My Own Private Walden (Part 1)

When I was a little girl, about 9 or so, my teachers piled me and my classmates into a rented yellow school bus and shuttled us off to Walden Pond. What they assumed to be a life altering experience turned out to be a faded memory of boys teasing girls, grotesquely muddy shoes, and a stagnant small body of water which served as the catalyst for punishment, when bored little boys began throwing things in it.

What I remember most vividly was reading the book with such strain and anguish, being consistently reminded by our teacher how lucky we were to live in the same state as this historic cabin, noting time and time again that Thoreau was an “important man” and we’d appreciate this experience later in life.

Needless to say, the true meaning of Thoreau’s naturalist excursion into a simplistic existance of solitude, silence, and the importance of self-reliance were completely lost on a bunch of snot-nosed pre-pubescent punks – including myself.

It wasn’t until 2008 when I picked up the book again did I finally absorb its true meaning, and recognize the importance of taking that time to preserve the part of us we can’t see – our soul. Living in New York City, you become so completely detached from nature a trip to Central Park feels like a country outing (if you can secure the correct permits, mind you!), and the seasons only serve as a pesky intrusion mother nature forces on all of us, trying to thwart our immediate agenda.

Flash forward nearly three decades from my first Walden encounter, when I’m on a flight to Cleveland (yes, Cleveland!) in search of my own private Walden.

When one says the word “Walden” the first thing to come to mind is definitely not hot tubs and two-hour massages, but for me, that’s the impression it leaves now. Spa Walden, located in Aurora, Ohio, is essentially, heaven on earth.

I was greeted not with the challenge of building my own one-room shack by hand, but rather with mimosas, served with a smile. I was further greeted with fresh fruit in the room, jazz, and a glowing fireplace.

Now, you’re saying to yourself, I know it’s called Walden, but is there really a valid comparison here? Yes, I say! A recent study by the Wisconsin Medical Journal reveals that women who go on frequent vacations are all the better for it, happier with themselves and in their relationships. Talk about self-preservation!

In these tough times you may not, admittedly, have the cash flow for a spa. But of all the places I’ve been all over the world, Walden is a true diamond in the Midwestern rough. This is not Cleveland like you think of Cleveland. And you get more bang for your buck here than you could ever imagine. The hotel—gorgeously recently renovated, with a stunning and roomy bathtub for two featured in the center!—screams equal parts quality and romance. How many times have you walked away saying to yourself, “That was a lot of money, but I guess it was worth it…” Instead here you walk away saying, “I definitely didn’t pay enough for what I got! Shhhhh! Don’t tell anyone!!!”

I was very lucky to have secured a session with Wellness Coach Barrie Rosencrans, who, for the first time, told me that I could eat more!

Sound too good to be true – check it out and see. I dare you to commit to a full weekend of relaxation, strolls in an enchanted forest, horseback riding, couple’s baths, hour-and-a-half facials, and just loving life. In these troubled times, you can’t afford not to!

Welcome to My Che Bella! Blog

Hello and benvenuto. We all live such frenetic (if not insane!) lives, running every which way and then onto the next. This blog is meant to encourage all of us to take a deep breath, open our eyes and embrace the beauty in everyday things.

Why Che Bella!? Why not its English translation: That’s beautiful?! Ah, well…I’m delighted you asked. Allow me to explain.

As you’ve probably guessed, I grew up in an Italian household, embracing every aspect of its culture. My grandfathers, on both sides, were 100% Italian, with my mother’s dad from the Northern region (landing in the United States in early adolescence), and my father’s from Sicily. “Lentini” isn’t just my last name; it’s also its own province in the south of Sicily, and one of the very few not located directly on the coastline.

To say that everything Italian is beautiful is an understatement. It’s also lush and historical, romantic and – delicious. I can trace my childhood through the various stages of learning how to cook. My father’s mother was not Italian, she was Lithuanian, but her meatballs rivaled the best I’ve tasted anywhere in the world. My mother always says, “I had you making meatballs in your highchair!” and knowing her, I don’t doubt it’s the truth. I have the fondest memories of eagerly straining to stand tall next to my mother, measuring the ingredients with such care and accuracy, only to have her tell me, “Everything about great food can’t be measured…you have to have a feel for it…and a taste…you just have to know.”

The first time I landed in Italy was August 2004. I stayed at a hillside villa in a tiny town just outside Florence. I’ll never forget the way the flourishing, rolling hills, at every stage of the day, alerted all of my senses to what true beauty was all about. It was so natural and understated, yet simple. From the clarity of the golden afternoon, to the bats that visited the pool as the sun went down. Every second of the bel giorno, your senses are awakened and revived. That’s real beauty.

I’ve been to Italy every year since, and never, not once, tire of the experience. No matter how many menus you master, no matter how authentic your accent is, Italy itself is not something you can recreate anywhere else. It’s a lifestyle which, in my opinion, remains unable to be fully captured by American life. (Perhaps I should speak for myself -- my American life!)

That’s not to say you shouldn’t try! The best way to start would be with the food. (Why? Why not????!!) We all can’t be like my mother, and my grandma Eva, feeling the food to be sure it’s delizioso; for some, including myself, that feels like wizardry. What we can do is embrace recipes which appeal to our sensibilities, and avoid the stress – stress would be so anti-Italian!

I lifted the simple but fantastic recipe below from my favorite website: Dominomag.com. I’m sure we’re all mourning the loss of Domino – and while the website’s still up and running I wanted to post a recipe for a quick and tasty spaghetti with raw puttanesca sauce.

The Ingredients:

Serves 4
· ½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
· 4 garlic cloves, peeled and cut in half
· 6 plum tomatoes, chopped
· 5 anchovy fillets (about half a tin), finely minced
· ½ cup pitted black olives, drained well, chopped
· 1 tbsp. drained capers, chopped
· 4 sprigs fresh parsley, stems removed, chopped
· 2 sprigs fresh oregano, stems removed, chopped
· 1 tsp. crushed red pepper
· 1 package spaghetti (1 lb.)

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Meanwhile, place the olive oil and garlic cloves in a small bowl and let sit to infuse the oil. In a large bowl, combine tomatoes, anchovies, olives, capers, parsley, oregano and crushed red pepper. Stir well. Add spaghetti to boiling water and cook, stirring occasionally, until just al dente. (See package for recommended cooking times, then cook one minute less than lowest recommended time.) Remove garlic cloves from the oil, discard them and add oil to the large bowl. When spaghetti is done, drain it and add it to the large bowl too. Toss well. Serve immediately.

Worried about carbs? Supplement the spaghetti for a low-carb variation. I promise you won’t taste the difference. Now there are no excuses! This is such a simple recipe, and with a bottle of wine on a perfect spring afternoon, you’ll be living la dolce vita in no time.

But the biggest aspect of Italian living, is learning to slow yourself down. And sometimes it’s the hardest thing to do. Some slow themselves down by speeding themselves up, whether that’s via running, biking or their favorite treadmill. For others, yoga and meditation help strip away their daily stresses. For me, its my writing and charity work that keeps me centered -- and an annual jaunt to my favorite Tuscan town.

No matter what it is for you, always remember that we’re here to make the most of life, so it wouldn’t hurt to stop and smell the fiori once in a while, if not every day, as much as you can.

What brings out the dolce in your day? Tell me! I want to know -- sinceramente.