers. I lead a very structured life in order to meet my deadlines, but all of that changes when I travel. Time becomes my own.

If I want to sketch all morning, it's my choice. If I want to play with patterns on paper long into the night, I can. I have uninterrupted spools of hours on end to look at the world in a new way.



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