Ordinary Magic | September 2024 | 02

Unexpected glimmers of quiet beauty + some lovely reads

In (and behind and around) this picture. My grandma’s old cooking apron still tied on my waist. One little girl running around the garden screaming “Another ooooone” whenever she spots a mushroom. One baby flapping her chubby arms about and digging her toes in the grass while chewing on dirt, squealing in delight. Golden beams of afternoon light casting a magical glaze over the garden. A moment of stolen peace during an otherwise frantic week.

Welcome back, wildflower.

I am glad you’re here once again. You find me in the garden on this windy Saturday of late September. I am listening to the voices of the trees. Every tree has her unique voice. The oak at the far end of the garden roars like ocean waves. The bendy olive trees hiss and whisper. The mighty walnut in front of our bedroom rustles like paper, but not the same type of paper as the Aspens down the hill — the Aspens sing like tissue paper, thin and silky. The walnut’s voice has the rougher texture of lightweight craft paper.

It’s been one of those weeks. You know, the ones where you put the cake in the oven without realizing you didn’t turn it on or make yourself a cup of tea pleased to find the kettle already boiled, only to discover you’re using the vinegar solution you boiled earlier to clear the limescale. That kind of week.

My eldest daughter and I have been taking “breathing breaks” these past couple of weeks — little pauses to check in with ourselves and each other when it all gets too much. She particularly loves the bumblebee — a nature-inspired technique from the yogic tradition, useful to calm an over-stimulated nervous system and promote a restful sleep. If you’d like to join our little “bee choir” before you start reading, this is how you do it:

1. Take a slow, deep inhale sending fresh air down down down into your belly.

2. Then exhale while gently humming like a bee — hhhmmmmm

3. Smile to yourself, it’s nice to feel a little silly, isn’t it?

4. Repeat as many times as you wish.

September 2024 | 01

Crystallized moments of bliss.

• A shared morning ritual. Flooding the room with daylight by opening the wooden shutters with one swift (and rather theatrical) motion is possibly my favourite way to start the day. This little ritual dates back to my childhood days, when every other weekend I would stay at my dad’s house amidst the paddy fields surrounding the south of Milan. Back then the view — red-tiled rooftops, rice fields, and balconettes filled with geraniums — was accompanied by the slightly off-key chime of the old village church’s 8 o’clock bells, a familiar tune that still echoes in my mind. As of two years ago, our windows look out onto the rolling hills of Tuscany and there are no bells nearby but —much to my daughter’s delight — we can often hear the occasional tractor clang-clanging along in the fields. Today I share this ritual with my eldest and it’s slowly becoming a cherished part of her day too. In the morning I tip-toe into her room, I draw the curtain as she rubs her eyes, and then I invite her — shall we say good morning to the world? With her sleepy body tucked safely on my hip, together we unlock the shutters, push them open, and pause for a few minutes to take it all in. Who are we greeting today, Babi? The mist. The yellowing leaves. The pink clouds in the east. The puddles left behind by last night’s thunderstorm. Nonna walking Zia Cana. Our dear pear tree. And then another day begins.

• Pluffins. So what do you get when you mix a stormy September afternoon, a recipe for vanilla plumcake, and a muffin tin? Pluffins. Much appreciated by sweet-toothed little girls, two-toothed babies, husbands, and builders alike.

• Step outside and take a look at the moon. This is the text I sent to a few girlfriends a few days ago, not knowing how it would land — some of them were probably putting their children to sleep, another had just had some bad news, others I hadn’t had a proper chat with in too long. I sent my message and then stepped outside to look at the moon. Red. Magnificent. So close I could touch her cheek with a gentle caress. When I walked back, there was a reply from each one of them — every woman had dropped whatever she had been doing to step outside and look at the moon for a few minutes. Each one of them had been needing that moment for themselves. Strangers, sisters under the same moon.

• An autumnal gift. Last Sunday, together with another beautiful visionary soul, we gathered a group of kindred spirits (Anne of Green Gables, anyone?) to celebrate the Autumn Equinox in a quaint casale among the Chianti hills. The aim was not so much that of welcoming the new season, but rather of pausing to savour the transition — a chance to linger on the threshold for a moment, to look back at the fading summer and give thanks for all that’s been, before welcoming stepping into autumn and planting new seeds. Seeing people joining wholeheartedly in the rituals we proposed, hearing them share intimate feelings and stories, and witnessing perfect strangers lean onto each other with trust, kindness, and compassion has been a most powerful experience. All of it with my baby Hazel peacefully nestled in my lap, enthusiastic about it all. And then, the moment I will remember forever: a young woman with kind eyes draws a little closer and offers Hazel an olive branch from our altar — “A sign of peace for you, little one…and to play with if you like. You’re sacred.” As she sits back down, the older woman next to her reaches out to pick another olive branch and, offering it to her kind-eyed neighbor, simply repeats her words: “A sign of peace for you, little one…and to play with if you like. You’re sacred too”. They hug in silence, tears are shed— especially by me. Once again —strangers, sisters.

Some words that touched my heart this week.
As you may have gathered, I have not had a chance to read so much this week and I have many pieces waiting in my mental “saved for later” folder. However, here are a few that made a difference to my week. And there is clearly a leading theme going on.

• I am so far from being a bestseller publication. Still it’s so easy for my mind to start spinning around like a flipper ball, bouncing around between fear, self-doubt, performance anxiety ,and imposter syndrome.

  Elin Petronella
  ’s piece finds me only couple of weeks after I told (to myself in the first place) my own truth about why I write in this piece, and I just nodded with a hand on my heart all the way through her words.

I became a Substack bestseller, then this happened

• I don’t get to

  Michela Griffith
  ’s charming words as often as I wish I would. To me, she is the undisputed queen of living with the season — she does it in the most inspiring, relatable, unpretentious, genuine way. And then she distills her impressions into words and photographs that take you along with her on one of her magical frolics.

The endless song of beauty continues

• Simple yet grounding tips to “to fall, and remain, in love with writing” from

  Molly Ella
  . I clearly am having lots of nudges sent my way by the universe about my writing and I am all for taking them, especially when they come with a generous dose of honesty, relatability and a sweet sprinkle of warm encouragement.

How to fall in love with writing

I hope this list inspires you to tune into the ordinary magic that surrounds you and maybe even note it down somewhere into a list of your own so it can bring you joy again in the shape of a glistening memory.

With love always,

Julia

As always, I would love to hear about what brought you joy this week — the “comments” space below is open for you to reminisce, cherish, and share.