The change of seasons

There is a question that crops up every year twice a year, roughly around the end of April, and the end of September.

 "Have you done 'the change of seasons yet?".  Twice last week I was asked this question. Twice, I answered, "No, not yet."

When I first came to Rome, the question puzzled me. Didn't the seasons kind of change themselves? It generally provoked quite animated conversations among my female students. Eventually, I figured out that I was being asked whether I had exchanged my winter clothes for my summer ones in the wardrobe. Or, in the autumn, the summer ones for the winter ones. Again, I was puzzled. What was the big deal here?

Of course, I hadn't yet come across the words of the intimidatingly called website 'thinkdonna' (thinkwoman) which state "At each change of season, one of the thoughts we women have, is how to reorganise our wardrobes. The change of seasons starts in the wardrobe." There were no clear indications as to when the thinking woman should actually get close and personal with her wardrobe - a date would have been helpful.

More ominously, the words 'cambio di stagione' typed into my search engine threw up depressione (depression), stanchezza (tiredness),  sintomi stomaco (stomach symptoms), ansia (anxiety)  before coughing up what I was looking for armadio (wardrobe). Thus, my search suggested that the first area of concern when the seasons changed were health, and health problems. It was maybe not so surprising in a nation whose consumption of pharmaceuticals outdoes that of the French (allegedly).

I never fully appreciated what the whole 'cambio di stagione' was about until I witnessed it. I had been invited for dinner to an Italian friend's house. The flat was a long corridor, the various doors off it led to the different rooms. The kitchen, where I was headed, was at the end of the corridor. As I passed the open doorway of the dining room I stopped. 

"Are you moving?" I asked. Silvana hadn't mentioned anything about moving, but it looked like it. Piles of clothes covered the sofa and the large dining room table. The ironing board was set up in the corner of the room. Large plastic storage boxes were in various stages of being filled or emptied.

"No, it's the 'cambio di stagione'," she said and sighed. "I've been busy fot the last two days. Almost finished now," she added. 

The dinner began with 'tartine', another area of consternation as the word 'tartine' in French means sandwich and in my mind conjures up images of school day food such as 'tartine au sucre' (sugar sandwich). The 'tartine' on offer at my friend's were a type of 'appetizer.' Olive or anchovy paste was spread on triangles of rather tasteless and textureless white bread. Her partner walked in and said "Ooh tartine?! so who's the special guest?!" He picked up a wedge and stuffed it into his mouth in a single bite.

 As the meal progressed (fish after the tartine), I discovered that the change of seasons entailed taking out of their boxes the summer clothes, putting them in the washing machine, putting them out to dry (not many people have tumble driers in Rome) then ironing them and after that putting them in their wardrobes. She was cleaning and ironing for three here. Likewise, the winter clothes were also subjected to the whole wash, dry, iron and store in a box cycle.

Though according to 'thinkdonna', thinking women, whether they be housewives or others,, should also take the opportunity to clean the wardrobeand scour the drawers.


Years of childhood conditioning, in northern climes, make me wary. The expression: "En avril ne te découvre pas d'un fil; en mai, fais ce qu'il te plait." (In April, don't remove any clothes; in May, do as you please), will always stop me from wardrobe changes in April.

As this is the May day weekend I'll take the opportunity to pack up the winter stuff, all two boxes worth of it, and take out the summer stuff. If it smells musty, it'll go for a spin in the washing machine, other than that it'll go in the wardrobe. I may even dust (a bit).