After having filed my request for cittadinanza italiana (Italian citizenship) because of my nonni last year, I've been trying not to think too much about it, and just hoping that it'll magically arrive sooner rather than later. I was told the wait would be anywhere from a year and a half to three years. This week, however, I decided to pass by the Prefettura (Prefecture) where I filed for my cittadinanza italiana to inquire about its status. I was told that I could call Rome directly, but without my numero della pratica (file number), they couldn't give me any information over the phone. My suocero (father-in-law) has a friend who works at the Prefettura who said that I should go in myself to check up on my pratica (file) and get the numero della pratica.

A few weeks ago, I participated in the Notes to Heaven event in piazza Santo Spirito. The film student who organized the event for her first film with the same name asked to interview me along with a few other people to talk about losing a loved one. This evening, they showed the resulting film at the Odeon theatre for the Florence International Film Festival organized by the Florence Film School.

This morning when I opened the persiane (shutters) of the windows that face the Arno, I saw that it was gonfio (full). The sometimes slow-moving Arno was flowing steadily and quickly with muddy water. It was beautiful to hear the water rushing by. I kept my eyes glued on the mesmerizing Arno and watched the odd tree trunk floating by as well. Last Friday they opened up one of the dighe (dams) and the water seemed quite high. I took pictures, but at night it was difficult to make out how gonfio the Arno was.

A few of the streets in Florence have lights strung up between the buildings and many shops have already put in Christmas decorations in their vetrine (shop winows), but nothing announces the coming of Christmas for me like the annual Mercato di Natale (Christmas Market) in Piazza Santa Croce. Every year the entire piazza is filled with bancarelle (stands) that sell Christmas gifts, food, and even clothing.

At around 7 this morning while the sun was rising, I looked out our apartment windows where numerous podisti (runners) were heading toward Piazzale Michelangiolo for the beginning of the Maratona di Firenze. The sun was revealing a dark, patchy sky with very few rays of sunshine beaming through. Some of the podisti were jogging while others were walking toward the Ponte alle Grazie. Many of the podisti were already sporting plastic impermeabili (rain jackets) because rain was imminent.

I was told about this special event, Notes to Heaven, a few weeks ago through the Florence Film School. Francesca Casilli is a film student who is making a film on people who have lost a loved one. There was something about the idea that filled me with much joy even though I felt it was also a bit scary. The idea is that each participant write a note to a loved one, attach it to a red palloncino (balloon), and send it off to Heaven from Piazza Santo Spirito. To bring something so private out in the public enticed me quite a bit because I feel as if I have been grieving for so many years all alone.

I've been told that I'm quite American because I wash my hair every day. My parucchiere (hair dresser), Simone, tells me over and over again how it's not good for my hair, but I can't help it. It's one of those habits I can't seem to break. I talked with my Italian amiche (girlfriends) and found out that they go regularly to the parucchiere to farsi la piega (get their hair styled), so today I thought I'd indulge myself by going to the parucchiere just to farmi la piega (get my hair styled).

This morning I rode my bici (bike) from our apartment to viale dei Mille where I had an appointment. I haven't ridden my bici in weeks because of the rain and the cold weather, but today I figured I'd take it instead of walking. Viale dei Mille is outside of the mura of the city and I seem to lose my bearings quite quickly when I go outside of the centro storico (city center).

This entire week I've been wondering what I will write today. I have been living in Florence, and blogging about it, since this day for the past four years. Each day this week, I have been looking out onto the Arno, wondering about what makes me love living here. While I passed by churches and monuments in the streets this week, I asked myself what I appreciate about my beloved city. The beauty and magic of the city are obvious, but what is it that makes me feel that I have found a home here?

This morning when I went into the banca (bank) to deposit some cash, the cassiera (teller) informed me that one of my banconote di 20 euro (20 Euro bills) was falsa (counterfeit). "Come falsa? What do you mean counterfeit?" I asked the cassiera. I was a little embarrassed when a few of the people in the banca turned around after she told me the news. She held up the banconota falsa along with a real one for me to compare, and pointed out that it was really obvious just by looking at them.

I am not the only one who lives abroad who has felt that my country has left me disappointed and embarrassed at times. I had feared that the Republicans would win the presidency again, and like many other expats would have turned in my American passport if that were the case even though I do love my country. I have always loved what my country stands for, but the direction we have been going in has been painful for us all. Living abroad has opened my eyes to see the world differently. I finally saw how other people viewed the US, and how things are looked at differently by non-Americans.

At around half past eight last night, three of my girlfriends and I piled into a taxi as the rain was pouring outside. We were taken along the Lungarno to go to Saschall where the Election Night 2008, organized by the Tuscan American Association, was being held. When we arrived outside, we could already hear the music playing. We walked toward the entrance where there were two lines of carabinieri (military policemen) standing guard. We walked inside the building and were greeted by crowds of Americans and Italians.

After a rainy Halloween, the sun has reappeared to warm up the cool air for the festa di tutti i santi (All Saint's Day). Before I left our apartment this morning to do a few commissioni (errands), my friend Marco called to say, "Auguri! Best Wishes!" for the festa (holiday). He has a strong connection to Florence and would love to live here, but now resides in the north of Italy. Before he hung up, he said, "La porti un bacione a Firenze! Give Florence a big kiss for me!"

On Monday, a woman I had just met mentioned that the museo (museum) above the Orsanmichele chiesa (church) would be open until the end of October for a mostra (exhibition) that was being held there. I hadn't heard of this museo, so I was intrigued to go. I had made plans with myself to visit the museo one morning this week, but as the days went by I had completely forgotten about it. At around noon while I was walking home from the Piazza Repubblica today, I took via di Lamberti past the chiesa. I saw a man standing outside of the palazzo (building) and I was immediately reminded about the museo. I walked up to him and asked him how long the museo would remain open. "Fino alle cinque oggi Until 5 pm today," he said. I decided to skip my commissioni (errands) and head inside for a visit.

After a visit to my private specialist yesterday who handed me a ricetta medica (prescription) written on her notepad, I had to go to my medico di famiglia (family doctor) to get an actual ricetta medica today so that I can go through the public medical system. I prefer to see some specialists privately just because it's faster to see them, and I always get who I want. But, the only downside is that I have to always go back to my medico di famiglia to get a ricetta medica.