July 1
Giordano takes the computer for its upgrade, and we are hopeful that we will see some changes when we start it up again. In the meantime, we have lots to do in the garden.

I've had it with clipping lavender. There is so much left to clip, but after seeing Tia's gorgeous lavender, I'll just sit back and relax. Ours are just not ready to clip. So the two baskets over the kitchen cabinets will do just fine for now.

I am a little nervous about the challenge I made to Roy to come up with Sunflowers. He will probably snitch them on the side of a hill between our house and Orvieto. Tia tells us that this year there are hardly any sunflowers because last year with all the hot sun the crop was ruined and people don't want to try that again. These farmers actually get paid for producing a crop. We come across a florist who has sunflowers in the window, and I think Roy should stop here and pick them up. I don't want to have to bail him out of jail on Saturday.

We have to leave mid-afternoon so that Maria can come and clean, so drive to Amelia to Tia's to borrow four chairs and stop at Pinzaglia, the vivaio in Orte, to purchase little plants for an inside window box in the kitchen. After Saturday, the window box will be moved outside in the sun.

At Tia's, we visit in the kitchen. Their entire house is air conditioned. So of course it is cool; so cool that Bruce shows up for a quick hello wearing socks to keep his feet warm. He is a little tired, still, from his operation, but looks good.

We take a detour on the way back from Tia and Bruce's to go to the little plant shops in Sipicciano and Civitella D' Agliano. At Civitella we find a wonderful used pine folding table with benches, also in pine, for an incredible price of €50. We have been looking everywhere for large folding tables. This table looks so good that we may keep it on the terrace all summer.

Tonight the computer is back. Giordano is not ready for the upgrade yet. But while I write, over my shoulder is a big fat gorgeous yellow moon, sitting over a far hill. Roy calls Paola in Rome to ask her if she'll spread the word about Saturday's pranzo for the men at NonnaPappa and she tells Roy the moon is big there, too. Roy tries to tell me that based on the direction of the moon that the moon in Rome is bigger than in Mugnano. Yes, that's me, falling off the turnip truck.

Late in the day we move back out to the garden to work. I'm clipping lavender shoots, one by one, and Roy is working on the irrigation system and watering. It is a good thing that we have planned this big event at our house soon. If not, we would take all summer for these projects. Instead, we can enjoy the summer with the projects not hanging over our heads. But are we ever tired now!

July 2
I spend much of the day cooking. Arista (roast pork to be served cold) with a crust of macerated: finnocchio seeds, minced garlic, crushed pepper, sea salt and a little olive oil; homemade apple sauce flavored with brown sugar and Amaretto; potato salad; cocomero (watermelon) granita with Grand Mariner, made with an entire watermelon. There is enough to feed the entire town. Now if we can only find enough room in the freezer...

Then I organize the guest bedroom, sorting clothes and material and filing things away. I cut and pin the curtains that go with the tablecloths for tomorrow's party. They will be sewn tomorrow morning and used together as a table cover. We put up all the tables and try the cloths to make sure they will all work together. The plan is excellent, and we know we will have lots of room for everyone.

Roy spends the day in the garden on different projects and then cleaning up the loggia and putting new steps in to the loggia.

Sofi stays by my side sleeping for most of the day. It is too hot to move around too much. Before we know it, it is almost midnight and we fall into bed, almost too tired to sleep.

July 3
I have no idea what day I stopped writing before turning the computer over to Giordano. So I'll try to work backward, and reconstruct the days.

Roy wakes up before 6AM, but I am so tired I sleep until after 7. I think we are in good shape for the festa today, and sew the pinned fabric for one of the tablecloths. The fabric was originally intended as curtains to go below the kitchen sink, but we need cloths for three tables, and these together will make the third table. For some reason, I pinned but did not hem them, so iron them out and make a tiny edging on each one, giving us at least a foot more of fabric.

When I walk downstairs with Sofi in my arms, Roy has finished grilling the chicken that has been marinating in ziplock bags in the frigo all night. He then uses the aspiratore on the front terrace again, and lays out the rest of the tables. I place the tablecloths on them, and all of a sudden the whole property seems dressed and ready. The colors are beautiful.

I have really learned some valuable lessons from past events here. One is that women love to get together with other women and to meet new friends. Secondly, women love to bring something, to participate more than just arrive. That makes our preparation so much less stressful. And thirdly, plastic plates and cups and utensils make the event much less formal and much less stressful. As much as I despise plastic plates or cups or utensils, the dark blue heavy plates and heavy plastic utensils don't look all that bad.

Roy goes out for a few last minute things, and I make the caprese, this time with cherry tomatoes, tiny bocconcini (fresh mozzarella balls) and basilico. On a toothpick, first the cherry tomato, then a piece of fresh basil, then a bocconcini. We have a green and white ceramic platter, and are able to fill the platter with these tasty treats. So even if no one brings any food, we are prepared.

Roy returns with roses and wood polish, and gives a once-over to the long old wood counter in the loggia where the buffet will be set up. I finish the flower arrangements with roses and lavender and herbs from the garden and the new roses. Then Roy scoots me upstairs to get ready.

Just before 1PM, Duccio and Giovanna and Clara arrive, followed closely by Tia. Everyone wants to help, so Giovanna helps Roy put out cushions and I organize the food that starts to arrive. In another fifteen minutes we have more than twenty people, and the men leave...seven of them in two cars to NonnaPapa, meeting Renzo there for their own pranzo. Roy is joined by: Duccio, Augusto, Antonio, Renzo, Giovanni and Valerio.

Roy tells me later that on the way he tells Duccio that Renzo is the Station Master at Orvieto, and that his daughter is my violin teacher. When they get out of the car, just as Duccio is introduced to Renzo, he asks Renzo, "So, is your daughter the violinist?" Roy finds this very funny.

Back at L'Avventura, car after car arrive and park on the street below. I tell a few women that at 2:30 the bus will arrive and they may have to move their cars. No one seems to care. For now, coming upstairs to the terrace and presenting their dishes have the highest priority. And what presentations!

I have nothing to worry about regarding the food. I have made double recipes of homemade applesauce and potato salad, the little caprese, an arista (roast pork covered in spices and served cold) and a huge platter of chicken grilled in lavender. Prue brings her famous eggplant soup. There are marinated zucchini in a balsamic dressing. Marinated pepperoni. Tortas of all kinds, including: eggplant, onion, zucchini and more zucchini, egg and prosciutto. Then there are melons...at least a dozen, and a basket of huge juicy apricots. There is a very unusual rice salad, a tomato gratinee, a huge platter of sliced eggs, fagiolini, and other vegetables. There is a spicy South American ceci bean and hot pepper salad. Catherine brings hummus. A rolled cheese and egg dish arrives that is incredibly tasty. There is so much food arriving, that I am unable to remember who brings what.

And then there are the desserts. I made a chocolate cake and a whole watermelon worth of granita. But tortas and tortas and more tortas arrive. Ursula's with a cream filling and fruit slices displayed on top. Kenya's South American flan, rich and juicy. Nut tortas, chocolate tortas, tiny rice krispy chocolate covered balls, several kinds of ice cream in beautiful shades of pink and purple and green.

The variety and creativity of these dishes is beyond my wildest dream. I am sure I am forgetting something. But there is not one dish that is not excellent. The desserts are kept in the kitchen for now. There is so much food on the buffet that we have to move some dishes to other counters. Somehow we find places for everything.

Outside, people wander through the gardens and introduce themselves to people they have not met. We serve water and wine. By the time we are ready to eat, it is after 2PM. In an effortless way, the women enter the loggia and feast their eyes before filling their plates. Without forming cliques, people gravitate to the three tables and even the shyest women seem animated and full of fun. I stop to eat just a little, but am so happy greeting everyone that the food seems secondary. And I know there will be lots to eat later.

Giovanna wants to see the printouts of Bella, Ciao I have done. In addition to the Italian words, I have been able to find two English translations. She thinks one is close to the Italian, but the second one is very different. We sing a few words, show the papers around, but the conversations are so animated that it is an hour later when I walk up to Elena and put my arm around her. She tells me she has had too much vino, but is laughing. I take the words to Bella, Ciao to her and we sing the song together, everyone else chiming in at the chorus.

I thank everyone for coming and tell them how happy I am that they are here. I am standing to the right of Tiziana and put my arm around her. I then ask them to all join me in singing Buon Compleanno to Tiziana, whose birthday is tomorrow.

It is about 3:30 and I ask the women if they want to wait for the men to have dolce. No one wants to wait. They tell me the men will have plenty to eat. And then the women take the food on the buffet and bring it into the kitchen. With each plate one brings in, I hand her a dessert to take back out. And in the next ten minutes everyone is happily eating dessert. It is 4PM on the nose, and the front bell rings. It is Felice, and I greet him, announcing that it is Felice, our first man. Everyone cheers.

Felice is somewhat overwhelmed, but gives his funny royal wave and I ask him if he wants a drink. He wants coffee, so I go inside to make him some. While it is on the stove, I realize this is a perfect time for the annual photograph. So I ask everyone to go into the lavender garden, and try to show Felice how to take a photograph. He really wants nothing to do with the camera, but how can he refuse me?

We decide to line up on the stairs to the potato orto, and there are almost thirty of us. Even Luigina and Giovanna arrive just in time to have their picture taken. I sit on the first step in the front, next to Tiziana. I am not sure what happens, but Felice takes a photo. And then Mary Jane bounds out of the group to take a photo herself. In another minute or two, there are a few more photographs, and then it is time for more dessert.

By the time the men arrive, the women are all mellow. The men are happy as well, and it is time to bring out the granita. All together we have forty people, and there is plenty of room for everyone on the terrace. The weather has been very warm, but we have had breezes all afternoon. And overhead we have been sheltered by the caki tree and two large umbrellas. Luckily, no caki have boinked anyone on the head.

By the time the last guest leaves at eight o'clock, we are tired but so happy. I want to list the people, and thank them for being a part of this special annual event today:

Tia, Giovanna, Clara, Elisabeth, Catherine, Prue, Dawn, Mary Jane, Anne, Giada, Christina, Patricia, Paola, Silvia, Hermelyn, Luigina, Giovanna, Tiziana, Laura, Elena, Rosita, Giuseppa, Ursula, VIncenza, Leontina, Kenya and Pat. For the men: Duccio, Bruce, Antonio, Italo, Augusto, Tiziano, Giovanni, Renzo, Valerio, Enzo, Felice, Giordano, Bill, Ivo. And of course, Roy and Sofia.

July 4
I almost miss her email. Giordano is updating our computer system, and there is much confusion getting it up and ready. I did not anticipate not being able to write for a few days...

While I comb my hair in the bathroom, Roy takes a few steps toward me and asks me if I have seen Michelle Berry's email. I have not. She has an operable brain tumor, and will have an operation in the next days.

My brain goes into overdrive. I feel as though I am falling through a time tunnel. I seem to be looking down at myself falling, falling into Alice in Wonderland's well, not able to stand up. I hear a loud hum all around me.

Roy walks back upstairs and calls out the bedroom window. "Mario! MARIO!"

"Mario is here and is cutting the trees on the bank with his weed-wacker. I must go down to see what is going on." He refers to Mario Fosci, not Mario, our gardener. It appears that the Comune and the Universita have agreed to move forward to fix our ripa, or bank, and the first step is to cut down all of the trees. This is necessary because they cause the bank to move when they catch the wind and erode the bank. I am thankful they waited until after our festa yesterday to begin.

It is clear and warm outside. I want to walk to mass. Roy takes my fan from the car, in case it is very hot in the little church. He also comes up the stairs with a huge machete, which was sitting inside the cancello near the car. How did it get there? Did Mario fling it in when he walked by? But why? How did he think he would retrieve it?

We leave Sofi inside the house and walk down the front stairs to the path. Mario is there, sweating profusely, chopping each tree with his weed-wacker. Antonio is on the road below, supervising and keeping the downed branches and trunks near the side of the road and directing the few cars that pass by. Yes, it is his machete. But he did not throw it inside the gate. A mystery.

We walk up to the centro storico to mass, and I light a candle for Michelle. Inside the little box where the votives are kept are prayer cards for San Liberato Martyre, our patron saint. I take one to mail to Michelle tomorrow. It speaks of him as our benefactor, who gives blessings to all his people. I have faith that he will include her in his blessings on this day.

There are few people in the church. The rest of the "regulars" are either at the wedding of Felice and Marsiglia's grandchild in Bomarzo or at the beach. I stand at the door waiting for the priest to arrive, and Roy stands outside with Big Tonino, getting information about locations of the antique mercatos around Central Italy. Tonino sells antiques at these mercatos, and has a list of places and dates.

And then the big black motorcycle speeds up into the quiet piazza and it is Don Luca, dressed all in black with a menacing looking helmet. Roy walks up to him as he parks and asks him if he is Darth Vader. He smiles but does not understand. So Roy tells him Star Wars, and then he understands. This is pretty funny, considering Don Luca is a priest. I so appreciate little comedic events on this day to break up the trepidation in my heart.

Behind me, Lucia's strong voice helps me to speak loudly during the mass, and sing louder than is necessary. She usually sits in front, but comes late today. I think it is a sign that I need her. I feel her strength behind me, and isn't that what it is all about? These people in the church speak and sing clearly and loudly during mass. When one of us is not feeling strong, the others' voices are at once calming and reassuring. I ask Roy for his handkerchief, wiping the tears that want to spill out of the corner of my right eye.

After mass, Norena asks where Roy is, and we see him walk toward us, down the few steps from the church. I am already standing outside with Tiziano. Norena asks him about his machete, and tells us she found it on the path when taking her walk early this morning. She flung it into the parcheggio, thinking it was Roy's. A mystery solved.

As we start to walk home, we see Luigina arriving at the piazza wearing a black dress . We ask if she is going to the wedding, but she is not. About twenty minutes later she rings our bell, and arrives with Antonella to collect donations for next year's festa. Another mystery solved. They have already collected quite a bit of money, and of course we give more.

We are sorry there will not be a festa in August, but the paving of the centro storico will take place instead. And that is a good thing. The receipt is made out to Ivana, so at least Antonella knows me as more than just "Signora". When the men come to collect, the name on the receipt is always Diner.

I am so often called "Signora" by the people of the village that I now answer them with a smile and say, "No Signora, Ivana!" This is the closest I can come to an Italian name. And today, Valerio calla me Sofia. Does he call Sofi Ivana?

Below us, Mario and Antonio continue cutting the branches and trees. They tell us their responsibility is only for part of the path, and that the Comune owns the rest, but they will cut all the way down the path. We are very fortunate that these young men are so resourceful and hard working. More than that, they are kind.

We hope that their parents are proud of them. We surely are. This village is in good hands, we are sure. Later we walk up to the village and see a notice from the Universita that in July members can order firewood, which will be ready on July 23rd.

We have invited the couple from Norway who bought a little apartment on Via Mameli. The woman is May, pronounced Mai, such a funny name in Italia. Mai means "never", so she will have fun introducing herself. We pass by on our way home from church, and they are outside on their balcony in their bathing suits, sunning themselves. It is such a strange sight to see in Mugnano. But May seems very sweet and shy. We look forward to spending a little time with them later and to meeting their teenage son.

I wait on the street outside our house and Roy goes up to get Sofi, the camera, and a few bottles of water for Antonio and Mario. Sofi races down the path toward me, and I love seeing her. She is truly my companion, following me from room to room, waiting in the chair or below the desk for me while I write. I take a few photos...one I especially like shows Roy in his straw hat, looking down at the tree cutting with San Rocco behind him.

Roy makes coffee, and I ask him if we can have breakfast outside on our new pine table. He raises the umbrella, and we sit there under the caki tree when, "Boink!" a caki bounces hard on the table and pops off onto the gravel. Last night, more than twenty caki dropped from the tree. Do we need hard hats for guests who come to visit this summer?

It is almost noon, and perhaps we will not have pranzo. We eat huge apricots, brought to us yesterday, with a few grapes and cherries. Fruit tastes so delicious when eaten outside under the shade of an umbrella, gently soothed by the venticielo (little breeze). Along with the coffee we each have a slice of Marsiglia's morning cake. It is quite good.

Mario and Antonio stop for pranzo, and we do not know when they will return. Their work is a good start, regardless of next steps. When Roy encountered Mario at the beginning of his cutting, he asked Mario if he would save the row of Iris, meandering down the path. I moved these Iris two years ago from our garden, separating them and replanting them on the path. Mario tells Roy that he loves the Iris, and will not disturb them. So for now they are safe.

We have no idea what the Comune and the Universita have planned, but for now the whole front of the property is open, and there is a clear view of our pomodori garden and of San Rocco. Roy reminds me that he will need to keep after the weeds growing on the front wall in the far property. No matter the next steps in this project, we want to be the best neighbors possible.

When walking the garbage tonight, we walk up to the piazza in the centro storico and Roy sees a notice from the Universita. It is time to order firewood, and on Tuesdays and Fridays for an hour each day orders will be taken in the square. Wood will be ready on July 23rd and will be sold at the price of €40 per metro stero.

So THAT is why they decided to cut the trees today. And also that is why they decided to cut all the way down to San Rocco...We will be buying our own firewood! Well, not our own but the wood from the trees right in front of our house. Perhaps they should just stack the wood at our house now....

July 5
Yesterday afternoon, May and her husband and son Kris, came for a visit. When asked why Italy and why Mugnano for this family from Norway, May tells the story that she always had a dream of living in Italy. Circumstances made it possible, and she researched Italy, finding a little place in Mugnano as one of the places she chose to pursue on the internet with a site hosted by our Norwegian friend, Oysten.

Oysten, has a web site also in Norwegian, so he met her and helped her to make her decision to buy here. They will be here another ten days or so, so I offer to cook with her some time soon. Perhaps next week we will get together again. She has great spirit, and they are a very nice family. We will surely see them again.

Today is really hot, so I stay inside after a little morning weeding and rose deadheading. I am able to finish several sewing projects that have been waiting for my attention for a long time. In the meantime, Roy sits with Giordano to figure out the new upgrade to our computer system. Earlier Roy worked on the weeds on the front path. Now that all the trees have been cut, the wall all the way down to San Rocco is clearly visible.

Later, Roy goes online to check our bills and finds out that we have been paying an exorbitant amount for our ISP since the beginning of June. We signed up with a company in Canada over two years ago, because they did not have roaming charges, but all of a sudden they changed their plan without letting us know. So we are a little frantic. We are trying to find out information on ISPs locally, since this roaming issue is probably a big problem.

After some research, in which Roy is unable to find a phone number for our cellular carrier, he calls TIM. Not only does the person we speak with speak English, but the technician speaks English as well. Sounds good to us. Before an hour is up, we are connected with a new ISP.

We did cancel our plan to sign up with the local telephone company for a satellite hookup program, because the plan is not compatible with the Mac. We suppose we could switch to our PC, but prefer to use the Mac.

Ned and Jean are expected here for pranzo tomorrow, on vacation from Boston, so I've cooked another Arista, this time a small one, and made two new recipes. One is for zucchini and mint and the other is for red peppers. Both marinate in wine vinegar, and look beautiful. We'll see tomorrow how they taste. We intend to not serve anything hot for this meal, and all three dishes will be served at room temperature. They will spend tonight in the frigo and we will take them out in the morning.

Tomorrow night we are expected at Ursula's for cena, along with Elizabeth and Giada and their children. We hope Diego and Luciana will be back in time to meet Giada. Giada wants to see the castello, and she surely will like Diego. It is difficult not to like this kind man. Elizabeth has been to the castello before...We celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary mass there a couple of years ago, and Elizabeth and her two older sons joined us then.

While waiting for Stefano to arrive, Roy and I hang the three black metal lanterns in the caki tree on the front terrace that we purchased from the castle at Galeazza some months ago. He has a great idea of putting sand in the bottom of each lantern, where the little glass globe holding a wick and citronella will be sunk. They look wonderful. Tonight we will have prosciutto and melon and try Antonio's wine by candlelight on the terrace.

Stefano arrives after 6PM to add a row of bathroom tiles. He insists that we not pay him, although he stays for almost an hour. He is going to be a father of a girl in October, already named Corine. We miss not seeing him and share "auguri's" because of our new grand daughters.

Felice also comes by, to tell us the wedding of his grand daughter on Sunday was wonderful. She and her new husband are both from Bomarzo. Tonight Roy and I talk about the closeness of Italian families. We don't hear much about young people rebelling against their families and moving away. This bride is in her early thirties, and marries after a five year engagement. We hope to meet her one day.

The lights on the terrace are lovely, Antonio's wine is excellent and we sit outside listening to the sounds of night until we are just too tired and come in to bed.

July 6
We sleep soundly and arise to warm breezes. Today will be a hot one.

Tiziana is late for my lesson at her school in Orte, and soon after we begin students start to arrive for a 10:30 class. I am not used to so much confusion, but Tiziano gives me all her attention and we do exercises together on the scales. These are new exercises aimed at building confidence in both my bowing and fingering. I like the exercises very much and look forward to practicing.

Speaking of practicing, I tell her straight off that I did not practice this past week. She puts her hand on her hip and replies, "Bravo." Huh? Later, when I have mastered a difficult bowing exercise, she tells me "Bravo!"

I answer by telling her that I don't know if I should believe her or not. She replies that "Bravo" and "Bravo!" are two different words. It is all in the inflection. I am not confused this time. The Italian mannerisms and manners of speech are becoming more natural to me. I take this in stride.

After the lesson, Roy and Sofi bring me home to get ready for Ned and Jean. They arrive right at 1PM, and for the next five hours we eat and drink and then eat some more. There are five courses, starting off with spumante and dry crackers, followed by prosciutto and melon and Orvieto Classico.

Then an enormous antipasto with salame, celery, olives, marinated green peppers with capers, marinated red peppers with oregano, marinated zucchini with mint. This is followed by arista (cold sliced pork made last night) and homemade applesauce served with Antonio's red wine and Trebbiano white from Colle Amerini. Then peaches in red wine served with orange cookies.

We take a break and they get a tour of the garden, and we walk up to the centro storico, stopping to greet Italo and Leontina on the way up, Gino in the village and Giuseppe on the way back.

Just before they leave we finish off with tall glasses of cocomero (watermelon) granita and more cookies.

We loved meeting Jean and spending time with Ned, talking about their trip and their family, and would love to see them here again with their three children. Ned is a remarkable man, whose compassion shows in everything he does. As my attorney in Boston, he has shown strength, resolve, and an ability to see my family issues clearly. I respect him more than I can say. The lawsuit is not discussed on this day, but I cannot help looking at him across the table and thinking how fortunate I am to know a man as principled and kind as this man.

Ned and Jean drive off, and we get ready for dinner tonight at Ursula's house in front of Diego's castello. Elizabeth calls, and she has just been called to work the night shift at the hospital. She and Giada and their children will not join us. Giada cannot come either. Since the purpose of this dinner is to give a tour of the castello to Giada, I'd like to cancel, but we feel sorry for Ursula. She has been cooking all day. So we pick up Clara in Bomarzo and go anyway.

Ursula's taste is very French, and she has painted the outdoor chairs a light pink, and set a beautiful table with checked tablecloth and deep blue dishes and glasses. Her roses are all in their second bloom, and wind around the iron portico where we will have dinner.

She takes us to her vegetable garden in back, where she has strewn wildflower seeds, and I imagine being in a garden in Provence. The look is rustic and romantic. She even has a grape arbor over a little summer table in the rear of her little house. The whole effect is really charming.

She invites a neighbor, to bring the number of people back up to 6. Nino is also there, an Egyptian-born Italian who loves to stir up controversy. He has been her off-an-on romantic interest for all the years we have known her. With Clara and Roy, we make up a complete table.

The neighbor turns out to be a woman who has nothing good to say about anything. We are her favorite stepping-stones for the dinner. She tells the other people at the table that they should not cater to our English language. In fact, we should only speak Italian, and if we do that, in a year we will speak it well. She turns her head to look at the other people at the table, ignoring us. We speak as much Italian as we are able, but Clara and Ursula continue to translate things we do not understand.

This rudeness is compounded by Nino's grandstanding. He tells Clara, a German woman who has lived in Italy for over 30 years, that his heroes are Hitler and Stalin. He thinks Mussolini was a waste, because he could not stand up to Hitler. We are thinking we have Howard Stern at the table.

I am sitting to Ursula's left, and she seems to be preoccupied in thought. Earlier she heard that her daughter, Serena, cut her finger on some kind of kitchen machine at the hotel in Provence where she is working for the summer, and was just told that she must stay out of work for a second week until her finger completely heals.

Ursula thinks she will come home tomorrow for a rest. So we imagine she is not paying much attention to anything that is going on. Diego and Luciana come up the drive after we arrive, but are too tired to join us. They have just returned from a visit to Serena.

We can hardly wait to leave, and make the excuse that we have left Sofia alone for too long. On the ride home, we have a new appreciation for Clara, who turns out to be a very sincere and intelligent woman, sensitive and yet direct. We discuss the scene, and all agree that we are pleased that the three of us were able to spend time together.

July 7
It feels good to sleep in a little. We are still up and dressed at 8:30, but today there is no rush. After checking on the garden and watering the hydrangeas, we get coffee in Bomarzo and drive to Viterbo to speak with someone at ENEL about rerouting the electrical connection to our house and burying an electrical pole across the street that is right in our view from the terrace.

We were told the last time we came that someone is only there to speak with us in the morning, so this morning we are met by a young woman who sits us down and tells us it will cost "a sack of soldi" to accomplish what we want to do. She agrees to call a technical expert and we wait while she has a conversation with him. While she agrees with him and we hear "a sack of soldi" again, it dawns on me that we need a reason other than aesthetics for why the line should be buried.

I tell Roy that perhaps we should speak with Pia, who owns the property across the street, and see if she can help us come up with a good reason. In the meantime, a person who we hope speaks a little English will call us to make an appointment to survey the situation. We want the electrical to come to our house from the street above us, and electrical is visible on the side of Gino's house, so we don't think that will be a big deal. We will see.

We shop at Ipercoop and get some real bargains on food. We don't need much. There are still plenty of things left from the party. And yesterday's arista is still excellent. We have so much zucchini that I will sauté more late this afternoon and marinate it in wine vinegar. That recipe is really good, and the zucchini keeps at least for a week because of the vinegar.

Roy fixes the shower and redrills holes in the new bathroom tile for the shower bar. He is really good at these projects. It is good to have the shower back working again.

These days, we lay low in the middle of the day, because it is very hot outside. We do not have pranzo outside, opting instead for a meal in the cool kitchen. I think the lavender will be ready to harvest soon, and then we will have baskets throughout the house. Now at night we can smell the scent of lavender coming through our bedroom window.

Roy makes an appointment with Irina for Sofi to get her clip tomorrow, and we'll leave early to go to the allevamento near Lake Bracciano.

July 8
We travel to the allevatrice (breeder) near Lake Bracciano, so that Irina can give Sofi her summer haircut. We take a picture of Sofi with her mom, Palmira, and play with the other Basottos while Sofi has her bath and clipping. Irina, the groomer, is holding Palmira.

Afterward, we drive north and west to Cerveteri, a famous Etruscan town, and eat on a loggia overlooking the town. I eat Rombo, a wonderfully fleshy white fish, and Roy eats his usual Fritto Di Mare. This time, there were plenty of little fishes, and Sofi sat at our feet crunching on fish heads that Roy fed her under the table.

Roy's pasta was remarkable in its simplicity. I want to try to make it with good olive oil, a clove of garlic that is taken out of the pan after it is sautéed, crushed tomatoes and fresh basilico just before the pasta is added. The predominant taste is the basilico, fresh and heady without the starchy taste so prevalent in red pasta sauces. And of course fresh grated cheese. I think the Americans put too many things into their pasta sauces, turning them into a mélange that has no real taste. We will see.

We drive to Sasso from Cerveteri, and I remember the town from Carol Holding, because she attended a wedding there in a castle. We found a Borgo Sasso, and a closed gate, but no castle and no real Sasso, although there were many meandering streets with wrong way signs. I think we need to return to both places and do some walking tours.

On the way home, we call Tony and Pat, and invite them and their kids and grandchildren who are visiting to come by for granita. The weather is very hot today, and they probably spent much of it in their pool.

They arrive an hour or so after we get home, and we have fun getting to know them all. They have a wonderful family, and a grandson who will spend a year in Rome in an exchange program with SMU. I think he will be a sophomore this year and will come to Rome as a junior.

One caki boinks Diane right on her chest, and she sits back with a start. This is the only direct hit this year so far. It is getting dangerous to sit there, unless the umbrella is open. I think the tree plans the drops, and took a liking to Diane. Not a good idea. Her husband, Tom, is an attorney.

While doing the tour of the garden, we encounter the usual beautiful butterflies, or farfalle, and Tom and Pat seem to know the names of most of them. They love the sweet nectar from the lavender buds, and often compete with the bees.

Tony is a funny man and Pat a delightful woman. We look forward to getting to know them. For now, we spend much of the visit hearing about their challenges, many of which we've experienced. It seems so long ago that we were green around the edges here.

The more time we spend here, the more I think it is truly a paradise come true. Tonight, after Roy turns a sprinkler on the lavender and we eat melon and prosciutto and a glass of wine, we walk up with Sofi and meet all the neighbors.

On the way back, we take Sofi over to see Lucia and Augusta, who are on the bench across from Giustino's house. Lucia loves dogs, and talks to Sofi sweetly. I tell her that Sofi went to Bracciano today for a haircut but that she is a true Italian dog, born outside Rome.

Roy chimes in, "Can't you just tell by her long Roman nose?" Of course we all laugh and Sofi races Roy back to the gate and up the stairs as the sounds of caki boink-ing on the table below reverberates over our heads.

July 9
The wind whips through the valley and our gauzy curtains fly through the air like ghosts dancing about. We close the west-facing window to the bedroom and still feel a kind of hot-breathed vortex coming in from the south, pretending to take us off to Oz as the birds stand as sentries and tell us to hold on.

Below us on the street, Brik and Ubik growl at each other and Pepe stops them from getting into a real row. There is a storm brewing. For two days we have had clouds, and on this day we think there will be a major uprising in the sky. We feel there are warnings all about.

Instead we greet the day with sleepy smiles and drive off to Terni for multiple tasks: Sofi's annual injection at the vet, Roy's meeting at Toro regarding our auto insurance renewal, a trip to the big vivaio to look for a portable rain-bird and then return by way of Amelia to drop off four borrowed chairs from Tia and Bruce. We never get to the vivaio.

Roy leaves Sofi and me at the vet for the customary hour or so to wait, while he drives to the Alfa dealer to check on our insurance renewal. We watch a Terra Nova (Newfoundland) getting sheared like a sheep. He is enormous, and so much hair is shaved off that it could make a warm fur coat for winter. The dog sits and slobbers, making no indication that it even knows what is happening.

When we see Dottoressa Luciana for Sofi's shot, I tell her I am afraid of the pain and she tells me she is afraid of Sofi's toenails. I tell her that yesterday they were cut, as a present for her. The last time she cut Sofi's nails, there was a real mess. Sofi's nails are black, so there is no way to tell how short is too short. The shot is easy, and before we know it it is over. Sofi never knew what happened.

Back at home, we have a case of big peaches (20 of them) sitting in little seats in a mini orange crate on the kitchen counter. This is a good way to buy them here. They do not get bruised this way, and seem to ripen more evenly than if we picked them individually and put them in a bag.

Today is the day to make peach granita. So over the kitchen sink I use the vegetable peeler to take off the skin and cut and then puree the peaches. Separately, I heat sugar water with a good dousing of Amaretto until it boils and the sugar disappears. It cools on the kitchen window and mixes with a tray of pureed peaches, and about a half lemon squeezed.

That mixture sits in the refrigerator for an hour, and then is slid into the freezer in a big tray. In a few hours, we take the tray out and "fork it" until it crystallizes. Then it can go back in the freezer and will keep for a few days. It is a messy job, but a rewarding one. When I taste the finished puree, it needs more sugar than the watermelon granita did...a lot more. When all is done, Roy still favors the watermelon granita. They are both terrific on a hot day to cool down.

Giordano lets us know that he has a new job in Attigliano for an editing house, and we invite him over for his favorite chocolate cake, which I make especially for him, sending him home with what is left. He comes with his cousin, Lauren, and we have a good visit.

When they leave, I fertilize everything in the garden, and Roy follows me with the hose and wand. In the midst of it all, I remember that we have not yet ordered the firewood for the winter, and think tonight is the last night to order it. So we stop what we are doing and walk up to the piazza, only to find that we have until the end of the month and on Fridays the appointed time is earlier in the day to order.

No matter, we come home, water a little more, and then sit out with cocktails to enjoy the sunset. It is another lovely evening, with plenty of breeze. Last summer's oppressive heat wave has escaped us...for now.

We forgo the customary prosciutto and melon for cocktail food. Roy makes me a Smirnoff and tonic with a lime bought today at Pianeta in Terni. This is my first of the summer. And have I told you I have not had one migraine since taking the new medicine?

We take our customary walk to the garbage, and let Sofi off the lead to run down to see Bastia at the bus stop. Men are gathered there, and the customary sniffing goes on. It is after ten PM, but everyone is out. This is a friendly village, and the same folks sit in the same places every night.

Tonight is the start of a weekend, and Giovanna and her relatives and Luigina also join the group. There are about fifteen at the bus stop and another six or so in front of Leondina's. We make up the social group in what Roy refers to as "Mugnano Basso".

Sofi is careful to stay away from the black and white cat, but otherwise has a good time with everyone. She is still off the lead when we walk home and up the path. Sofi is becoming an adult dog. We no longer have the kiddie gates up on the stairs or in front of the living room door. Her sweetness remains, and we continue to be thrilled with her.

July 10
Mario and Antonio are working on the front bank at just after 7AM with the weed-wacker, a machete, and lots of gusto. By the time we walk outside just before nine, they have taken down almost a truckful of tree limbs. The bank really looks dangerous now. It is a good thing that it hardly ever rains in Italia in the summer time, because whatever bank is there would be washed away with one big storm.

Here are the before and after photos, showing how the path looked before with the trees and after with a bare bank.

Later in the day, when Roy comes back from errands, he follows Francesco up the hill. Francesco, who is our local policeman, stops and stares for a long time at the bank. There is no way that he or the sindaco can think that we were crying "wolf!" now.

July 10
Tiziano comes by at 9AM for coffee and a speaking lesson. We sit outside at our new table. This is our new gathering spot. In addition to taking most of our meals there, it is a good place just to sit, with privacy and also a very good view of the valley.

We talk some about the War. That is, WWII. Because Roy and I read so much about Italy during that time, we want to know from the villagers what life was like here then. After a little while, Paola also comes by, and we have a good time.

Tiziano tells us a story about his grandfather during the war. He was a soldier for about seven years. During that time, he was sent to Africa, and also to Lebanon, near Tobruk. On one of his assignments, he became friendly with a simple man who could not read or write. So Tiziano's grandfather wrote letters for his friend to his friend's wife, and read the letters back to him when they came.

After awhile, he received a letter that he could not easily explain. The man's wife told him that she thought of him so much that she became pregnant. "Is this possible?" the man asked him. "I don't know", was the only response he could give. He did not want to be the one to tell his friend how the wife became pregnant. This is one of many stories of the War, but we want to know about Mugnano.

Tiziano tells us that because Mugnano is not a tall hill town, it escaped the wrath of many Germans, simply because it was not easily spotted then. Now it can be seen at a distance from the A-1, but at that time, the closest bombs were dropped in the valley near Orte. One old woman was killed, from a piece of a bomb that careened up into the village. Otherwise, the village escaped direct fire. We were told that Nazis took over our house, and imagine a Nazi flag flying from the flagpole. But we do not know for sure.

There was a tunnel from the Orsini castle to the medieval tower, but that has been walled up. We think that people of the village hid in the tunnel during bombing raids. I wonder what the older Italians think of Germans and Americans coming into their towns and villages. Do they flash back to the time of war? We are told that the Italians want to forget the war. So stories are not passed down. We will try to find out some stories, anyway. Tiziano is more interested in really old stories from Etruscan times, but any of these stories are interesting to us.

Roy wants to go to the newly constructed amphitheatre in Attigliano tonight to see a rhythm and blues group. There is a poster announcing it, but no time is given. I agree to go later and we drive up around 9:45. There is a man standing on the stage guarding the instruments. He has no idea when the concert will take place. A local policeman on a motorcycle has no idea, either. So we drive to the Oktoberfest pub for a beer and to see Kenya instead.

Kenya comes out to sit with us and speak about life in South America. She and her husband will move to Rio in September, and we will miss them. We are just getting to know them and like her a great deal. We agree to go with her to a wine festival in Vignanello on August 8th.

On our way out, we meet Paola, Antonio, Fulvia, Mario, Carla's son and his girlfriend. We finally learn the significance of the words "metro stero". The size is approximately five quintales (500 kg.) and it is stacked,

horizontally, then vertically, then horizontally, and so on. But in this way, there is plenty of air, causing it to dry faster, so it is different than buying a cord of wood. We will order two on Tuesday, and that should get us through the winter.

Roy thinks that the wood will be dry enough to burn this winter. We will pay €80 for what we paid &ero;150 for last year from a man who lives in Orte, consisting of two metro steros, or ten quintale.

We come home and it is very cool tonight. We look forward to a good sleeping night. July 11
Roy thinks the Daily Journal should be called, "In search of an editor".

We wake up to a cool day, and drive up to church. Sitting inside, we turn around when people enter, and I am struck by the fact that we behave like the old Italians. When someone we don't know comes in, we look them over as if to say, "Who is THAT?" Was it only a few years ago that we were on the other end of all that staring?

There is a roar of an engine, and it is Don Luca, pulling up into the piazza and getting off his big black motorcycle. Today, he has on light colored sport shoes, and this looks funny with his black levis and black shirt and glossy black hair all askew. But when we see him standing at the altar, the shoes look just right.

After mass, I chide Leontina, who wants me to give her a big kiss. I ask her why she has not given her sister, Marsiglia, a kiss, and she tells me that she did that earlier. Marsiglia is old news to her.

We drive home and pick up Sofi and then drive to Spoleto. Today there is a mercato there, and we think it will be crowded, because the music festival will continue for one more week. For some reason, we keep missing this festa, but will surely attend another year. This year, it is back to the Umbria Jazz Festival in Perugia. Mitch Woods will play, and we'll meet him for pranzo later this week before his afternoon show outside the Brufani Palace.

I really want to go to see Ahmad Jamal, who is one of my favorite musicians, but his show is at midnight, and that makes the whole thing very complicated. We'd have to stay over, find a place for Sofi, etc, etc., not to mention the cost. So we'll ask Mitch if he will meet him. I love his piano playing, and even more, his talent for arranging. I think that is a special skill, and Ahmad has that in spades. His CD, Ahmad Jamal at the Pershing is one we play often, year after year, and are never tired of hearing it.

Spoleto is not all that crowded, amazingly, and we find a place to park near the mercato. We only pick up a small picture frame and a few napkin rings, but like the experience very much. We see some of these same people at the Pissignano mercato, and the woman who sells us the napkin rings tells us that the Pissignano show has really grown since its beginning around 1990. We will greet her next time we go.

We eat at DaPiero, where we eat when we go to Spoleto, and everything is excellent, as usual. Roy loves the castrato, and shares some of it with Sofi. I love the grilled vegetables and also the simple pasta with pomodori. We come home to eat dishes of peach granita, and once it has melted a little has a really complex taste. It is worth all the fuss.

Just as we arrive home, it starts to rain. This is a strange occurrence for summertime in Italia, but it does not last, and when we go out to water later there are hardly any drops on the leaves. We are thankful, because our front bank is precarious, and we don't want to think of what will happen if it really storms.

While Roy waters and I deadhead roses, we are able to look closely at all our plants. It is funny that some things thrive, while others die off. And now, the roses are getting a strange white coating, which means spiders and other animali, and tomorrow morning I will spray if there is no wind.

But the old plumbago is ready to flower. So the focus of the garden moves from one area to another as the summer wears on. Next week we will cut the lavender. Felice wants us to have Mario cut it, because it will take him only an hour. For me, it will take days.

Yes, we have become creatures of habit. We eat that old prosciutto and melon thing for dinner with a glass of wine again. The melons taste better and better. Under the stars, with the silence of the valley broken by only two cars leaving the village as we eat, Roy muses that at 50 cents a car to pass by, we would not make much money if we set up a toll booth below our house.

Tonight's walk is a quiet one, with Baschia at home and the men scattered. Only Italo and Giovanni are out tonight with the women, and when we walk by the bus stop see Giovanni walking his across the street neighbor back to her stairs. I think it is sweet, but Roy thinks Giovanni is telling her, "I'll be over after the stranieri stop looking."

July 12
It's humid and somewhat cooler today. The sky reminds me of a New England summer - dirty and dusky and oppressive. It is difficult to find energy to do much of anything. Roy has driven to Orvieto and then Terni to meet with two different insurance companies about our auto insurance, which must be paid today. We decide to stay with Toro, the company owned by Fiat, because they somewhat subsidize the premiums for Alfa Romeos.

We take what is called KASKO. This coverage includes collision as well as single car occurrences, in the event we drive into a tree...Most Italians do not insure themselves against collision, and we found this out last year. For years, we have not been insured for this. We think it's very important. But it is costly.

Sofi and I are at home, spraying roses and clipping boxwood. There is not much noise in the valley today. The farmers seem disinterested in getting out their tractors. But this afternoon I think it will be cool enough to take up the gravel on the front walk and put down nursery cloth. The weeds are terrible there, popping up more than four inches just days after our festa.

I pick up cakis each morning from the front terrace, and about a dozen fell last night. That is about right. Each night for the past week somewhere between a dozen and twenty are left on the gravel in the morning. One week ago, however, we counted more than forty. At this rate, several hundred will have fallen on their own before the end of the summer. Does this give you some idea of how big the tree is and how many caki would fall if we had not made a major effort to clip them a few weeks ago?

I thin out the two arugula plants, which are now monstrous, and pluck some lettuce leaves for a salad. Inside, I wash the arugula and lettuce and bag them for the frigo. Roy will bring a lasagna from Orvieto for pranzo. We really like just eating one meal a day.

Later in the afternoon Roy decides to have a major caki drive. He gets out the huge aluminum ladder with three sections, and by the time I am downstairs he has dropped about fifty. In the next two hours, between the two of us, we have dropped and picked up more than two hundred.

Here's Roy, "up a tree"...

Felice comes by, and his button-down collar striped shirt is tied at the waist. I don't know if he belongs in an old Cuban movie or in a Ralph Lauren magazine ad. I opt for the former, looking at his hands. He laughs at Roy up in the tree, and strides over to his pomodori.

When Roy takes the caki and fallen branches to the burn pile, Felice tells him he has never seen such large San Marzano pomodori. I ask him if he knows about steroids, and he answers, "Pulmoni!" We don't know if there is an equivalent to a county fair, but would surely win a prize for the biggest pomodori in all of Alto Lazio!

There is rumbling in the hills, and we are sure thunder is not far off. So we shut down the computer and "batten down the hatches", waiting for a big storm. We ignore the fact that our ripa, or bank, may cascade down onto Via Mameli...

The rain escapes us, and after cena we walk down to the bus stop. Sofi is off the lead these nights. She is learning to keep close by, and when a car comes, we pick her up.

On the way, we meet Leontina and learn that the woman with her is Argentina. That is the woman who lives on the corner that Roy thought looked like a Kathryn O'Shaughnessy. I ask her her name and when I find out, tell her mine and we exchange kisses and handshakes. Her hands are rougher than Felice's, but she is very kind and we like her very much. I ask her if she was born in Mugnano, and she tells us that she was born in Narni Scalo. "Stranieri!" I exclaim. She does not remember how many years she has lived here.

Leontina asks us in for coffee, and is disappointed that we do not accept. But I tell her "Solo decaffinato, per che no dormire sta notte." She seems to understand.

Sofi races Roy home and as we walk up the steps think it feels like a fall night. We are not ready for fall...yet. But we do like the cool sleeping weather. Buon riposo!

July 13
I am finally working on a good piece of music...a piece by Borodin. I think it is taking me forever to be able to play a piece of music like an adult. But today, Tiziana introduces me to this piece, which is also known as Stranger in Paradise. I am sure that Roy and Sofi and the neighbors will know it very well by the time I am through.

I tell Tiziana that I think I am teaching myself bad habits. I sometimes practice and practice a piece of music or a special scale, only to find out I am playing it wrong. But at least I am practicing. And I do love to play on Uncle Harry's wonderful violin.

Roy called Terence and Angie yesterday, and Terence's business is thriving. We look forward to seeing new pictures, but know they are very busy just feeding these little angels.

Today in the garden, the lavender is thriving. It is more beautiful than I remember in past years. When taking in the mermaid roses in flower on the fence facing San Rocco and butterflies and bees singing and drinking up nectar in the lavender, I cannot think of any place on this earth I would rather be.

Tonight on our walk, Giovanni tells us that one of the kittens that Nando and his wife have been feeding was run over by Francesco, the Vigili Urbani. The kitten probably darted out into the street. But we see Francesco from a distance when we walk down from ordering firewood in the centro storico, and he is going up in a motorino from Aqua Puzza, instead of taking the direct route down Via Mameli, past the scene of the crime.

We imagine that he does not want to be near Nando's for a few days. When we see Nando we tell him we are sorry, and he raises his shoulders in a "what could we do?" pose. The two remaining kittens have grown quite a bit, and sit looking blankly out into the street. This is a sobering way to grow up.

July 14
The Umbria Jazz Festival is on our agenda today, and we leave early to walk around Perugia for a while before seeing Mitch play outside the Brufani Palace. The weather is mild...twenty-something, and the three of us bound up the escalators....Well, Sofi is pretty frightened by it all, especially the caves we come out of in the midst of the moving stairways...but after she is on terra firma she romps and sniffs around and is joyous.

We have pranzo with Mitch and a fun time. Ray Gelato comes over for a visit, and we are able to talk music talk. Illinois Jaquet, Stan Getz, Ahmad Jamal...Gee I'm sorry we won't get to see him...

Here's Mitch and Sofi, doin' a jive across from the Brufani Palace.

Mitch and his 9-piece band are really rockin' and perform outside after 2:30 in gorgeous weather. There is a big blank area in front of the stage and before we know it the area is filled with dancing jivesters. His band is really great. Sax, base, trumpet, trombone, guitar, drums, piano...Every last person plays like the pro he is. This is the biggest little big band I have ever seen. They work much better in this venue. In Orvieto they were cramped inside a restaurant with stone walls and yieee they were LOUD! Now the sound is fresh and clear.

We leave there and drive home through Chiusi, stopping at Pat and Tony's in Lugnano for a drink and a tour. These poor people got really duped a couple of years ago when they bought their property. It is wonderful space, but a very bad architect took them to the cleaners. Now they are mopping up, literally and figuratively. But a fun story.

Yesterday they were in Rome with one son, his wife and their two children, taking in the Trevi Fountain. One woman with a fishing line with a magnet on the end was fishing for €1 and €2 coins. These coins have metal in their centers. So although people came up to talk to her and tell her she was doing something wrong, she ignored everyone. They were told she "rakes in €100 a day or more".

Wondering if they should contact a policeman, the family wandered around just watching. A policeman finally arrived, and when Tony asked if he'd arrest her, the policeman replied, "Why, there is no law against fishing in Italia!" Christina sighed, "But this woman is stealing all those people's wishes!"

We're sure we can help Pat and Tony with some of their lingering problems, and also want to take them to the Guardea Gnocci Festival next month. For the time they are here, they need to have some real fun.

July 15
The weather continues warm and lovely. We are so grateful for the good weather after the oppressive heat of last summer. It is fun to clip and weed and just nose about.

I ask Roy what his project will be for the day, and he tells me he wants to rearrange his "office", the little gardener's cottage behind the big olive tree. I like his ideas and after an afternoon nap he is ready to tackle it. Early this morning, he rigged up a support for the older plumbago, which is starting to flower. I love plumbago, with its mass of light blue flowers that last for most of the summer.

I nose around a few of our garden books, in the event Pat and Tony ask us to design their garden. I have an image of it in my mind, and it would be a fun project with great results. They deserve some good fortune after all the trouble they experienced with their architect.

Tonight we are invited to Clara's for dinner with Duccio and Giovanna and possibly Anselma from Bomarzo. That will be fun for us, but Sofi will stay home. I'm sure she'll like it better that way, too.

When I am getting changed, Roy tells me that Felice is in the potato orto, digging them all up. It is not a good idea to keep them in the ground all summer. We have less than I thought...half of a lug...but that is quite a bit for us. Roy finds a top for the lug and takes them out to the cava. Felice thinks they will keep well there until we have finished them.

Their skins are thin and the taste is lovely. We are able to bring several to Clara, and they are still warm in her hand when we get out of the car and give her a bag with the potatoes and bunches of lavender tied with raffia.

Dinner is lovely. We like Clara's house and grounds quite a bit. Cocktails are served on a beautiful terrace surrounded by olive and bay trees and lavender and roses. The dinner is served inside and then we return outside after dinner to the lovely terrace. Anselma and Galliano from Bomarzo are there, as are Duccio and Giovanna.

We really work at speaking Italian almost exclusively tonight. It is not easy, but somehow we manage to have a good time. Strangely, I understand much of what is said. Often, Clara stops in mid-sentence to ask me if I understand. Duccio and Giovanna also take extra care with us to make sure we feel part of the conversation. We really appreciate the thoughtfulness of these three friends.

We are home by midnight, and look forward to seeing them all again.

July 16
I wake up feeling tired and without any strength. In an hour or two, I am back in bed for the rest of the day. It is beautiful outside, but I miss it all, closing the shutters in our room in both directions and ending the day trying to sleep off this silly virus. Sofi sleeps with one eye watching me in a nearby chair.

July 17
I'm feeling better, but still weak. While I was in bed yesterday, with Sofi in the chair nearby to watch my every move, Roy continued to work on his "office", organizing and sorting out things he wants to get rid of.

We take a walk to the pomodori this morning, and see the first tomatoes on two of the Black Russian plants, and on two of the Juane Flame. By now, Marilyn and Bob in Glen Ellen, CA, are almost at the end of their crop. Marilyn emails me that Bob had to bring in the last bunch with his tractor...50 pounds of them! I think they had 120 plants. We have 43 heirloom plants and 8 San Marzano plants.

We planted our first seeds inside on March 9th. They moved outside at the beginning of May. So by all calculations have shown slow growth. We have not added any special fertilizing medium as they grew, but Roy sprayed them once with copper sulfate, which we are told is biologic. Spediamo!

When we are through, we'll compare what we did with what Marilyn did and adjust later for next year's crop. I'm estimating it will be mid August before the first ones are ripe and early September for the last ones. If Michelle is well enough to travel, she'll be able to share some of them with us. Felice wants us to start to cover them in the heat of the day. We will begin that on Monday.

Sitting here at the computer I can smell the tomatoes on my hands. It is a somewhat heavy and sour smell, at once earthy and pungent. This is proof that anyone can grow a tomato from seed.

Roy wants to drive to the mercato at Ascoli Pieno tomorrow and to go to church tonight. I am still feeling weak, so we will see.

Franco's truck drives up Via Mameli, and on his loudspeaker he calls out "Meloni, meloni, meloni!" I don't have the energy to walk up the street, but Roy has driven to Soriano and will pick up fruit there. It can't be Franco, it must be someone else, but I don't have much energy, so will spend the rest of the day sleeping this virus off...

July 18
It's 4AM and I am up and ready to go! After two days of sleep, I feel great and can't wait to have an adventure. Roy gets up after 7AM and we decide to go to the mercato after an 8:15 mass in Bomarzo. We put Sofi in the car and drive up and park.

The church is a fairly new church, built in the round with an amazing ceiling of mattone tiles in the design of a circle. All the walls are cement, and the paintings stand out from the wall. All the surfaces are HARD. So the sound is incredible. No amplified sound is needed. When the hymns are sung, the voices dance on the ceiling like angels wings.

Unfortunately, Italians think amplified sound is a good thing. So there is a mic on the priest, and a mic for all the readings. The priest on this day is the priest with three sets of glasses and one bad eye, Don Bruno. He is also the one who speaks very loudly in his homily, and then very softly. With the added amplification, the room seems to move in and out like an over stuffed girdle. It is difficult enough to understand the actual words in Italian. It is just impossible to figure out what he is trying to say in English.

Once mass is finished, we dart out and let Sofi play for a few minutes. Then we are off to our adventure, the antiquario mercato held on the third Sunday of each month at Ascoli Piceno, on the way to the Adriatic Coast, way past Norcia. We take a route we are not familiar with, and it takes A LONG TIME.

We pull into the town at 11:30AM and drive to the centro storico. But there are bleachers there, and we don't see a mercato. Roy drives to the Carabinieri and asks them. Yes, the mercato is held on the third Sunday of each month except today, where there will be another event. The woman thinks the mercato will be held in a town on the coast about twenty minutes north.

There is no time for even a coffee, so we get in the car, wave goodbye to Ascoli Piceno, and drive out to the coast, then up to San Benedetto del Tronto. This is a real beach town. We drive into the middle of where we think the mercato would be, but don't see anything unusual. We park and Roy asks where it might be and are told we might find something down by the beach.

At the beach there is a major event: a huge Jetski race, with racers flying up into the air splaying bursts of water over the crowds and over the sidewalk with their water monsters.

The beach, did I tell you about the beach? It is like every bad movie about an Italian beach. Thousands of people squashed under hundreds of umbrellas. Those that don't fit are standing wall to wall on the beach and wall to wall in the water. The water looks green and clear and beautiful. I am almost tempted.

Instead we realize there is no mercato here. But since Fermo, the famous mercato held at night from 5:30PM to 2AM is only twenty or so minutes north, we decide to find pranzo somewhere and then spend the afternoon in Fermo until the mercato begins. A good backup plan, we think.

Roy tells me, "So let's look for a place called The Clam House". Very funny. Casa Vongole. It takes me a minute or two to figure it out. We drive on the coast road to the next town, only to find, "Casa Vongole!" Well, that's not the name, but it very well might have been.

Situated on the beach, with bamboo "sandwiches" as roofs over the tables (one sheet of bamboo matting above, one sheet of clear plastic in the middle, and one sheet of bamboo matting below), we sit on rattan chairs and might as well be ordering drinks with paper lanterns, the place is so funny. And the "menu turistica" is right out of The Clam House...Steamed mussels and tiny clams as an appetizer, spaghetti vongole for primi, and fritto mare for secondo. A bottle of water, a half liter of wine and two coffees, for €13 each. What a deal. The food is really great.

The real entertainment starts after we sit down. A bottle of water comes out to us and then as we are waiting for our first course, a bell rings in the kitchen, indicating that an order is ready, and Sofi jumps up and barks. LOUDLY! The bustling restaurant stops cold. All eyes turn to us. We smile weakly and look down at Sofi, who is wagging her tail. Two little boys in tiny trunks at the table next to us laugh, and ask us Sofi's name.

Each time the bell rings, Sofi barks. After about twenty minutes she gets bored with all this and stops. And then, while we are trying to eat our spaghetti, we feel something under our feet. And it is the two little boys playing under the tablecloth with Sofi.

Their mothers get up and try to get under the tablecloth to retrieve their sons. Of course, they are each wearing two-piece bathing suits, and Roy is content to just watch them wiggle about. I can hardly contain myself.

The piece d' resistance happens five minutes later, when a black man enters the area with things to sell from his bag. He walks over to us, not seeing Sofi. But she sees him. The table fairly levitates, the wine glasses shake, and Sofi darts out from under the table at him. We don't even have to say, "No, grazie." He is fifty feet away in less than two seconds. People all around us smile at us as if to say, "Grazie."

Back in the car, we drive through the rest of the town toward the beach road until I order "STOP! Back UP!" Roy looks at me, looks in the rear view mirror, and backs up about ten feet. On his left is a poster for the antique mercato in Fermo. Held every Thursday evening in July and August. Today is Sunday.

Plan C. We drive up to Macerata, then take the freeway down toward Visso. We'll have a gelato in Visso and come back via the Castelluccio Road we love. The drive is really beautiful. This part of Marche is green and lush with rolling hills and beautiful trees that make wonderful tree noises. I am a sucker for "tree noises".

On the way back, I realize I have fallen in love with trees. Trees in a natural state. Beech trees. Trees lit with silver that shimmer in the sun. Trees that shed their leaves in the winter and even evergreen trees. I tell Roy it is a good thing the trees are gone from our bank because if I realized how much I loved trees I would have put up a stink when the Universita wanted to cut them down. Now I want to know all about them. And I especially want to encourage Pat and Tony to build a natural looking bank of trees at the front of their property, camouflaging their house from the street. I can't wait to get home to start to study them in the many books we have.

We arrive in Visso and after everyone has a gelato (Sofi finds a dropped tablespoon or so under our table), we walk to the card store, and see a photo of the lenticche in flower. We also see the trees in the shape of Italy (we wrote about this last month) and want to send a card to Duccio and Giovanna.

We ask the woman at the store when the trees in the shape of Italia were planted, and she tells us it happened in 1960, for a big festa. We then ask her about the trees in the shape of North America, the trees in the shape of Africa, the trees in the shape of Australia, and she looks at us as though we need to get our heads examined. All she can say is that they must have grown that way naturally. Well, I never!

We drive the rest of the way back through Terni, so we can see Marmore Falls, an exquisite steep waterfall visible from the road, and 500km after we began our journey, we are on the terrace, watering and tending the plants and happy to be home.

July 19
Last night after getting out of the car, we said hello to Candida, atop Pepe's garden. One of his many pomodori plants displayed green tomatoes the size of oranges. Only one. I hope the two we gave him will measure up. Competing with the neighbors when it comes to growing produce is serious business. We have not checked out our pomodori today. Our pomodori are going to be harvested late, but hopefully we will have a sweet and luscious and bountiful harvest, to last us from late in August through the first half of September.

Later last night, we walked over to visit Italo and Rosina and Leondina, who were sitting outside their houses down on Via Mameli closer to the centro storico. Italo and Rosina admitted they were born in Mugnano, but Leondina was born in LaRochette, which is technically Bomarzo. So I called her a stranieri, and then said that Roy and I would always be stranieri. Rosina kindly told me that was not true. "If only that were so (magari!)"

Sleep was sweet last night. I wake up rested. It is warm, but not oppressively hot. Roy covers the south-facing side of the pomodori with a dark green mesh, but there is no protection from the overhead rays. I think he knows what he is doing. Felice will come by and check, and if we need more cloth, we'll pick it up from Bruno in Attigliano. Bruno is a good guy. Everyone around just says the name "Bruno" and everyone else nods their heads in agreement.

Well, I guess two years after our move here is fair warning. I pick up a folded lap blanket that was stashed under a table next to the divan in the kitchen, and what do you suppose stares up at me? A one-half inch long black scorpion. I hate to even write it, but this is a rite of passage, I suppose. The fat black "lobster" just lays there, and I squint so that I cannot really see it. I turn the blanket over on the floor, stomp on the place where I think it is, and call up to Roy to get rid of it.

Now you may think I am a complete wimp, but I have come so very far. The day we first saw this house, I learned that there might be scorpions, and almost turned around. I am really REALLY afraid of little things, especially spiders, that crawl around. My first step forward a few years ago was to think of them as little harmless lobsters. I am not at the point yet of being able to do anything about them.

Roy comes downstairs, and I am outside. I tell him to tell me if he "got it". He turns the blanket over and goes over to the sink to get a piece of paper towel. When he gets back, it is gone. Not a good idea.

I walk inside and tell him we'll have to take the divan apart, and then he sees it on the floor and tells me to go back outside. He kills it. So I survive this round, and know that they are pretty harmless. They keep to themselves, like the dark, and aren't poisonous.

All our white roses are thriving now. The iceberg roses are particularly lovely. When they blossom, groups of them blossom together from the same main branch. The result is a number of wedding-bouquet perfect bunches, all on the same plant. Now the plants hug the front fence in espalier fashion. I have hoped that they would cover the whole fence, but that is a little too ambitious for now.

The "whites" in the fiorieras are also thriving. They appear to be a miniature version of the icebergs, and a few of them are beginning to cascade over the front of the planters next to the rosemary.

I pick six or seven zucchini. It has been days since my last picking, so some are getting large. We may not use them all, but these are large enough. I slice one into short julienne strips, and sauté it in olive oil with pieces of garlic. The garlic comes out as it starts to brown, and I then fry the zucchini sticks until they are crispy with fresh mint thrown in for good measure. I add this to my plain pomodori sauce with a little pasta water, add a half box of penne, and with freshly grated parmesan this is a wonderful pasta.

It is time to check in with Tia, and she is off to Capri with friends from the US for a few days. We'll see them on Saturday at Matthew and Terri's son's christening. But I want to refresh my memory about tenant farmers, so we have a discussion about them.

Tenant farmers are local people who take on another's crop, usually olive trees or grape vineyards, and then share the bounty with the person who owns the land. It appears that the person who owns the property pays to buy the plants and has the tenant farmer or a gardener-type plant them. Then, when they are old enough to produce, each side takes 50% of the crop. Before the crops are mature, the going hourly rate around here is €8 an hour for gardener-type work.

Some people don't care about the crop, just want to see the trees and vines planted. And others want as much production as they can get. The 50/50 seems a fair balance, if there is a trustworthy person nearby who will be dependable. We don't think we'll ever get into that with our piddly little grove of olive trees...six right now. At most, we'll have nine. That's a lot of work for us for a few days each year. But a joy to look at and a joy to enjoy all year long.

I finally figure out how to play the Polovetsian Dance piece on the violin. At first the notes seem so strange, but I think it through and just kept trying. I don't have the whole piece in my music book, so will ask Tiziana to get it for me this week. It is such an overwhelming feeling to be able to play a beautiful piece of music.

I get so carried away while I practice that Sofi gets mad in her chair and goes downstairs and barks at every sound. She is obviously jealous. Perhaps I need to play a funny little tune for her with her name on it...like Happy Birthday, dear Sofi. I remember she loved that, especially when I sang, "Little Sofi..." Yes, I spoil her. But she dearly loves me, and who could ask for anything more?

July 20
We spoke with Terence last night, and learn that the girls are getting to be closer to each other in size these days. We so look forward to meeting them and to spending time with them in November. So our schedule will have to be very flexible. It will be our turn to take over some serious baby-duties, and we are sure will enjoy it. Photos come in tonight on Shutterfly, and we can definitely see the changes in the girls sizes.

Sad news just in. Maria Marler has had a massive heart attack. She is the daughter of Jed's brother, and is only 40 years old. We pray for her, and that she will come out of her coma very soon. She and Justin have a five-month old baby girl. On a happier note, we hope to all be reunited this Thanksgiving, and will be bringing Italia t-shirts for all the young cousins for the cousins' photo. More than twenty years ago, a cousins' photo was taken in Carmel Valley of the cousins at that time, who are now the parents of a new generation.

Today I spent some time going over our digital photographs and organizing them. This is a long-term project, but we have to decide which and how many to keep. We will pick up a cd burner when we are back in the US, but until then will try to have a friend burn a few cds for us so that we can better store our photos.

Roy asks, "What about the Nemorino photos?" and I open the folder and look at the little dog we loved before Sofi came into our lives. How sad he looked. He was never happy here, no matter what we tried to do. Now we know he is happy with a family in Switzerland, and Sofi is so very happy here.

Things worked out for Nemo as well as us, but there was a lot of sadness while we tried to figure out what we should do for Nemo. We kept just a few photos, and now I hardly recognize them. He actually looks a lot like Baschia, the little dog Sofi loves to play with.

Tonight we meet Pat and Tony at Oktoberfest for the Mexican Festa. Tonight we eat Mexican food, and Roy is thrilled. I looked forward to it, and the food is not bad, but I'd rather eat passable Italian food than passable Mexican food anytime. It is fun just the same.

We are the only people in the place until just before ten, and we leave just as the live music picks up, driving Pat and Tony instead to Sipicciano for a gelato. When we walk into the bar, a young woman greets us, and asks where Sofia is! She must remember Sofi from Danieli's hair salon. Sofi is at home guarding the house. The homemade gelato is excellent, and Tony and Pat thank us for introducing them to the best gelato around.

When we come home to see Sofi, she is like a Mexican jumping bean. She probably slept for three hours or so while we were gone and now is full of pep and wants to play. But once we settle in, she is happy to just be near us. She is a joy, and we say goodnight with a smile, looking over at her silly expression and legs sticking up in the air while her head hangs backward over her pillow.

July 21
While Roy is in Terni getting the car serviced, Sofi and I nose around the garden. We deadhead mermaid roses on the fence and clip back the rosa banksias on the gate to encourage linear growth. We hope that the banksias will form an arch over the gate leading to San Rocco by the end of summer.

The Sweet Normandie rose is a real surprise. It has come into its second flower and is lush and happy in an elaborate terra cotta pot behind the lavender field. The iceberg roses are flourishing. We have given up on the Gloria de Dijons and have removed all three. The Paul Ledes are not flowering. Neither are the Madame Alfred Carrieres. Mary Rose is also in its second flower and the blossoms are smaller this time around. I have learned to cut a rose way back on this particular plant, and it is working. In previous years, the plant was very leggy and unattractive.

One Buff Beauty is doing well, but is not ready to cascade over the tufa wall. The other two are too shy to even rise up above the top of the wall. The Cornelias in the far property have not really taken off, either. We will give them a few years to see if they acclimate themselves.

I am not so sure about the Crepuscule roses over the rose arch on the front terrace. I hoped for a lush profusion of yellow blossoms, but can't figure out whether we should start again next year with a different rose here or wait it out. We are not in a hurry.

The Lady Hillingtons on the front path are beautiful specimens, but don't come anywhere near covering the long tufa wall. We love them still.

Now the old plumbago is in flower, and the lavender is still beautiful. I know it is time to cut it down, but I'm not quite ready to give up looking over from the front terrace and seeing the field covered with dancing white butterflies.

This morning, Angie comes for a visit, and we take a walk around. When she house-sits in November, most of the flowers are hibernating, so it is fun for her to see the garden mostly in flower. We sit under an umbrella at the table and chat. She brings Floppy today, a dog she is taking care of for the month. Floppy is an old male, 13 years, partly blind and partly deaf. But he still has enough energy to mark spots all over the garden and give Sofi a major once-over.

I think it is so hot that Sofi does not have enough energy to run around. I pick two pomodori that have turned red, and one that is still green. I fix fried "green" tomatoes for Roy for pranzo, with the tomatoes dipped in polenta before being sautéed in safflower oil. Quite tasty.

Tonight we'll return to Oktoberfest, so Roy can get another Messicani "food fix". For me, the tortillas taste like cardboard, so I'll probably pass up cena, and opt for a Turn und Taxis beer.

The visit to Oktoberfest is fun, with Sofi playing "follow the pied piper" all around the outside dining area. leading six children, one of which is a daughter of Pino and Kenya, the owners. When she walks under a table, they all follow her under the table, holding her on her lead. In and out, giro, giro...

Sofi prances about and the little girls and one boy squeal with delight. By the end of our meal, even one little girl who is afraid of dogs pets Sofi and we can see this is a triumph for her. Last year at this time Sofi played about with two of Marilyn and Bob Smith's grandchildren. It seems like yesterday. Now Sofi is 14 months old, and about as big as she will ever get. I can still hold her in my arm and she fits just fine. So when we finally take her on an airplane she will be able to go right in the cabin with us.

Roy agrees that we don't have to go back tomorrow night for more Mexican food. I am relieved, and we arrive home to find many people from the village taking walks. It is so warm outside that no one wants to be at home. The children sound like cayotes, howling in the night. I can't blame them. The night is very still and I think it is more fun being outside than inside with a fan blowing the air about.

July 22
I am in the midst of a violin lesson with Tiziana when Roy meets Bill in the square in Orte. Bill introduces him to a woman he works with from England. When hearing that we live in Mugnano, her response is, "Mugnano. The only town in Italy without a bar..." Roy responds, "When you're in Mugnano and want a café, you'll have to knock on someone's door." Sounds good to me.

Tiziana tells me that she will have a big children's concert in Orte during the first week of September. Michelle will be here then, and we look forward to taking her to it. These children's music concerts are really wonderful.

The mind is a truly amazing tool. During the first summer I spent any time here, the cicadas drowned out any other noise, once they got started. The noise was strange to me. I don't remember them in New England growing up. Nor do I remember them in California.

Thrilled by the silence and tranquility of our village and the landscape around our property, I could not believe that the sounds of cicadas could really dominate. Until I sat here one day on the terrace and one little creature seemed to say, "Watch me!" I hated it, screamed at it, hit at it with a rake. Nothing stopped it.

Yesterday, I made peace with the cicadas. I no longer think of them as creatures bent on destroying our peace of mind. I say, "buon giorno!" to them. And quietly sit down near them, although I cannot see them in the tree. And they stop their noises. They just stop.

I hear that once every seventeen years in the US, cicadas descend and lay thousands of eggs and then die. This is supposed to be "their year". I have no idea what happens in Italia. But unless they descend like Tippi Hedren's "Birds", I think I can deal with them in our midst.

Time for the boxwood "haircuts". I start with the two thyme orbs in the herb garden, and snip at them with my kitchen scissors 'till they're smaller and really 'round. Then I walk around the front terrace, clipping the newer box. I think it is a little late in the year to continue to clip, so wait until the sun is down, and hope that the cut leaves will not burn. The larger box on the other side of the terrace hardly needs any clipping. I'll look at the box in the lavender garden later tonight. The sun is still blazing over there.

I am going to attempt to clip some lavender tonight. The field is really ready to cut, and Roy waters it every other night. But it's almost too late to cut, so I must get serious about it. Perhaps I'll even set the alarm for 6AM and clip in the morning when it is cool. Roy empties all the baskets in the house of lavender, so that's my cue, and I cut four plants after all.

Later in the evening we go out for a walk and are met by several women from Mugnano Alto. We welcome them to Mugnano Basso, and all have a laugh. We also see Mauro and Laura and little Julia, walking her doll in a carriage. Sofi is "nose to the ground" chasing a mosca (moth) and we admit that she is a cacciatore (hunter) and that the mosca is her amica. Laura looks down and tells us "era" (was), and indeed the little moth is morte.

Sofi decides to bark at Argentina, and actually chases her a little. The men at the bus stop think this is funny, but Argentina is frightened, and runs over to them, tripping on the step up to the bus stop. I feel badly for her. The men are not very kind. They think Sofi is very funny. She is not funny tonight. She is a brat. But when we come home, she follows me upstairs and gets into her chair to cool off. Tonight is the most humid night I remember. And there is no sign of rain.

July 23
This is the day I get up at 6AM to harvest most of the lavender. By 8AM there is already too much sun and there are too many bees for me to continue. I have a number of baskets full of lavender, but once they are stripped I wonder if there will be enough lavender for baskets inside the house. I am able to clip 24 plants. Later in the day I clean the stems. It takes most of the day, but I work in the loggia, which is cool when there is a breeze. I will finish clipping tonight or tomorrow morning. The cleaning will take a few days.

I love spending time early in the garden. Sofi loves it, too, until the grey cat taunts her and sits by the upper fence like a Cheshire cat. Sofi is able to climb up most of the back tufa wall behind the Madonna, but can't quite get to the cat. Of course, that drives her crazy, and she barks until I climb up to get her. She responds to "NO!" and comes back wagging her tail. I tell her it is more fun playing near me while I clip, and she seems to agree...for now.

July 24
Tonight Sofi stays at home, while we drive to Amelia to Matthew and Terri's celebration for Sebastian's christening. The little one shows up in a stunning gold and black braided Maroccan tunic over his diaper and black Ralph Lauren velvet slippers. He looks like the little emperor in the Chinese film some years back. What a happy and easy going baby.

The house and landscaping are a dream. The place is out of an Italianesque Great Gatsby party. Although the house has a small footprint, the style is my favorite, formal Italianate, and there are about five floors, including a rooftop terrace. The gardens are extensive, and the pool area is quite large. A dance floor has been set up, and a live band plays through the evening. A team of valets stand at the door to take our cars. Food and drinks continue nonstop.

Sebastian's parents really know how to party. Matthew welcomes us in English, and the ceremony by the pool is very sweet, conducted by another Matthew, a minister from the Church of England. The program and the prayers are very touching. Afterward, Terri speaks in Italian, and does an admirable job. She tells us to party hard and that the bar still has plenty of liquor. I am not used to this kind of announcement in legal-happy US.

During the next hours while we party, the liquor is free-flowing. After dinner we are among the first to leave, before midnight, and later hear that the party continues until 5AM with many people winding up in the gorgeous pool. It certainly is a memorable event. Alan Briggs tells us that our time in Italy will be measured by this party..."Before Matthew and Terri's party"...or "after the party of the year"...

July 25
I hear thunder in the distance, but there is no rain. When we wake up, the air is heavy and humid. We leave Sofi outside behind a locked gate, to see how she does in the garden by herself.

Outside church, Livio asks where we were last Sunday. They are so used to seeing us every Sunday that they conjectured that we flew back to the U.S. Roy fills Livio in on last Sunday's antics, and it is time to go in for mass. I have a fan from Verona that I use often in the stifling little church. Don Luca doesn't seem to recognize the heat.

In front of us, a woman who spends the summertime in Mugnano turns around and greets us. She is sitting in Giuseppa's seat. Then another "summer visitor" comes in and sits next to her...in Augusta's seat. Rina comes in and takes her seat on the far aisle. Then Pepe's aunt Giuseppa arrives, looks over at the full bench, makes a comment that we cannot hear, and has to sit in front. But when Augusta arrives, she faces the bench and puts her head down and the three women move over for her.

Marieadelaide is not here. We see her in the back seat of someone's car. She must be going for an outing. So inside, Roy tells me that he will start the acapella opening hymn. Vincenzo rings the bell, and is met by silence. Roy raises his head, opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. No one else begins the hymn either. So we start mass without a hymn.

But after the collection is taken, Antonio's mother, Giuseppa, starts the next hymn. Then all of us sheep burst into song alongside her. She also starts the last hymn. Everyone else joins along, but no one wants to start.

Outside, I tell Tiziano that we miss him. He responds, "I miss me, too!" He realizes what he has said, and we all laugh, promising to get together next weekend. In the meantime, his dig in Amelia continues unabated, with the discovery of two new walls. Roy jokingly accuses him of planting the discovery to go along with his timing. It is not true, but would be a very Italian way to think.

Sofi is waiting patiently inside the gate for our return, but enjoys herself much better in the car on the way to Soriano. We park on a side street and the mercato is quite small, but we find a single appliqué, or sconce, to fit near the fireplace. Roy offers the woman less money than she wants, and she agrees to take it.

We then travel nearby to Vitorchiano, where the market is small and not very good. But we stop at the supermarket at Il Pallone on the way. This market is open on Sunday mornings, and always does a great business. It is the only market anywhere around open on Sunday morning. Perhaps Italy has "blue laws", similar to the laws I remember in Boston growing up. Somehow this market finds a way to stay open.

And then we spend the rest of the day at home. After ten PM, we take the garbage and find the street empty. The weekend is over. The sometimes-occupants have left for another week. And Sofi dashes home, racing Roy to the front gate.

July 26
Sofi spends another morning alone on the terrace, while we have our first official meeting with new clients in Lugnano. We like this couple very much, and want to make sure that all the bad counsel they have been given and all the substandard work done on their property is behind them. We have an initial meeting, ask lots of questions, take photos and do a number of measurements. Then it is home to sort it all out.

Earlier in the morning we meet with Stefano to see if he will be interested in working with us. He is. I will be in charge of the design, Roy in charge of the implementation. Stefano and Luca will be building the retaining walls. Roy will mastermind the irrigation system, and we will bring in other people for other phases of the work. We hope to bring Mario in as a possible tenant farmer. They want to put in olive trees and grape vines. The project is for a total landscaping project. It is very exciting work.

In the afternoon, Sofi and I stay at home. Later, Felice comes by and he and I tie up the pomodori plants, which are rapidly growing. I give him a huge San Marzano pomodoro to take home and taste. It is so large that it may not be very good. The crop of San Marzanos are enormous. Either they will be great or terrible.

Felice tells us to keep the cloth off the plants for the next days. I think the front row of plants is not getting enough air circulation. When I am through helping Felice tie up the individual plants, my fingers are green and smell of tomatoes. Some of the stalks are fuzzy, and they all feel full of moisture. I think that is a good thing.

The air continues to be very humid. I make four large rice-stuffed tomatoes when the weather cools down, but it is too hot to eat them, so we will have them cold or at room temperature in the next few days. We take several stuffed zucchini to Pat and Tony this morning, and have plenty more at home.

The evening ends while we watch the beginning of the convention in Boston. I am tired, so Roy takes the garbage by himself. Sofi sits there on the terrace and won't follow him. She makes me laugh the way she follows me about. We are tired and drag ourselves up to bed just before midnight.

July 27
We have been so out of touch with politics in the U.S. that I decide to get up at 3AM and spend the next three hours in front of the TV in the kitchen. Being from Boston, watching the goings-on at the convention is particularly interesting to me.

Later in the day, we drive to Chiusi to the big vivaio there, armed with our list of trees and plants to look at. Nida takes us around in a little golf cart and we are able to get a very good idea of the things we'll propose in our garden design.

When we return home, Roy calls Mario, who comes over to meet with us at the end of his work day. He agrees to go with us to Tony and Pat's, and before he leaves agrees to be involved as the gardener and caretaker of a yet-to-be planted olive grove of approximately 120 trees. He is unwilling to work on grapes, as that is a labor-intensive effort that he is not interested in, so Tony agrees to drop that idea for now. We will try to get Stefano over there tomorrow to look at the work he would do. This is a very interesting project, and we are perfect people to manage the project and design the landscaping.

July 28
I am almost getting used to getting up for three hours in the middle of the night.

The phone rings early, and Terence tells us that he and Angie have bought a new house in Walnut Creek. That news is so exciting. We are thrilled.

But we also receive very sad news from Terence that Maria Marler died last night. She did not come out of her coma, and we are so sad for the family. We will have information on the website very soon with memorial information. We believe that an education fund has been set up for baby Laura, who is five months old. We will report the details on a later date, as soon as we know more.

Tonight we are invited to Tiziano's house for pizza. We arrive to find Enzo tending the outdoor pizza oven, a bright red tall metal oven that stands close to the table. I am invited to sit at the end of the table, with Roy on one side and Tiziano on the other.

Rosita takes over the cooking and we have potato pizza with fennel, eggplant pizza, anchovy pizza, zucchini pizza, plain mozzarella pizza and a tuna pizza with ruggheta and mayo. I try everything but the last, which Roy confirms is very good.

We have brought chocolate cake, and all have that with ice cream. Of course there is plenty of Enzo's great homemade wine. I amaze myself by speaking almost entirely in Italian, and am able to conduct a conversation about American politics, a subject I find fascinating, especially viewed as an "outsider" from our remote village.

When we arrive home, Roy complements me on speaking so comfortably. I will say it is getting easier. This morning, while having my monthly pedicure, I spoke with Giusy about politics as well, and think that I am able to speak tonight partly because I "practiced" this morning.

July 29
I did not stay up last night for the convention. For most of the morning, I work on the garden design and accompanying excel chart of the items we need to price. Two days ago, we went to Vivaio Margheriti, in Chiusi. This vivaio is the largest vivaio in central Italy, and they are very helpful in showing us particular plants and confirming prices.

Late in the morning, we drive to Viterbo to go over the basic garden design with our friends at Michellini, the fine vivaio where most of our plantings come from. We need at least a second set of prices to determine where we will go to purchase the plants for Pat and Tony.

Later in the day, we meet Stefano and he follows us to Pat and Tony's to look over the muratore section of the project to be done for them. He is really masterful, and also gives Tony ideas for things that he will not be able to start on for a while. Stefano is always backed up with work, and we worry that he will not be able to construct the needed walls before the rain starts. We agree that he will give us his pricing in a few days and stay to have a drink with Pat and Tony before going home to Sofi and a walk after dark.

July 30
Early in the day, we drive to the vivaio in Amelia to price olive trees for Pat and Tony. We believe that it is important to purchase olive trees in the same area where they will be planted, and Amelia is the next town away.

The vivaio has two locations, and one is located outside the town itself. We follow a man in a white truck down bumpy strada biaca to find the second location until we think we are miles away. When we are ready to give up, he turns off the road and yes, this is the place. Luigi and his friend talk to us about sizes of trees, kinds to plant.

This variety is called Frontoio, and since they will want the trees to produce for olive oil, what could be better? The two we purchased a year or so ago are Leccino, but Roy did not know to water them every day in the summertime, so we will not have a crop from them this year. That is too bad, because there were many flowers on the trees. No matter. We have four other olive trees that will produce, and with our participation in the vendemmia for a number of friends, we will not run out of good olive oil all year.

Tonight is a night we will long remember. We are invited to a reception and casual dinner at Castello Ruspoli by Giada Ruspoli. The event starts at 6pm and the parking gods are with us when we drive up to the centro storico of Vignanello. A truck pulls out from the best parking spot in town just as we arrive. Roy jockeys the car around and before you know it, we are walking over the drawbridge to the castle.

Carlo, a man we later meet, arrives before us, and knocks on the huge wooden door. The door is opened and we are among the first to arrive. We have been here before, on tours, but never as invited guests of the owner. I can hardly wait to walk through the entryway out into the garden.

We are happy to be early, and are able to walk alone around my favorite garden for a few minutes. Others arrive, and we are served spumante and greet Giada as she walks over the drawbridge to the garden. The mood is festive, and there is excitement in the air. We hear the marching band start to play and soon we will be walking out to watch them.

This weekend is the town's festa, honoring its patron saint, San Biagi (st. Blaise). After more guests arrive and we toast to the evening, we walk with Giada outside the castle to watch the marching band, which arrives on foot up the big hill to the town and stops in the square in front of the church. This church has always been "Ruspoli's church", and was built hundreds of years ago by the Ruspoli family.

At some point the Orsinis and Ruspolis married, and the garden was designed by a member of the Orsini/Ruspoli family. Giada tells us that the design is the same design as that planned for the original garden. There are huge oak trees almost as high as the four-story castle framing the partierres, and a secret garden seen by walking over to the side of the castle wall is formed in the same manner. On this night, a formidable German Shepherd holds watch in the garden below.

The garden has only a few elements, and is practically devoid of color, except for lemons on the potted citrus trees and profusions of pale pink hydrangeas. There are also roses, but none seem to be in bloom on this evening. The Italianate box hedges are made of laurel, clipped tightly, and the complicated inner-designs are formed by smaller box, also clipped tightly.

We notice that there is grafting being done, and a friend explains that the black plastic balls tied around the base of a few strong branches of the lemon trees are there so that the balls will form roots. Once the roots have sufficiently formed, the branches will be cut and will be planted to make other trees.

There is so much to learn about gardening, and I love every new story, every new experience. It will be some time before our lemon is hardy enough to do a graft. And today, four fall off on the ground, so perhaps the heat is getting to it. Roy tells me he waters it every other night in this heat. But back to Ruspoli...

Once out in the square, we follow the crowd to the church, and stand inside the huge just-restored carved wooden doors. We watch a few minutes of the service, but it is hot and we walk outside to wait for the next event.

Soon we find that the program for the next part of the evening is a walk through town to view the many shops displaying hand-crafted items and many paintings. In one shop, there is a large black and white historical photo display, and Giada explains some of the wonderful scenes to us. We finish the rest of the walk through town by ourselves, and meet up with Giada back in the garden a little while later.

Dinner is served, casual style, in the family's kitchen, just inside the front door of the castle. We are served hors d'oeuvres and then pizza, and plenty of wine in crystal goblets. We eat standing up in the beautiful kitchen, and are given chits to go next door to the gelateria for dessert.

Outside there is a band and we are serenaded while we walk around. The guests seem to scatter outside in the square, and Giada invites us inside to see her apartment.

Three stories up, the three of us reach her home, which overlooks the church and the square. The ceilings must be twenty feet high, the rooms very large. In the room which is both a kitchen and a dining room, separated by an elegant short wall, we face the square and the front door of the church, clearly visible through a double French door and small balcony. The scene takes my breath away.

We like Giada very much, and also her sons, who talk with us during the evening. We invite them to come to see us before they leave in ten days to return to their other home in South America. The eldest son, Marco, works for a production company in Rio, and although he speaks good English, welcomes the opportunity to visit us and to speak advertising lingo in English. We are more than happy to help.

It is time to go home, and we walk out the front door of the castle to a full moon and music following us down the hill to the car. I turn around and take one last look outside to the silent garden, my eyes drawn down the main path to a tall tree, a light reflected in its boughs. Earlier, Giada turned on this light, and she and I stood in the darkened doorway, silently drinking in the beauty of the setting.

July 31
Where did the month go? It ends with us staying out of the heat for most of the day and working on the landscape design for Pat and Tony. Tonight we take them to the Guardea Gnocchi Festival. We love this festival, and since it continues for three weeks, attend at least three times during the festa each year. There are so many festivals in the summertime, that we can literally attend one almost every night in towns not more than 30 minutes from our house. We are way behind, and this is our first festival of the summer.

Roy's parking karma is still intact. A car pulls out right as we get to the square where the festa is held. The square is full of people, and there are over a hundred tables, 99 of which are already saved. We find one being wiped off way out of the way, and are able to take it for our own for the evening. But there is more room, so a young couple sit with us and listen to Tony's jokes.

The bruschetta is the best I've ever had, and the gnocci is pretty good, too. Roy and Pat have theirs with a duck sauce, and it is really tasty. Tony and I have ours with regular pomodori and ours is great, too. We try their beans, lamb, spedini and have a bottle of local wine. €55 for dinner for four of us and we finish the night off with gelato in Alviano, across from the castle.

We're home before midnight and sit out with Sofi under the full moon until the clock strikes and the month has come to an end.

AUGUST, 2004

August 1
Roy gives me a coin from his wallet and reminds me to light a candle for Justin and baby Laura. It is a sad walk that I take to the front of the church and over to the little candle stand. It takes me two matches, but the tiny candle is lit and stands all by itself until just before the mass, when Giuseppa lights a candle and then one of the summertime women does the same. We are all heavy-hearted.

Back in the pew, the first hymn is sung. We are comforted by our friends in the village. Without knowing the cause of our sadness, they lift us up with their voices. As Sunday after Sunday pass, we are more and more aware of the power of their acapella singing. And we join them each Sunday to add our strength for the times when it is needed. We dearly love these people.

The reading is done about a little known prophet, and after the mass we ask Tiziano about him. Qoelet. What a strange spelling of his name. Tiziano does not know the answer. So Don Luca comes out of the church and we ask him. "Una domanda, insegnante, " I ask, and Roy comes over to do the hard part. Don Luca looks really happy to be asked. This is from a passage in the bible. We will have to ask Don Francis for the whole explanation.

Back at home, I take out the bible, and look it up. "Qoelet. See Ecclesiastes." How interesting. Why not look up Ecclesiastes and see what it says in the passages referred to today at mass? Our Oxford English Bible has lots of footnotes and explanations. "Every generation must deal with the fact that mortals inevitably live in a world in which they do not have control ("all is vanity") and life can only be lived before a sovereign God who alone determines all that happens on earth."

I am confused by the word "vanity" and it is explained that vanity literally means "breath" or "vapor". In Ecclesiastes, it is used repeatedly as a metaphor for things that cannot be grasped either physically or intellectually, things that are ephemeral, insubstantial, enigmatic, or absurd. I am sure you know of the famous phrase in Ecclesiastes, "For every thing there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven."

It is difficult to comprehend a death of a young woman in the prime of her life, so perhaps Ecclesiastes is telling me that I have no control over it, so I need to weep and then just let it be and move on. "Make us know the shortness of our life that we may gain wisdom of heart." Later we hear that Maria's funeral took place on Friday. Maria's husband, baby daughter, mother, sister and other relatives and friends are in our hearts.

After church, Roy asks Tonino's daughter, Serena, about the locations of today's antique mercatos. She tells us that one is in Marta, on the other side of Viterbo on Lake Bolsena. Roy wants to go to Manziano, just north of Rome, so I am relieved, because Marta is so much closer. Marta is a wonderful town, and the antique mercato is held overlooking the beautiful lake. It is small, but there are a few excellent booths. We meet a painter who is a friend of Mary Jane's, and he tells us about a Vietnamese restaurant in Rome, and also recommends the antique mercato held each month in Rome on Ponte Milvio. That is near Karina's apartment, and we will certainly attend in this fall.

After the walk along the water, we eat at Gino's, and Sofi eats her chicken from a plastic bowl under the table. She sits there quietly until we are through. A young woman waits on us, and there is a funny interchange between her and a male waiter, who acts like the retired NBC peacock.

He waves his had over her and she rolls her eyes. I ask, "Fastidio?" (Does he bother you?), and she nods just a little, saying that all men in Italy are that way. I tell her that Roy is not like that, and can see him rise a little in his chair. I love that man and bless each day that I share with him.

After pranzo, we see that we have a parking ticket. We parked in a correct space, but Roy did not think to get a ticket from the machine, which stood right next to the car. Anyway, we drive to the next town, Capodimonte, and walk over to the Re di Gelato (king of ice cream). We can understand the name, for we sit under a shade tree and the rich taste of the ice cream is definitely memorable. I think it tastes even better in the tiny cups and even tinier plastic spoons, which we use to dip into the heavenly treat.

That reminds me. Last night, in Alviano, we ate ice cream from little cups outside the gelateria. A tiny girl in a pram ate vanilla ice cream from a cone. She held the cone in her right fist. With her left fist, she daintily combed over the ice cream itself with her fingers, and then licked her chubby hand. Again, and again, she continued this process. Not realizing that bringing the cone to her mouth would bring more immediate gratification, she seemed to love the experience. Everyone in Italia loves gelato, and there are almost as many excellent places to find it as there are bars serving espresso...

Sofi and Roy and I walk down to the lake's edge. Bolsena is a volcanic lake, and the sand is a shiny black, with rather large pebbles. I take off my sandals and wade in to my ankles to coax Sofi in. She is not sure, but wants to come to me, so she steps in about three inches, and then steps back out. I am sure she feels cooler, but is probably unsure of herself. We dry her off, and she is ready to go home, as are we.

After arriving back home, Roy calls Alan and we drive over with Sofi. This is Sofi's first time at Alan and Wendy's house, and it is a right of passage of sorts, because Alan has many dogs...big male dogs.

Little Sofi is overwhelmed by them all at the front door, who surround her and sniff and sniff. Inside, there is more commotion, but Sofi stands up to them. Alan sends all the dogs but old Rusty outside. She then proceeds to bring Rusty to life...a life that Alan thinks has been dormant for some time. They race around and around the table, or rather, Sofi races around and under the table and Rusty runs around...After a few minutes of racing around, they both calm down and the humans can speak.

Martin, the landscape designer, is there to consult with Alan on a complicated pond project. Alan's father is also there. We want to ask Alan about the lawn he put in, and also get some feedback about his irrigation system. Martin adds some useful advice, and we go away with very helpful information. I really like Alan, and appreciate his creative thinking about everyday challenges. He must be masterful in his work building shopping centers around the world.

The day ends with a jolly moon, too fat for its own good, in a sultry shade of yellow turned especially pink by the polluted air. I think the temperature today was almost 40, but the TV indicated that Rome was only 27. I think that neither is correct. But the wind picks up and Roy is unable to spray the pomodori tonight. He notices some black spiders on one plant at the end of the first row. I hope the air tomorrow morning will be still so that he can take out the copper sulfate and spray.

August 2
We sleep until almost nine, and while I am checking email, someone is at the front gate. It is Catherine, with Leondina, and Sofi and I go out to greet them and walk them back to Leondina's. I take the key and Roy gets up and sprays the pomodori with copper sulfate, which we now know is biologic and is known to the farmers as medicine, not insecticide.

This morning is a real event. I walk on the other side of Leondina, and she holds each of us, or rather we each hold her and I tell her that we are "guarding the princess of Mugnano".

Back at Leondina's, we sit outside on the bench and watch Sofi and Leondina's grandson play about, and then Bastia comes by with Ennio and she cavorts with him as well. Vincenza, Leondina's daughter, asks me if we won't take advantage of their hospitality and have a caffé. How could we say no?

So we agree and sit inside, talking about the full moon for the past two nights and also about life. My speaking engine sputters and starts and proceeds at a slow pace, but proceeds nonetheless. Catherine is more of a BMW to my cinque-cento, but we finish at the same spot and walk home with Sofi.

Inside, I play a tune for Catherine on my violin and she tries it out. An experienced musician who has studied for years, she plays around with Harry's violin and loves it. It is truly a beautiful instrument. We agree that the next time she comes I will get out the fiddle books and we will both play.

While we are giving her a tour of the garden, Tony and Pat stop by to take a sample of our gravel, to see if it is the right thing to use when grouting their back patio. They all leave, and it is time to prepare pranzo, eggplant "burgers" with fresh sliced buffala mozzarella and sliced pomodori from the garden. Earlier, Leondina asked what I was preparing for pranzo and I responded "reservations", but the joke did not translate. There is such an expectation that the women prepare a formal meal at pranzo. As it is, this is a pretty elaborate meal to prepare.

We receive a call from Michellini that their pricing is finished, and return there late in the afternoon to go over prices and look at a few specific trees. They are very helpful, and the prices are good. We return home to work on the plan some more and before we know it it is time to water.

Felice comes by, and he has not been feeling well. On Saturday he spent the day in bed, feeling dizzy. We hope it is because of the warm weather, but tell him not to work, not to bend over. We are worried about him.

Later, we sit under the full moon and can't bother with dinner, but I did fix peaches in red wine earlier, so that is a great substitute. After dinner, we take a walk all the way up to the Roverselli's and welcome them back to Mugnano. It has been many weeks since they were last here. Of course they can't resist bringing out the spumante, and even Sofi has a taste. Their corner of Mugnano is very quiet, although in the center of the village and on the main part of Via Mameli children scream and run around, even at 11 PM.

After a drink, we return home, and run into Paola and Antonio and Dario. We remind Antonio that the Universita can have all the proceeds from the sale of our pomodori, but he does not know how to go about it. So we will approach Gianni at Sappori Due when the first ones are ripe. Roy suggests they put up a table at the old gas station below Mugnano with a big sign, "Farm fresh, direct from the farm". I am not about to be involved, but we will see if there is some way to help the Universita to raise some money.

We arrive home just before midnight and it is really hot. So we turn the fan up a notch and climb into bed to read and hopefully fall asleep.

August 3
Outside the sky is grey and before I am really awake, crashing thunder and lightning appear outside our west-facing window. Sofi cries out and scurries under the bed. It is not even 8AM. But in less time than it takes the thunder and lightning to frighten little Sofi, the rain stops and we are welcomed by a very steamy day.

The day is uneventful. I am happy that I don't even leave home. We have pranzo outside, because it is just too hot inside after making a small pasta dish and some fresh tomato sauce from our San Marzano pomodori...ten of them. It is difficult to describe how wonderful a simple pasta tastes with fresh tomato sauce.

Thanks to my mother's "Foley Food Mill", I process the tomatoes after boiling them for a few minutes and cutting them into pieces. I love the food mill. It is so un-fancy and old-fashioned. With a few anchovies swirled around in olive oil until they disappear, garlic sautéed in olive oil and then taken out when it is golden, some fresh basil pieces some grindings of salt and pepper and a tiny bit of sugar that is all we need for sauce fresh from the garden.

Later, I spend some time in the loggia over the sink, cleaning up the red onions and braiding them in two big braids, then hanging them on hooks on the wall.

Lore and Alberto come over after nine for spumante and peach granita, and after a while, Paola comes by for a drink with the little family dog, Ubik. Ubik makes his mark a few times and is grouchy, but calms down and takes his visit in stride. Sofi wants to play, but he'll have none of that.

I think we are boring for Alberto, who does not speak English, but Lore's English is very good and she likes to practice. I'd like us to speak Italian more in their presence, if only for Alberto's benefit, but someday we will. We walk them back down the street to the end of Via Mameli and leave them talking with Leondina and Augusto and Vincenza and Ivo's wife and walk home under a blood-red moon.

August 4
I have not been practicing the violin every day, and that's important. Tiziana understands, and tells me during today's lesson that if I don't practice we will do exercises during my lessons instead. She is very kind. I am not happy with my playing today, and since playing the violin is something I really want to do, it is up to me to find a place to practice every day. Some days and weeks are easier than others. My shoulder has been bothering me, but I try to play through it, knowing that I don't stretch after each session.

After the lesson, we drive to a convent of nuns in Orte Scalo, who sell homeopathic remedies in a cloister behind a wooden door. I want to buy some unguent for my feet, which are especially dry during the summer. So I bring a jar of something that we bought at the cloister in Montecassino, south of Rome, last year. It takes twenty minutes after my first conversation with someone through a speaker for a nun to appear, and she does not have what I want. But I am sure they have something comparable.

She walks back behind a big door, and comes back after ten more minutes with a tiny nun dressed in forest green topped in white who is from Indonesia. Her name is Margaret, and although the first nun told me that Margaret speaks a little English, we speak only in Italian.

A much older nun comes in, and is let in through a locked door. She comes around to face me, when she is shown the jar I brought in. I see her pick it up and read it about three inches from her face. Although she wears glasses, they don't seem to do much good.

I learn that her name is Elizabeth, and she is from Prague. She asks me if I speak Dutch. She brings out a salve that sounds dangerous. I am told to put drops of it on my foot, cover the foot with a bandage for three days and then take the bandage off. Never rub the ointment on my skin. Yikes.

We settle for some camomile cream, and then Elizabeth tells me that Margaret sings in the church. Well, she is part of a choir that sings Gregorian chants, and will sing this Sunday morning. So of course we will go, and Margaret tells me to look for her. I thought that these nuns do not speak, but I must be wrong. They are both very sweet and before I leave I give them a donation.

It is hot back at home, and we stay inside until 5PM when Mario comes to talk about his part of the landscaping plan for Tony and Pat. He asks if an architect designed the plan, and when Roy tells him it was me, thinks I am a geometra and complements me. This is such a funny country. There are so many things to laugh about.

He knows of Marco, the architect who swindled Tony and Pat, and it is interesting that this man is so well known all over the area. I guess it takes gullible strangers to be caught up in his net. We hope to hear in a day or so what has transpired between the architect and Tony and Tony's attorney. I don't wish this kind of situation to anyone. It is every person who wants to buy a house in Italy's worst nightmare.

Giordano comes by late with a friend and we sit outside under the moon. Claudio and Shelly and Dani went to visit relatives near Trento and Claudio is in the hospital there with heart-related problems while Giordano takes care of the property and animals here. So we're offering to help any way we can.

August 5
"Northern Italy has been swept by what is known as a "perturbazione," which can mean just about anything where rain is involved."

I read this today in an online newsletter, and am reminded that summer storms in Italy are infrequent, but when they strike, they strike with a vengeance.

Yesterday was so humid that we ate pranzo indoors. Today, Silvana walks by and tells us that rain is coming, so we take in our cushions and chairs and wait for a storm. We are not disappointed.

All of a sudden, at around four PM, the sky turns a dirty charcoal black. Sofi and I are taking a nap, and look up to see bolts of lightning strike in Bomarzo. Then a huge crash, seemingly right outside our door...

The storm only lasts ten minutes. By that time we are all downstairs. Windows are all shut, the computer is unplugged, and all is silent. Roy walks outside and the sun is shining. But from across the street, in the field behind Pia's land, he hears snapping sounds and watches the electric lines spark. He calls us to join him and we try to figure out what to do.

We cannot reach anyone at ENEL, and we don't have any emergency number for them. Roy walks down the stairs to the path, and encounters Francesco, the Vigili Urbani, coming up the hill on his police motorino. He stops him and since he is Pia's brother, has a key to her gate. They both go inside and Roy walks over close to the lines to see that none have come down. Francesco agrees to call ENEL himself. That is a good idea. He will probably get more action.

We are still concerned, and call our friends at the Carabinieri office in Bomarzo. Francesco, the carabinieri, comes by, and Roy shows him what's happening. What we don't know is that on the other side of Giustino building a line has actually caught on fire, on the building next to Antonello's apartment.

By this time we hear many people on the street, buzzing around like bees. Roy walks down to see what happened, and in the next half hour three ENEL trucks arrive. Sofi and I follow. This is a big event for little Mugnano, a regular spettacolo.

When we arrive at the scene, we see the ENEL guys all drinking bottles of Peroni beer. I suppose they need fortification before beginning their sometimes dangerous work. One puts a ladder similar to our three-part aluminum ladder but much taller, against the building where the line lays there like a long charcoal salsiche, or sausage. He climbs up right next to Antonello's, and on the balcony laundry flaps away. Antonello's mother appears, dressed in a tiny denim skirt and top.

The scene is right out of a modern day Romeo and Juliet, but Romeo is busy fighting with the ape's (bees) that hover around the electrical box. Below, "oo's" and "boh's" and "eh's?" are muttered, but no one seems to be laughing. Roy tells me that if the building was made of wood there would have been a major fire.

All the neighbors mill around, and more than one calls this a "spettacolo", or opera of sorts. Spettacolos often refer to big festas; fireworks are known as spettacolo pirotechnicas. This is the biggest event in Mugnano for months, and everyone comes out to watch.

By the time they are through at ten PM, Roy has joined them in the rain with an umbrella and Mag-Lite. He and Donato shine their flashlights up where the men are working in the dark. The sound of the generator drones on and on, and the men methodically finish their work. Roy is back at home when the doorbell rings, and one of the men comes by to make sure our power is working. We wonder if these men are paid overtime...

August 6
Last night's rain leaves a cover of mist on everything, which dries off by mid morning. Today is the day we begin to put up the San Marzano pomodori, and twenty-seven of them are plunged into boiling water so that we can take their skins off. These are not the regular San Marzanos, but a much larger version that is very tasty and thin