JANUARY 2005

January 1
There is a mass this morning, and it is a simple mass with only the regular folk in attendance. On our way down the hill, Leondina stands in her doorway, and takes my hand insisting that we come in for coffee. A few minutes later, Ivo walks up the stairs. He and Nadia and Andrea probably sleep downstairs in the cantina.

The family arrived yesterday from Parma, and he talks with us about the problems he is having with the local workers. We all laugh about Anselmo, the woodworker, who does excellent work but is unreliable. He also tells us about a painter who ignored his instructions and painted several rooms in a bright orange-red instead of a pale apricot. These things happen to Italians, too, especially if they are not on hand to supervise.

We ask him to come by today or tomorrow, and we also hope to see inside his house, which is right on the square in the centro storico and still needs work before he can move into it. We believe it was given to him by an elder relative, and remember the oldest woman in the village sitting there, bent over, on her little balcony. She died at around age 96 about two years ago.

Tia is sick, so she and Monique will not come today. We postpone the visit to Chia's living presepio until tomorrow. In the meantime, I make more homemade applesauce and we spend time fiddling around outside in the garden. We are falling in love with the simple plot of land that we purchased a few years ago between the lavender garden and San Rocco. We love to walk out there and it is Sofi's favorite place to romp and play. Roy wants another bench, this one to be placed between the apple tree and the soon to be planted olive tree. We'll see what kind of benches are available in the Spring.

We bought a roast chicken yesterday, and I heat it with a glaze of our piccante pomodori jam. I could not believe how good it tasted, and now Roy agrees that we will plant as many tomatoes as we can find room for this year in the raised garden above the lavender. We have given out a lot of the jam, and only have two or three jars left. Next year, we will make a lot more.

January 2
There is another mass this morning, but this is the regular Sunday mass. Roy realizes that there are a number of responses to each mass that don't change from week to week, and later puts all of them on a little sheet of paper for us to take to mass. But everything is so familiar, that I think we can memorize them fairly easily. Yes, we are in the groove, the flow of it all, even if grasping the language is still difficult.

On the walk home, we see Anselmo driving up into the centro storico, and wave. His car is one of those ancient Renaults, a strange bubbly design. When we reach Italo's house and see Ivo outside, we tell him Anselmo has arrived. We suppose it is for a meeting with Ivo at his house. Ivo shrugs his shoulders and starts his walk up the hill.

Just before we reach our gate, Lore and Alberto drive up the hill. They will be here for a week, overseeing Stefano and Luca and Enzo Rosati's work in their new house. Lore gets out of the car and wishes us happy anniversary with kisses on both cheeks and a big hug. Was it only two years ago today that we were married in the Catholic Church at Scarzuola with Lore and Alberto as witnesses? It seems so long ago.

Tiziano calls to say that the cena with his family is off for now, because his grandfather, Tito, is very sick. Tito is a very sweet man and we are worried about him. He loves Sofi and just the sight of her makes him laugh. The idea of interviews with the oldest people of the village takes on an added importance. We will check in with Tiziano tomorrow.

Tia is feeling better, so she and Monique arrive at our house around 4PM. Sofi stays at the house, but the rest of us pile into Tia's powerful station-wagon and Roy drives us to Chia. The sky is still light, but in another hour we will be surrounded by twinkly lights and dark blue all around us. Chia stands on a tall tufa cliff facing our house, on the other side of the valley.

Roy's parking karma allows us to find a great parking spot, and we walk with a growing number of families with young children, all in anticipation of this annual event. Tia's dogs guard the car and sleep huddled under a big blanket. The living presepio, or manger, takes place on Christmas Night, the following night, New Year's Day, the following day and finally, Epifany. The local townspeople dress in authentic costumes, bringing our imaginations to life with their re-enactment of a time more than 2,000 years ago.

Historically in this part of Italy, the period between 4th century BC and the 2nd century AD is a very important era. Evidence of the Etruscans are carefully studied, even in our village, and discoveries of their way of life, whether in story or in actual artifact found in the countryside, is looked at with great interest. So we can transport ourselves quite easily to the time when the Romans overtook the Etruscans, taking on positive aspects of their civilization and destroying the rest. At this point in time, the Romans had conquered the Etruscans, and the Roman grasp of civilization reached all the way to the Holy Land. So, in context, seeing Roman Soldiers on this night is a natural sight.

We have to wait a half hour or so before we are allowed past the Roman soldiers, but with everyone huddled together the air is festive, the area sheltered. The queue is Italian-style. That means that most of the people ignore the fact that others arrived before them, turning one straight line into a mass of people, each one wiggling to find a way forward between others who are not as aggressive. This all takes place in good spirit, so it only takes a look in the eye, if they will allow their eyes to meet yours, to get them to stop pushing or wrangling.

At the head of the queue, we are greeted by Roman soldiers, dressed in metal headdresses, red capes and traditional Roman soldier uniforms, designed "BA" or "Before Armani". Way before. They are gruff and scary, pushing each other about to show us they are to be taken seriously. These men do fulfill a practical role: only a certain number of people are let in at a time.

This is good. It allows us to take our time walking down the steep paths along the cliffs, enjoying the scenes inside the little tufa caves as we walk. As protection, crude castagno wooden fences have been constructed to keep us from falling off the side. And smudge-pots light our way all the way down and across the event.

Roy and Tia lead the way, with Monique and I following, arm and arm until the paths are too narrow to navigate in any way other than single-file. Woman sewing in one cave, embroidering in another, men hammering away at iron, woodworking, capture our attention until we look around us to see that the sky is dark and we are surrounded by firelight and the sounds of children singing.

At one stand, a man stirs a big old copper cauldron with a branch of a tree, and then lifts out fresh ricotta, which is sold by a costumed woman to his left. We see animals in a tiny park-like setting with women and children tending the animals. One man is carving something in wood while sitting on a stump, his little dog standing upright on his shoulders, clearly enjoying his role.

Just ahead is a little hamlet, fashioned with bamboo screens hiding the cooking, and sheets of sweet or salty paper-thin pizza bianca sold behind a booth. At an adjoining booth, a man and women sell tiny cups of white wine. Later on, we are given a tiny cup of hot mulled red wine.

Later on the walk a booth sells a deliciously tasty fried nugget of ricotta and raisin and sugar. And then we are at the manger. We must climb up a little bank to get a good view. Here we see a group of people and animals set up so that all except the Christ Child are real. For obvious reasons, a ceramic statue takes the place of the Baby.

We are just about finished, and when we leave we are directed up a path that leads back to the area below the start of the walk. There are still people arriving, but we are cold now, exhilarated by the uphill climb to the car. We are ready for a hot meal, and Tia's dogs are very happy to see her.

At home, Roy leads the way and lets Sofi out. She is so excited to see her friends Gioia and Charlie, and they all scamper about, running in and out, with Gioia taking Sofi's toys and Sofi having a pull-of-war with her stuffed giraffe toy. Gioia runs out of the room and before we know it she's returned with the toy Sofi sleeps with. Sofi takes it all in stride, but is not about to give up her little toy that she sleeps with, so lays on top of it, guarding it like a hen sitting on her eggs.

We heat up the sausage and grapes and bread, make a salad and sit around drinking wine and getting warm before the fire. All the while, out of one eye, Tia watches Gioia. The rest of us mostly laugh at the little dog's antics. And then all the dogs are tired, with Gioia sitting on Tia's lap with her gangly legs stretched out and her little belly full.

When it is time to go, we turn around to see a relieved Sofi, laying on the couch in the kitchen surrounded by her toys. She is exhausted, and spends the rest of the evening sleeping fitfully between us while we watch TV.

January 3
We hear that our Prime Minister, Silvio Berlusconi, was walking in Piazza Navona in Rome the other day, and someone bashed him in the head with their tripod. He is not the most popular guy, and unless you are in his close coterie of friends, he'll not have an interest in helping you financially. His cronies do very well. Everyone else gets to complain.

Good thing the fellow did not damage his camera. At any rate, Silvio is fine, with a bandaged neck but otherwise his Frank Sinatra-style hair transplant is working and the top of his head looks like a new Chia Pet. The owner of the tripod spent some hours in jail, but was set free pending a trial. How amazing that he was set free. We cannot imagine this happening in any other country in the world, despite our sympathy with the poor fellow. When Lore tells us all about it she giggles and waves her hand, telling us she wished the man would have done him in. Tho we don't like him at all, we certainly don't wish him ill will. The Italians are a bit more demonstrative, I'm afraid...

Late in the afternoon we drive up to the castello in Giove, to visit Kees and Catherine. To get to their house in the Borgo, we drive onto the castle grounds and park against a back wall. We walk uphill and then down the cobbled pathways, greeted by sweetly framed doorways in ferro and wood and look up to see tiny clotheslines hanging over our heads.

Drying laundry in Italy is poetry in motion. The other day in Pontormo a little trattoria hung their aprons out to dry. The wind blew them back and forth as though they were rocking hula-hoops, the strings wildly shaking, the aprons flapping back and forth. I wanted to take a photograph, but instead stood for a few moments just taking in the joy of it all.

Kees and Catherine have worked wonders with their house, built on several levels and sandwiched in between neighbors on both sides. Kees taught himself to be his own muratore for most of the work, reclaiming stones found deep within the thick walls, and uncovering a hidden fireplace under layers of stucco. The apartment is big, and has a lovely southern exposure. From the kitchen window, we can even see Mt. Sorate in the distance.

When we ask them what news they hear about Mugnano, Catherine tells us that the neighbors talked about our visitors from the U S and expected Catherine to know all about them. The world is not THAT small.

I suggest to Roy that we redo all our olives. We tasted them when Tia and Monique were here last night, and they are too salty. So I want to rinse them off and do a new marinade with much less salt. Otherwise, they have cured well enough that we can eat them even now. But I am too tired today to tackle this project, and so will leave it for domani, or even dopo domani.

January 4
"The light is so much better in Italy," Monique told me two nights ago. She lives mainly in Paris, but owns homes in New York and I think Florida as well. We don' t know why it seems better. But there is something different about the light here, as well as the texture of the sky. Is it diffused, as if seen through one of those toy kaleidoscopes that turn and reflect colors and shapes wound round and round, creating levels and levels of the same colors and shapes?

Perhaps our imagination is heightened here by the natural stone and the dark green cypress and the blue sky. The sky here, with its wispy cotton candy stretched clouds, reminds me of religious paintings in Catholic churches of my childhood, especially at St. Agatha's, where I walked with Pamie DiRico and Brenda Flavin on Saturdays so that the priests could "hear" their confessions.

On one particular Saturday, I sat in a pew waiting for them to come out. A priest beckoned me with a "Vieni qui" movement of his hand. Frightened that God would strike me dead if I lied, I shouted out, "I'm sorry, Father, I'm not a Catholic!" I remember the statues and the colors inside the church, and I loved sitting there quietly on Saturday afternoons.

Today the sky is a watery blue, with smog on the horizon way off toward Rieti, where snow covers the craggy mountaintops. When we have a heavy cold rain, the snow stretches all across the mountain range, and we can see a wide expanse of it from our house. I think they are the lower Appennines.

Roy wants us to bake a ciabatta, an especially crusty loaf of salted white bread, and I unfold the top of the package of flour, understanding some of the recipe, while Roy putters outside. I hate following recipes accurately, believing that some of the chef must be added to each dish, so ignore the time it is to bake and the second mixing of the flour, and even the temperature, thinking it must be baked at a higher temperature than the paper bag suggests. This time, we won't use the bread machine.

I knead the dough with my hands, adding some extra flour, but want to try it my way first, and scatter a handful of cornmeal over the top of our baking stone and slide the wet dough out of the bowl onto it's flat surface and wait for it to rise. I let it rise twice the time it suggests, and brush some of Diego's fine olive oil on the top. I place the stone on a rack in the oven but immediately forget the time.

When the top looks golden through the window of the door, and the minestrone is hot, I slide out the baking rack and rap the round loaf with my right fist. It does not have a hollow sound, but looks so good that I keep it out anyway. Roy tells me to wait until it cools a little, but I have never been very good at this and take a wooden spatula in my hand to pry it up ever so gently all around. I am the person who "defrosts" a freezer with a knife, feeling like a nomad or an Antarctic explorer with each chunk I pull out with my hand, instead of waiting for it to melt on its own.

One time I defrosted the freezer in the first little apartment I rented in San Francisco and severed the gas line. Whoooee. I ran down the hall to my landlord, Mr. Chu, whose wife came running and somehow I got a new refrigerator out of it all. Since then, I am hesitant to get out a knife. And the self-defrosting models have a special attraction for me.

Roy slices a few pieces off the ends and we devour it with homemade minestrone that has been sitting in the freezer since October. The bread needs to cook a little more and next time we'll add some salt. Otherwise, it is a big hit. So now we'll have to buy up all the ciabatta flour we can from LIDL, because they threaten to stop selling it as soon as their bread machines have sold out.

Well, Roy found the perfect greenhouse, or serra, in a Unipiu catalogue. It is exactly what I want for my "office", but is too expensive, and one panel too long. So we make some measurements and drive there to see if we can buy a few of the components and have Virgilio make it for us.

No, they don't make a smaller one. We would have to buy it and modify it. And no, they don't sell the roof panels or the side panels separately, either. So we come home to make some more measurements. I want it to be constructed of ferro (iron) with panels on two sides and on the top, but with a ferro frame. Roy thinks we should have a little structure that just sits inside the area we have to work with, for insulation purposes.

I disagree, wanting only two sides with a paneled roof and door. The back tufa wall with a window exists and is lovely. We'll take the photo to Virgilio and see where we can have the panels cut for the windows and roof. Perhaps he will tell us where to find them, and we're sure the price will be less than half of what we'd pay at Unopiu.

I'm getting close to start making the scarecrows, and Roy thinks we have enough hay. We also discuss what's wrong with the plants outside our side fence, and think we need two more osmanthus and something to go on each side of the stairs. Roy wants free-standing box, tall in the back and short in the front. I am not sure, but we love being out in that part of the land and will surely add a bench facing past Tiziano's house to the deep green valley where the sheep love to graze. We also consider a cypress on either side of the top step, but need more time to research the options.

Lore comes by for a chat, telling us that her construction is moving rapidly along. She tells us about a man from Bomarzo who will apply the intonaco, or plaster to the walls. I suppose he's like a drywall expert in the U S. Perhaps that's what we need to give our walls some more depth before we do any internal painting. We really need to paint the entry area and stairway going upstairs, and I'd like to do that in the next year or so. But I'd like the finish to be rough and have a look of an old palazzo. What would I do without my dreams?

January 5
Roy drives down the Mugnano hill on the shiny black asphalt until we see frost on the dark road, with not a glint of light in sight. He slows down, and the road fairly twinkles as we turn, the morning sunlight reflecting off frost covering the road and most of the trees. We don't know how cold it is, but we can see frost on all the fields surrounding the hill on which the ancient village sits like a hen warming its eggs.

While on the Superstrada to Viterbo, we see the vigili urbani from Vitorchiano huddled in their police car, keeping warm while the camera from the speed trap set just in front of them clicks off photos of approaching speeding drivers. Ahead of us, we see two cars speeding toward them, and Roy flashes the headlights at them. In his rearview mirror he sees their brake lights quickly light up, and knows that he's saved two different people fines of €77 each.

Italians are funny. They hate the laws, and even help strangers to break them. Or should I say, finesse their way around them. This is a good example.

Later in the afternoon we hear whistling at the gate. It is Felice, and Sofi starts her low moaning and then quick chirping, rushing from her little wicker bed to the top of the stairs, turning her head to face me as if to say, "Let's GO!" She looks up at me and I tell her, "Via! Via!" Unless I stand at the top of the stairs she'll wait for me.

Outside, Felice moves up the stairs as though he has a great weight on his shoulders. He has to hold his thighs with each step to give him the courage to take one more. And then he is on the terrace and Roy and Sofi are there to greet him.

A few minutes later I walk out to greet him and to see what's going on. We take a walk around. First he looks at his lemon tree, swaddled in a gauzy white cloth. I don't' like the look of the yellow tips on many of the leaves and ask him. "Fa niente." It is nothing. He sees the big green lemons and is very pleased.

We want to know if we have to paint the trees to protect them from spring bugs, and he tells Roy something about getting calcio from Stefano, the muratore or even white paint. I'm not sure I like that idea, and we'll do some more research. How much calcio? How do we apply it? We know that "marble mud", the dust from marble yards, is good for figs, but perhaps its composition is somewhat like plain calcio.

Felice and Roy and Sofi and I walk out to the far yard and talk about the big ripa of tufa above us. I'd like to see it all cleared. The stone is very beautiful. Felice thinks it's a good idea, and encourages Roy to have Mario cut down all the trees growing out of the huge tufa wall, Eventually, they will pull the wall away from the hill. So in the next month we'll have Mario come with his motosega and cut away. I agree to leave all the green leaves and dark berries, but the rest will be hacked away.

The insegnante and his favorite pupil take a walk around the big fig tree, like sizing up their prey, and Roy starts to clip, while Felice takes a stick and points to each offending branch. Off they go. We walk off the upper orto, and agree on planting three short rows of pomodori. That's all.

Down below, where the pomodori grew this year, we'll have potatoes and zucchini. Roy tells Felice, "Solo fiori". He does not care much for zucchini, but loves the flowers prepared and stuffed. It is too late to plant fava beans. I am really sad about that. I did not know that fava beans are planted in October. That means that the earth will not be prepared well for tomatoes the following year. In February we'll plant potatoes, which will be harvested in June, before it gets too hot. We still have lots of potatoes from this year sitting in the cave that we have not cooked.

Felice turns around to look out at the lavender garden when I step past the little carved iron gate and close it low behind me. He tells me that he loves this garden, and it is beautiful. The light in his old eyes tells me that he really means it.

Roy opens the bottom gate for Felice to leave, and there are neighbors sitting on the little stone benches we set up at the end of the path: Franca and Giuliola are sitting and Andrea is playing with the gravel, throwing the stones against the wall. Roy calls up to me to tell me that people are sitting on the benches, and Sofi and I walk down the path to greet them. We are delighted.

We hoped that our neighbors would feel comfortable sitting there, and now wonder if we need a third little stone bench to match the other two. The sun continues to shine on the path, and although it is cold in the shade, it is warm in the sun. Down the street, Augusta and Luciana arrive for their daily walk, and come over to join us. Luciana sits, and Franca and Andrea take a little walk on the path. Livio arrives, and before we know it they are saying "C'e veddiamo and "A domani." A domani? I did not remember that tomorrow is Epifania.

Tomorrow Roy will join his Confraternity buddies for the blessing of the reliquaries in the evening. A regular mass will be said in the morning. I love this evening service. The reliquaries are supposed to be authentic remains of actual saints, tiny pieces of bone encased within glass and mounted in ornate vessels. Mugnano has many of them.

Roy speaks with Tiziano and Tito is still very ill. He is staying at their house and waiting for the results of his hospital tests. We will say a prayer for him tomorrow in church and light a candle.

Now it's time to start a big pot of minestrone for the cold days ahead. I put on my worn apron and tie it at the back. I am ready. Before I am through, the tall copper pot my mother gave us the first year we were married is almost full. After it simmers for a while and cools down, Roy takes it out to sit on the sink in the loggia until tomorrow.

January 6
Today is a major holiday in Italia, Epifany, signified by pretend witches bringing sweets to young children, supposedly by sliding down their chimneys. Yesterday, Franca told us that Andrea thinks that Babbo is much more important than the Epifania. She agreed that this was Ester's last year of joining the celebration. But little Andrea has many more years to look forward to Babbo's greeting on Christmas Eve.

The Epifany today also signifies the arrival of the three wise men bringing gifts to the Christ Child. So we have a mass this morning. A disabled child who is related to Carla's family is in the church, along with his relatives. This mass is in honor of Carla's family. There are two women who look similar to Carla, and the child is delightful, remembering the mass and singing the Alleluia more joyously than any of us.

On the door of the little church is a poster, telling us that there will be special collections for the terribile maremoto in Southeast Asia. "It is impossible to remain indifferent", the poster tells us, and after the mass Giuliola passes out donation envelopes for us to return tonight at the service. We have been wondering where we could best donate, and this is an excellent way. We tuck our money into the envelope and will turn it in tonight.

The stories on the television continue nonstop, and they are heartbreaking. The politicians jockey for position on the T V news, and the U S has given up its stewardship along with Japan and Australia and India to the United Nations, which is as it should be. So how will the mechanics of it all work? Will most of the money be eaten up in red tape? Strangely, Doctors Without Borders is turning donations away. They don't seem to have the infrastructure in place to handle their enormous following.

What is the long-term plan to revive this part of the world? And while we are at it, why don't we do something about the children in Africa? Their chance of survival to adulthood is abysmal. Is theirs a news story that gets buried because Africa is a third world continent? Should we forget about them? Where should the emphasis lie? And what happens after the initial news stories die down? We hear that although many millions of dollars are pledged in these emergencies, only part of the pledges turn into real money. It appears to be grandstanding of the grimmest kind.

I light a candle for Tito before the mass, and ask Rosita and Tiziano how he is doing. Not well: he spends all day in bed. So we ask if we can stop to see him, and agree that we will see him at around noon.

We walk home in a thick fog and Roy prints out a photo of Sofi, making a get-well card for Tito from her. Tito loves Sofi. She makes him laugh just looking at her. The Italians don't say, "get well". They say "Stay in good health" or "Stai bene". Roy wants to have Sofi "sign" the card, so he mixes a little coffee powder with water and dips her front paw in it, placing the paw below the message for an imprint then dries the mess with a hair dryer. I sign her name and we leave Sofi to guard the house while we drop off the card and a lavender sachet to this sweet man.

Tito does not look well. He sleeps in a little bed in the corner of Enzo and Rosita's bedroom, all covered up and wearing a dark blue wool cap. Tiziano wakes him and he thanks us for coming. When Tiziano shows him Sofi's card he tries to smile and thanks us again. Tito is having trouble with his brain. We don't know exactly what is wrong, but he appears disoriented. He turned 92 on December 15th.

While seated in the kitchen, Tiziano agrees that we'll get together this year to write a history for the people of Mugnano. To do this we'll interviewing old as well as younger people who have stories to tell and scan photographs. He suggests we get Silvana involved. She has many photos of Mugnano events from past years and we think would enjoy the project. It will also help our Italian, we hope.

Roy wants to grill part of our pranzo in the fireplace, and starts a fire to get the coals red hot and then grey. Yesterday we picked up a corner grate for the fireplace, and also a couple of veal chops, so he'll sear them the way they do at Roscio and I'll make swiss chard, or bietole and a salad with oranges and rugghetta and fennel thinly sliced with the vegetable peeler so that it is almost translucent. Not every meal is an "Italian" meal...

When we come home, I open the side gates, and Sofi and I walk around the property. I love it out beyond the lavender field and the side gate, and continue to formulate a few additions to the landscape. There is always something to do.

It is very cold by the time we leave for the evening church service at 6:15. We drive up, and Elena is at the door when we arrive. Roy and Valerio walk down the aisle to the sacristy to change, and Elena and I decide to sit together. We sit in the second row. I am nervous, but will just follow her lead.

The reliquaries are set up on the altar and some of them are exquisite. The statue of San Liberato the Martyr is placed front and center. His skin is black, and his vestments are gold. The bust is beautiful, but I am confused. The statue that is taken around on his Saint's Day has white skin. Elena does not know why, and Giuliola tells us that he was a black man, from Africa. But when I ask her why the second statue that we see every time we are in church is white skinned, she makes up some explanation that does not sit right with me. I'll have to find out why.

The service is very moving. Don Luca sits in an elaborate red chair facing the altar, and Vincenzo does the honors, chanting the names of each saint as the reliquary is held up by Enzo Gasperoni. Some of the reliquaries have remains of more than one saint. I have a little notebook and start to write down the names but there are so many I give up. Roy tells me later that Don Luca had detailed instructions for each man to carry out. Federico's father said to Roy, "You and I will just sit on either side of Don Luca" and Roy was relieved.

At the end of the service, when all the other reliquaries are put back in the sacristy, the bust of San Liberato is held by Don Luca, and each person in the church comes up to kiss it. There are at least fifty people in the church. Roy is to my right as I face San Liberato, standing at Don Luca's side, and I am so moved that a tear slides down my cheek.

When Roy returns after the mass, with his costume put away, we pass Rosita and I remember to thank her for their Christmas gifts. She tells me that Tito is "molto contenta". It really pleased him that we stopped by and gave him the card from Sofi. He will continue in our prayers.

January 7
Little Sofi shakes in my arms at the vet this afternoon, but just looks the other way when she is pushed and prodded and shot full of medicine on her 6-month visit. But when the vet clips her nails, she remains stoic; shaking but looking straight ahead as if to say, "Please just get this over with. If I don't move a muscle maybe they'll stop." Sofi has long black nails on her paws, and it is impossible for us to clip them. For the winter, she keeps her pelo duro fur coat, and only gets a short clip in the warm months. We are so proud of her. Back at home she is very quiet and tired. The medicine and the visit itself probably wore her out.

Thanks to the magic of the internet, I spend some time tonight researching bread recipes and copying some for us as well as for Tia. We don't have all the flours we'd like to have, so we are trying to figure out how to make the best bread we can using local ingredients. We've ordered a 1985 Italian baking book by Carol Field, so perhaps that will help us decipher some of the types of flour and methods to use.

January 8
While I am trying to get an internet connection, the lines are somehow crossed and it sounds as though Rosanna Rosannadanna is trying to climb right out of the computer. Two women gab away; their voices rise one after another in ascending decibels as the fragile connection squeaks out it's last gasp and then the connection dies with a snap. We have such a feeble internet connection here that on foggy and wet days such as this, it is a real task to actually make any connection at all.

Sofi lies around all day, looking at me with a "what have you done to me" expression. The rabies injection is really bothering her. But she will not leave my side, no matter what room I am in.

As much as I want to redo the olives, it is just too cold. We take down all the Christmas decorations except for the lights rimming the property. Roy likes the way they light up the terrace, and somehow imagines us sitting out there at night in the warm weather with the lights still on. I'll wait a week and hope that he changes his mind. Neighbors will probably think, "Oh, it's those daffy stranieri, with their Christmas lights on all year. They're a little loose in the head."

I have spent hours researching recipes for making great bread, and have ordered a 20-year old Carol Field book on Italian bread-making on the internet. Today we make a loaf with sunflower seeds and flour, and can't seem to decide whether we like the bread better in the bread-maker or in the oven.

I opt for the oven, so we decide to do the mixing and the first two rises in the bread-maker and the actual cooking in the oven. But the dough is too wet. I throw caution to the wind, scooping out the sunflowers and pasty earthen dough from the canister in the bread machine. Next, I drop it all into a round glass fish bowl and then add some white flour before plunging in poised with the beaters shaped like whirly-gigs. I flip the switch and dig right into the soggy mess like a dune buggy over a sandy beach. Around and around and up and down and finally the dough moves away from the side of the bowl. I turn it out onto the baking stone covered with a sanding of polenta flour and then sit it near the fire in the fireplace to rise to twice its size. Speriamo.

A few hours later, we decide to put it in the oven, and after we take it out and cool it for a few minutes, it actually tastes quite good. In the meantime, I rustle up a batter of rye bread and it comes out rather like a football. It is supposed to rise to twice its size, so we leave it overnight under a towel out of the draft, and we'll put it in the oven in the morning. In the meantime, the sourdough starter needs to be stirred. It sits on a metal frame over the radiator at the back of the kitchen. When we take out the bowl it is soupy, but not to worry. This will take a few days. Are you thinking of Lucille Ball and Ethel Mertz and their bread making days?

Speaking of Lucy and Ethel, Tia calls and thinks we should open a bakery:.L'Avventura baked goods and baking coveralls, an adventure from head to foot. She's the real bread expert. She and Monique bought out the entire remainder of the flour from LIDL in Narni and have almost finished it. They have baked bread every day. So check back in with us in a month to see if we have any good recipes...Or good stories.

January 9
After mass, Enzo tells us that his father remains ill. Something continues to press on his brain, but it is not a tumor. They will have another consultation at the hospital on Tuesday. Italians are riveted to news of the sick. Alberto and Loredana and Roy and I hang on Enzo's every word. Tito remains in our thoughts and in our prayers.

There is a notice of the feast day of San Antonio d' Abate on Saturday, January 16th, but no notice of a service for the animals. San Antonio d'Abate is the patron saint of animals, and most churches have little ceremonies for local pets. After church, Roy asks Livio if there will be a service, and he tells Roy that it will probably be on Sunday afternoon. Sofia Maria will be ready!

We bake the rye bread, which is a little round loaf, and when it comes out of the oven it is as hard as stone. Roy slices into it and it is delicious.

January 10
There is a rose that I love. It is a Floribunda, a shrub rose, called Easy Going. It should be renamed. Finding it for our gardens has been anything but Easy Going. I fell in love with it at Judith's house in West Marin, California. She told me that it was grown by Harkness Nursery in England, so I emailed and then called them. Yes, they did grow the rose, but no they won't have any until next fall. Referrals to three other nurseries in England also were dead ends.

So I did some more research, thanks to Google, and found a grower in the Netherlands that claims to have them. Before Google, before the internet, whatever did people do? Judith, bless her, ordered some up to be shipped to her from one of the sources I tried, without even being asked. And then she found out that it is not possible to ship roses to Italy from California. This particular nursery will not ship to EU countries outside England, but will ship to the US. So she'll use them at her new house next door.

Today remains very cold, and Roy drives to Soriano to pay our annual Italian medical insurance. It's the same as last year: €377. If Roy becomes a citizen, it will be free, I suspect. But we're still waiting to hear something about his grandfather's citizenship in the U S. Google can't help with that, unfortunately. We filled out and submitted the paperwork in San Francisco before we returned here last month. Who knows when we'll receive a reply. We need to find out when he became a U S citizen before Roy can continue filing his own citizenship application for Italy.

While Googling on the web, I come across a web site of an Italian man who lives in Germany and writes about food and cooking...and bread, in English! So I forward the site to Tia. I also email him to ask him about where to buy good flour in Italy. For all the wonderful things about living in Italy, shopping is definitely not one of them. I don't mind. We came here partly to get away from all the commercialism. So in our own silly way we are pioneering, finding new ways to meet the challenges we face.

Looking back on it, the permits to live here, the consulates, the drivers licenses, the local bureaucratic red tape, have not really been all that difficult. Yes, learning the language continues to be very difficult. But we signed up for that. And it's making our lives fuller, keeping our brains on overdrive.

In the meantime, back to the bread saga, we continue to keep the beginning sourdough starter in a covered bowl above the radiator in the kitchen. Each time we stir it, it sinks lower. By the time it is "ready", there won't be enough to do anything with. I can only laugh when I read this.

January 11

Thank you, Alberto, my new "best friend". Alberto writes the web site I found while trying to locate a nursery to sell us the Easy Going roses. He sends me names of web sites of two companies that make flour in Italy. I've emailed them, and both sites are also in English. Alberto confirms that when he travels to Tuscany and Umbria, he longs for a little salt in his bread. No kidding. Bread made in other parts of Italy is usually crusty and delicious. We'll be adding a link to his site on our web page soon, and he will add ours to his. Tia will especially love his site. There are recipes on it for non-Italian dishes.

Today is a real mix-up. Our first appointment with Sacha to see a house in Bomarzo is cancelled at the last minute while we're at his gate, and the second appointment is sbagliato (wrong). I think I have an appointment with Giusy for a pedicure, but she shows me on the calendar that we changed it to the following week.

It's back home for some minestrone and chicken and a fire and perhaps today we can tackle changing the olives and making a drawing of the greenhouse. I make the mixture to go with the olives and start a rye bread, and then come up to write.

But Roy calls up to me to have me come downstairs. It is dark outside, with the lights still rimming the terrace. But a black wrought iron chair is placed on its side on the wooden bench below the kitchen window. And another sits right beside it. The chairs are from the table by the front stairs. As far as we know, no one has been here. But someone had to have moved the chairs.

So someone must have jumped a wall, we guess, and opened the side gate during the past two or three hours. We have no idea what they wanted. Placing the chairs as they did would not help them to break into the house. And now we are on alert again. Roy takes the flashlight and goes out to look around, returning with a puzzled look on his face. We know someone who is not a friend came onto our property this afternoon. And we hope that he does not return...Now we are on high alert again.

What is it with thefts in Italy? It is as if people think it is fair to steal things that belong to other people. As far as we know, thieves are not interested in hurting their victims. They just want to rob them of material things. Someone wants to break into our house. They want to rob us. We don't have much to steal. We are not wealthy people. So I guess there is no such place as paradise.

The best news of the night is that a new recipe for rye bread is a great success. It will definitely go on the food blog soon. I am not so sure that the sourdough starter will be an ongoing activity, but its addition to the bread is a winner. We're not about to change our lives because someone wants to cause us harm. We'll know if they're Italian. They'll definitely want to taste tonight's bread...

January 12
Roy did not sleep well last night, and at 6AM I found him running downstairs with a flashlight and rushing out the front door because he heard a "knocking" somewhere. Fa niente. We've decided to let the Marshalo know; he's head of the Carabinieri in Bomarzo, and they'll probably drive by the house now and then. We've taken more security measures, but if whoever jumped over our fence reads this journal, don't look here for any bright ideas. As a matter of fact, don't look here for bright ideas of any kind for any reason!

Bread, bread, our rye bread is simply divine. We'll post the recipe on the Food blog soon. Our research for better flour continues...

I have an appt. with Alice, who really helps my sore shoulder, but notice a big bump on the back of Sofi's neck, so right after I am through we drive straight to the vet. It is nothing. If the bump remains for a week, we should go back. Poor Sofi. So we call Tia and drive back thru Amelia and stop for a visit.

Tia's brother and sister in law are here from Finland. They were in Thailand when the earthquake and tsunami struck, but were unhurt. The Finnish government reached them with a text message on their cell phone and told them they'd have a free flight home in two days. Those Fins really had their act together. Tia is really pleased to have them here for awhile. Her brother is a great chef, although does not know much about baking bread...Yet.

January 13
Prince Dado Ruspoli died on Tuesday. I think we met him once at the castle, introduced by his niece, Giada. At age eighty, he left behind a young wife and two children, aged nine and ten. Since we did not know him, we did not attend the elaborate funeral mass in Rome. But Lili calls us to tell us that there will be a service in Vignanello at 3pm, so we go to pay our respects and also to see the service. In the local newspaper there is a story about his life, including a photo taken with Brigitte Bardot and tales about his jetset life before settling down at around age 60.

Lili and her daughter, Catherine, arrive soon after we do. At just before 3pm, the local priest of the Ruspoli family church in the square speaks up as though we are all his friends. He will not be able to celebrate a mass, since the mass itself has just been held in Rome and there can only be one funeral mass. Although this is the family's church, the decision to not hold the funeral mass here was certainly not his.

Lili tells us that everyone in the town loves this priest. He is quite eccentric, let's leave it at that, and instead of witnessing the mass we hear a beautiful Ave Maria sung from the balcony where a grand organ plays.

The priest starts a reading from St. Paul to the Corinthians, and is interrupted by the doors of the church suddenly opening and the casket arriving in characteristic royal fashion, carried by eight pallbearers. We recognize Giada's older son at the right front side, his face full of emotion. Surprisingly, the entry of the casket is met with a burst of spontaneous applause.

Once the casket is laid down on a purple rug placed in front of the altar in the center aisle, the family follows, and stands circling the casket. Flag bearers in full costume stand at attention on either side of the aisle.

A prayer is said, the priest speaks about his friend, Dada, and then Carlo, the tiny head gardener of Ruspoli, reads a letter he wrote. He finishes reading by looking over at the casket and, in a clear voice, saying, "Ciao, Dado!"

The priest then gives his salute to the Prince, ending with the same, "Ciao, Dado!" So when it is time for the sindaco (mayor) of Vignanello, a young curly haired fellow, to speak his few words on behalf of the town, he finishes speaking with the same goodbye.

The service ends as abruptly as it began, the casket is held up by young pallbearers from the family, and Dado leads his own procession across the plaza, across the moat, through the huge wooden doors of Palazzo Ruspoli for the last time, followed again by applause. We imagine that he is buried in the local cemetery in a family tomb.

We return home to see that Felice has come by, and turned over a little earth in the pomodori garden. Just enough was moved that we think he wanted to putter here for a while. We are sorry we were not here to greet him.

Yes, we try another loaf of bread, this time in the machine, and in an email from Lili we find out that she makes her own flour. We will have dinner with her tomorrow, and will find out where she gets the grain and what methods she uses. But we are invited tonight to dinner at Shelly's, and the three of us sit around the kitchen table and share a bottle of wine.

Dani is upstairs in bed with a fever, but in customary fashion, Shelly caters to him, bringing up a tray of food and then another when it is time for dessert. Dani has been trained as an Italian male. Although only 13, he has the makings of a characteristic Italian man: handsome, a great love of his mother, and an attitude that being waited upon by his mother and other women are a normal and necessary part of life. It will be interesting to see how he matures.

Claudio remains in Rome at his sister's apartment, going into the hospital often. Their lives are becoming more and more closely connected back to Rome. Perhaps when Dani goes to school in Rome next year that will mark another passage for Shelly and Claudio. Will they be able to keep up their wonderful property? Only time will tell.

January 14
A lovely letter arrives from Uncle Harry, with an article in it from a San Diego newspaper. There is a man in Nevada City, CA, who has just finished making his 95th violin. He is 95 years old! Refusing to sell even one of his violins, he takes them apart every three years or so, studying how the instruments change in tone. He has lent his violins to famous musicians, and has no interest in ever selling even one.

It appears he will set up a foundation to care for these pieces after his death. I imagine him sitting in his kitchen in front of the fireplace, whittling the wood silently and thoughtfully, hearing the sounds of the violin and blessing each day.

After a very foggy morning here, the sun appears over a mist in the valley and Sofi enjoys a few hours reclining on the front step. While Roy is out doing errands, we walk out past the side gate and inspect the fruit trees, whose branches are just starting to show tiny nodules. In only a few weeks, we will have blossoms, and then the whole property will begin to come alive. We're going to talk with Stefano about using calcio on the bottom trunks of the trees. I have some doubts, but will keep an open mind.

Already I see bright blue flowers on the rosemarino above the parcheggio. I am sure that I want to replace the crepuscule roses on the rose arch. It is time to pick up new bare root roses and plant them on either side, after taking out all the existing soil and replacing it. They'll probably be yellow. While looking at the area next to the arch, I realize that the spot in the loggia where we have our presepio is a grand spot for a big blue hydrangea. It will get plenty of light but no direct sun. It is strange that I never thought of that before.

The serra (greenhouse) is beginning to take shape on paper, and Roy wants to return to Unopiu to look at some fine details of their greenhouse model. I see that the existing old door to the chicken coop can be moved to a little tufa building on the top level of the far property. It even hinges on the correct side. This project may just happen, and in time for spring seedlings. I am thrilled at the thought.

Tonight Sofi guards the house while we visit Lili. Patricia and Olivia are there, as well as Mateus and Catherine. I love to eat in their big kitchen at the long table. The table must seat at least a dozen people, and is broad enough to place dishes in the center with plenty of extra room. Sitting in front of the fire, we feast on a pot of lenticche as well as wonderful eggplant parmigiana, salad and pizza bianca before three desserts: our steamed pudding, Olivia's chocolate treats with whipped cream and blueberries and Patricia's apple crumble.

Lili fills us in on the grain that she buys at a health food store near Rome. She also showed us the Bosch machine she uses to grind it. But the store will also sell it to us ground and ready to use. The places also sell all kinds of vegetables. I am sure that they will also sell the kind of molasses we need to make pumpernickel bread. What I learned tonight is that if we buy farina integrale, which Patricia tells us is a kind of bran, at the grocery store, we are not sure that it is not shot with chemicals. That is why flour bought from a grocery store has an expiration date. If we buy grain or flour the way she recommends, she tells me that it will keep for 2,000 (yes, two thousand) years. As you can see, we still have more research to do, but our noses are on the scent...

January 15
Sofi is back to her old self, even though the bump on the back of her little neck remains a little swollen. But the sun is out, and it is a beautiful day. So she's happy to gambol about.

Although it is cold, we drive off to Viterbo, all three of us snug in the front seat. Now that the roses are all dormant, it is time to replace the roses on the rose arch. We have tried for three years to grow the Crepescule roses, but they are not happy. So Tiziana at Vivaio Michelini convinces us that what we need are two Alister Stella Gray roses. They will look somewhat like the Crepescule, but have fewer thorns and will be more robust. We will see.

She also tells us to purchase something called stallatico to use in the winter mixed with the soil. It is some kind of soil additive. And then in March we are to switch to nitrophosca gold. This year we are going to make an extra effort with the roses to see if we can get them all to thrive. Now that they will get ongoing watering, we will make sure that the soil is right, the food is right.

The Easy Going roses should arrive in the next couple of weeks. We are anxious to start again out in the garden. I think I'd like to plant delphiniums and have a lot of blue in the garden. Blue delphinium and blue iris and pink roses and lavender in the lavender garden room and blue hydrangeas and blue plumbago and yellow and peach and white roses and nepeta on the front terrace. The far garden has pink and white roses. I am not sure where the easy going roses will go.

We've decided on smallish terra cotta olive oil jars flanking the bottom of the stairs to the far property, with pittisporum planted to grow over the sides. We'll probably go back to Carlo in Ripabianca, because he has the best prices on great pots. Perhaps tomorrow we'll start to work on the soil, taking out the Crepescules and digging out all the soil, then replacing the old soil with new soil and stallatico and, of course, the new roses. We buy stallatico from Bruno in Attigliano and will spend some time mixing the stallatico with the existing soil on all the plants.

January 16
Tonight there are bonfires in both La Quercia and neighboring Bagnaia, home of Villa Lante. Roy went to the fire in Bagnaia last year, and hopes that I will join him tonight. The fire is in honor of San Antonio D'Abate, the patron saint of animals. Tomorrow night, we will have our own little bonfire in the centro storico, and Sofia will be blessed.

Roy finishes the drawing of the greenhouse, and the angle of the roof is now just right. Tomorrow we will go to Virgilio to have him give us a price to build and install it and tell us where we can buy the panels. In just a few weeks we will start to plant seeds, and if we can have a greenhouse then we can move the operation out of the guest bedroom into my new "office". If the greenhouse will happen this year, Roy will also install fluorescent lights as "grow" lights. Soon, very soon, our lives will be full of tending our little spot of land. But this time, we can begin to do some serious planting.

Autofuriosa. I would have thought it might be expressed as stradarribiata. Road rage. Yes, the Italians are certainly capable of road rage. This is a cover story about it in a recent Automobile Club of Italy magazine. Speaking of rage, when we are at tonight's festa in Bagnaia in honor of San Antonio D'Abate, I am standing on the church steps to try to see what is going on.

Marco is a volunteer for the group putting on the fire lighting event, starring an enormous mound of wood, placed just so, after a benediction and procession by the local Confraternita di Bagnaia in front of San Antonio d'Abate's own church. Marco sets up red and white striped tape, keeping a bunch of us back from the main part of the front steps, to make room for the priests and Confraternita.

But in characteristic Italian fashion, a number of people appear after the tape is set up, and a movie-star handsome young man, at least 6'6" tall, decides to stand right in front of me, blocking my view of the stairs where the priests will say the benediction as well as most of the pyre in the square; one that will be lit in fifteen minutes or so.

I try to ask him to move to the left, and he just peers down at me standing on the other side of the plastic tape and turns around to show me his back. So I try to make it difficult for him, moving toward him to try to edge him to another step, or at least out of my direct line of sight. I am claustrophobic, and also have a little rage of my own going on. There are people behind me at least several rows deep. It is difficult to move in any direction.

If a man is that tall, shouldn't he be a little considerate of little old ladies who he can just as well stand behind? No. Instead, he turns around and tells me, "No spingere!" or "Don't push!" I just look up at him blankly, but stare right at him until he removes his gaze. Boh. It's useless. He's so typical that he will probably enjoy causing me stress.

Roy came to this event last year with out me, and wants me to see it. There. I have seen it. It is cold, we wait half an hour to see young people on the committee posing for pictures in front of the mass of wood, and hundreds of people standing behind guard rails to watch gasoline doused on this huge pile of wood and then see it lit. The Vigili del Fuoco, or firemen, drive by now and then in a fire truck. But otherwise, there is not much protection from the fire, especially if the wind is blowing. After an hour or so of this silliness, we drive on home to a quiet evening before our own little fire.

Roy tells me on the way home that he has been thinking about installing a gas starter for our fireplace. What a good idea, especially since the gas line for the stove is so close by. He thinks he will tackle the project in April...after we've had our last fire. Huh? If we are having trouble keeping fires lit these days, why not now? Some mysteries are better left as mysteries, I suppose.

On these sunny days, I can't wait to open the bedroom window wide while I write. The gauzy drapes near the desk seem to breathe in and out with each gentle breeze. Outside, the noises of the dogs in the valley and the birds in our treetops remind me that this is not a day of rest for all living things.

Tito is not well at all. Tiziano tells us that his doctor sent him home last Tuesday, not able to do anything for him. The growth is somewhere between his nose and his eye, and he is too old for surgery. So these days he mostly sleeps. I can look down upon their house and hope that he is able to sit in the sunlight and at least hear the birds sing. He is a simple country man, and I think these sounds are sounds that he loves. He remains in my prayers.

January 17
The day starts before dawn, with Roy moving slowly and in pain. I know to get up and take a shower while he's trying to see if the medication he just took for his stomach works. Before I am out of the shower he is downstairs in real pain. He thinks it is an intestinal thing.

I know he is really in a bad way, because he asks me to drive. Sofi cries in the back seat, confused by my take-charge attitude and place behind the wheel. It is -3 degrees C., so the windshield takes a few minutes to defrost.

By the time we get to Terni and the Pronto Soccorso, or Emergency Room, he is a little better. Sofi stays in the car while Roy gets admitted. Lo and behold, he has a kidney stone. It has been 15 years since his last attack. Luckily it is a tiny stone, more like a grain of sand. Calcolo renale. Kidney stone. An attending nurse named Beatrice helps us, and her English is very good. Roy has an eco-cardiogram, a blood and a urine test. He is to come back tomorrow for an appointment with the urologist. For pain, he is prescribed medicine, and he will go to Dottoressa this afternoon to fill her in and get her prescription. The cost of this experience today is zip. zero. €0.

Roy feels so much better when he is dismissed that he wants a little breakfast and then to drive north to Carlo's in Ripabianca for two pots for the far yard. Carlo is great. I tell him all our pots are from him, and he gives us a brother-in-law price.

While we are there, we take a chance and drive a few minutes north to Deruta. We collect those little square plates with Italian "modo de dire" sayings on them, which are probably old and we are told aren't made anymore. The reason is purely a matter of economics. The artists took too long to make them and so they were not profitable at the amount they had to price the plates.

After a few shops we stop at one on a lark, and a woman tells us that her brother has some. We think she will call him. But she walks to the back of the little shop where her brother paints the ceramica, and shows us three covered with paint. He uses them to mix his paints! So we buy all three that she tells us are "sporco". Underneath the paint, which is washed off with a sponge and water, are delightful sayings. We offer her €5 each, and turn home, feeling we have had too many adventures already for one day. We are tired.

Roy rests up and at 4PM drives to Dottoressa. In the meantime, I am outside with Sofi and see Felice slowly walking up Via Mameli. He comes up and we have a long talk. I even understand a little of what he is saying. But there are a few real surprises.

First of all, he tells me that he planted two rows of fava beans for us during the past ten days or so. Fava beans! I thought it was too late to plant them! So the little turning over of the earth in this year's pomodori field was done for the two rows of fava beans! God bless Felice. He tells me that he asked Italo if he thought it was too late to plant favas, and they both agreed to try it anyway.

He then tells me that in February we will plant two and only two rows of patate. He lowers his head and smiles, telling me that we have not eaten the potatoes from last year that sit in the cava. Well, we have eaten some. We love potatoes. I have no idea why we have not eaten more.

But the biggest surprise comes when I ask him about the chairs on the front terrace. Someone had jumped over the fence and stacked them to probably steal them. Felice came by and put one on top of the wooden bench and stood the other one by its side. So now the chairs are safely locked away for the rest of the winter. We don't use them at this time of year, anyway.

Although yesterday was the feast day of San Antonio D'Abate, the patron saint of farm animals, it is to be celebrated tonight, in little Mugnano. But Felice tells me that even though there may be a blessing of the animals tonight, it is only really a blessing of the farm animals. St. Vito is the patron saint of dogs. But when I look it up in our saints' calendar, St. Vito is nowhere to be found.

Vito, Vito! It sounds like a chant from a Godfather film. I tell Felice that I don't think a priest will come on St. Vito's day to bless the dogs in Mugnano. He laughs and agrees.

Felice leaves, Roy leaves to meet with Dottoressa, who gives him prescriptions for today's medicine and for tomorrow's appointment. She is not worried about his elevated blood pressure. He comes home and feels fine about going to the centro storico after dark, so we bundle up and the three of us drive there.

Livio has opened the doors to the church, set an altar by the door, lit the candles and prepped a beautiful fire in the center of the plaza, right in front of the open doors. The fire is set every bit as beautifully as that in Bagnaia yesterday. Vincenzo, the shepherd, and Livio light the fire, and by the time Don Luca and some of the villagers arrive, the fire is beautiful.

While we are waiting for things to "heat up", Alberto Cozzi comes over to us. We ask him if he has signed the petition to get ADSL in Bomarzo and he has not, but he tells us that he will have a computer in a couple of weeks and will do so. We don't know if the petition for Bomarzo also covers Mugnano, but he tells us that it does, because Mugnano is less than 4 kilometers from the hub of where the line will reach. His boss's boss is responsible for the project, and since he works for Telecom Italia we think that we can believe him.

Today Roy signed up at the Ferramenta in Bomarzo, but was only the twentieth person to sign up. That is the bad news. The good news is that this is only the third day of the sign-up. So we forward emails along to everyone we know in Mugnano who we think we can get to sign. The service is expected to be installed by May. And to think we were told that Mugnano would never have ADSL. Miracles do happen.

Earlier, Felice told me that "tanti anni fa" (many years ago), there used to be a procession down Via Piana with all the farm animals. Now there aren't many farm animals left. I ask Giuliola if she remembers and she tells me that is true, making horns come out of her head with her index fingers and laughing, describing the different animals.

Tonight we have a bleating old sheep, two cats (one runs away from Alberto Cozzi before the service starts) and one of Enzo's sweet and shy hunting dogs, as well as Sofi. Brik and Ubik are not here, nor is Felix the cat. But fa niente, Don Luca is happy anyway. Tiziana, the former mayor and Jacopo's mother, agrees with Roy that person for person and fire for fire, Mugnano's fire can stack up to famous Bagnaia's fire any day. We all agree.

Here is Don Luca with Sofia Maria after the blessing.

By the time the blessing is over, the fire has died down to coals, and a grate is placed over the fire and bruschetta is cooked over the open fire. Then it is put on plastic (!) platters and salt and fresh olive oil is smeared on top. Roy tells me this is delicious. He acts as if he has never been served it before. But the funny one is the priest, Don Luca. He tells the women who serve it to him, or at least Roy thinks he tells the women, "Don't tell my wife!" You know, not really knowing the language makes for very funny translations.

We are so tired that we come home, even though the people in the village are just gearing up, with trays of sweets and now sausages to be grilled. Sofi is overwhelmed by the fire, which scared her, as well as the sheep, who also scared her. But she is doubly blessed today, and behaved like an angel all day. So we take her home and all look forward to an early night in dreamland.

January 18
The pipes froze last night. And so did the internet connection. I put a pasta pot of water on to boil for sponge baths, but Roy fixes the problem by walking outside to the water heater and bypassing the hot water. It works, and we are back in business. But we are still not able to get an internet connection. Last night we emailed Paola and Shelly to see if we can get more people to sign the petition for ADSL. Speriamo.

The bright sun will warm things up, so we get ready to drive back to the hospital in Terni. On these, the coldest days of the year, we look forward to warm fires in the fireplace and wonder when we'll have our one day of snow. Today it is just too cold. But Roy feels much better and for that I am grateful. His visit with the doctor at the hospital takes less than ten minutes after the customary long wait, and all is well.

We are feeling more comfortable about our decision to center our serious health needs at the Terni hospital. By all counts, it is the best around, second to Perugia and of course, Rome. Roy's appointment is at ten AM, but when we arrive we have to go to get a number and pay for the service first, and our number is 171. Considering the early hour, that means that more than a thousand people come to this hospital for outpatient services every day!

Karina calls and yes, she'd like to see the Sistene Chapel with us. She may get a gig to do some Angels and Demons tours. Those are tours based on the book by Dan Brown. After the DaVinci Code, this author is hot, hot. So his book situated in Rome is now the backdrop for a new set of Rome tours, mapping out the spots where the murders took place. We've offered to do some research with her for the tours, and so will spend the day with her jaunting around the city, while Sofi plays at Tia's house with Gioia and Charlie.

Roy is feeling better, but we are both tired. Somehow Roy does not like to keep still, so he moves the olive oil jars up from the parcheggio and settles them down where they are to live in the far property at the base of the steps. A few wheelbarrows full of river stones stabilize them, and we'll plant pittisporum on top after a generous load of terra buona with stallatico.

Tonight, while I am on the phone with Tia, I see raindrops on the kitchen window. Finalmente! We have not had rain for over a month. We are due for rain...and snow! Will tonight be the night? It is surely cold enough.

January 19
Looking out the window after last night's rain, I see snowy ice-cream topped hills in the distance. Today the mountain range seems higher and wider than the last time I noticed. At closer view, I see a nearer range without snow. We will study some books tonight to better define it, determining where the range begins and ends in our view.

Right now, I can see past Orte, further into the Tiber Valley toward Rome. It is as though I am looking through a long eyed lens. Did I not realize how far our view extends? So we'll get our map books out to see if we can figure out where the Apennines begin and end in our part of Italia. In the valley below us, the bushes and bare trees look like rusty debris fallen by the banks of the Tiber. Here in Mugnano the ground is cold and wet, but no snow has fallen.

Once out in the car it is cold and windy, and the sky is letting us know that our one day of snow a year may soon be upon us. The rain left the ground wet, but by the time we awoke, the rain had moved on. We drive to Pinzaglia in Bassano to pick up four evergreen pittisporum plants for the tops of our two olive oil jugs. Roy will probably plant them tomorrow, They will be perfect, because they will not grow tall, but will drop over the sides of the rim like spilled honey.

I first saw pittisporum plants at Unopiu sitting on top of grand clay pots outside their front door, and liked the way the leaves formed and grew sideways on top of the pots. I look forward to sitting on the far staircase with Roy and Sofi in warmer weather and watching the pots take on their varied patina.

Inside, I make our first pot of lentils for the year, and they are very tasty. I am not used to making it without sausages, and like it better all by itself. Roy makes a sausage sandwich with the fresh rye bread. It is hard to top fresh rye bread, just out of the oven, crispy on top. When we take the train to Rome soon, we'll visit Castroni, pick up molasses and caraway seeds and perhaps some better flour. The bread marathon continues.

January 20
Is this a winter's day? The sun is warm and sweet, and everyone is out walking. "Come primavera!" I hear someone say on the street below our house. Like Spring. The sky is a soft blue, and Sofi sails through the air, barely touching the ground now and then. Roy takes advantage of the bright sun to do some whacking on the dead tree limbs and ivy and brush growing on the far tufa wall. He is like a young boy on a rustler search of the Old West, with his hand-saw in its case like a holster, his trusty Felco #6 in his back pocket.

I am lying down for a few minutes and the front door bell sets Sofi off as though she is going rabid. What a great watch dog! I call out to Roy, thinking he's in his "office" in the garden, only to hear that he's up on the far tufa wall. So I walk down to the front gate to take a package from a courier. It's the big bread loaf pan we ordered from LIDL. When I open the gate Sofi jumps out, gamboling down the path toward our little stone benches. Augusta and Luciana are sitting there, happily sunning themselves. The sun is so warm that Luciana sports a little white handkerchief on her head.

"Via! Via!" they scold Sofi, knowing that I'm waiting for her at the gate. I wave at them and they wave back. It warms my heart to see them sitting there enjoying the last rays of today's afternoon sun.

Well, I might as well stay up. Sofi and I walk out to see Roy on his three-story aluminum ladder. I know he is having a blast. When we take the side stairs, we see him way up on top of the tallest tufa. "Did you see the arch?" he calls out to me. I cannot really see it. Quite a bit of brush still remains. But there is tufa in the shape of an arch, and I can barely make it out. For the next hour he is like a swashbuckler, hacking away at the pirates in his midst, their arms stuck 'round each other in a death grip that has lasted for years.

Sofi and I stay on the middle bank, watching to make sure he does not fall. There is so much to take down, that he stops after awhile, acknowledging that he has a lot of firewood and kindling from today's booty. It will take several more days of work to clear the tufa. The more he clears, the more beautiful the stone becomes. So he'll keep at it.

Earlier in the day Roy plants the pittisporum plants in the olive oil vases. He asks what I think, and they are wonderful, just a little too tall. So I clip away at the taller branches, making the growth more lateral. They already look wonderful. With a little patina on them they'll look even better. This was a great choice to frame the bottom of our stairs.

I have a pedicure with Giusy late in the afternoon and she has just read Angels and Demons. I tell her that we're going to the Sistine Chapel tomorrow in Rome and also will do a mock Angels and Demons tours, scouting out the places where the murders took place in the book. She tells me about the Vatican museum, and hopes that we spend some time there. I ask her how many times she has been, and she tells me only once, years ago. She wishes us a good trip with a goodbye kiss.

Roy and Sofi pick me up and we drive to Tia and Bruce's. Tia tells me, "We've never had a dog sleep-over before. This should be fun!" I hope so. Sofi should be just fine. We have brought her cage and an animal and her food and a lead and a dish. Gioia and Sofi run round and round. Tia tells us Gioia wants to be a dental hygienist. She loves to get her face into other dogs mouths. She especially likes Sofi's beard. And as wild as Gioia is, Sofi keeps right up with her. She comes over to me often with kisses, and I have to keep from melting, she is so sweet.

We sneak out the door while Sofi and Gioia are running upstairs, and leave to go home to get ready for an early day tomorrow in Rome. It is strangely quiet at home without her.

January 21
In the dark, we leave for Rome with a train from Orte, where Roy parks the car while I wait at the bar inside. We are able to take an early train, and by the time we reach Karina at the line outside the Vatican Museum, we are right on time. We ride the metro to a new stop, past Ottaviana, and the new stop is on the other side of the Vatican. So much of the Rome metro is new and clean. We have dressed lightly, knowing we'll do a lot of walking.

Entering the museum, we first enter a doorway and walk down an aisle where we see hundreds of statues. One pope, we have been told, went on a rampage one day, knocking off all the penises of the male statues, not wanting anyone to get any sexual thoughts while viewing them. But there are plenty left that escaped his mighty staff.

I am perplexed by a Roman numeral on the ceiling of one room: LVX. How is that possible? I'll have to ask Avery, or Duccio, or someone who knows Latin well. Roy laughs and tells me that it is probably "pre-Roman". Very funny.

I know that it is very important to do a tour of the Vatican Museum and the Sistine Chapel. I don't have a great feeling about the manner in which people are led through museums like dogs on a tether. Because of the crowds, although we admit there is not a great number today, it is difficult to stop and admire a single piece for more than a minute.

The more we see, the move overwhelmed I become. I think I am doing the artists a great injustice. Can you imagine being told, "We want to commission you to carve a statue or paint a painting for a space where tens of thousands will pass by each year, but your piece will hardly get a second glance."?

There are some rooms with benches, and we try to sit now and then to concentrate on one piece or two. In the Raphael rooms, I spend the most time studying a piece to the right of a window. This is not the piece that people come from all over the world to see. It is another piece, and I love it because the folds of the fabrics seem to stand right out from the wall. But then I am a lover of texture and textiles, and am drawn to color and fabric. So much in this museum has been restored that the paint looks practically new.

Overall, there is too much violence for me in the majority of paintings; too many people and too many subjects in each piece. I do applaud the undertaking. And I do applaud the popes who became benefactors of many artists, making it possible for them to earn livings by doing what they love. But which pope is to be credited with encouraging and sponsoring each artist?

After we leave, we walk to a bookstore to pick up a book on the popes. This is an excellent addition to our library. Each pope's reign is described, in many cases his papal seal is depicted. The book is categorized by year as well as by alphabet.

But I am getting ahead of myself. We walk through the map room, which is quite extraordinary. I do not know who painted the maps, nor do I know the dates the maps were painted. But we did find Mugnano on a map, and were even able to buy a copy at the end of the tour.

At the Sistine Chapel we sat at two corners of the room, taking in Michelangelo's ceiling. But there are great masterworks along two sides of the room done by as many as twelve exceptional artists of the time. Again, there are too many figures to contemplate, and the paintings are so far away that they are difficult to study.

Now our attention is drawn to the real reason for this room: the choice of a new pope. So we imagine 165 or so cardinals in this room, locked in with a key. I turn to my left and see two guards in front of a short hallway and a fainting couch covered in red at the end of the hall. We know that there are rooms off the Sistine Chapel for the cardinals to sleep in. But where is the stufa, or stove, that sends out white or black smoke after each vote?

Once we are ready to leave the room, we encounter three men in uniform. We ask them where the stufa is located. One tells us that it is brought in when the vote is being taken. "How does the smoke get outside?" I ask. "We open a window." Boh! So there must be a vent with the stufa that is angled out the window. "The next pope will be Italian." the handsome one tells us, a navy blue scarf tucked neatly inside his blue blazer. So now you have it. They all want to know who their next boss will be, and it is probably a daily conversation among them.

Once outside the chapel, there is more to see, mostly incredibly beautiful painted cabinets leaning against both side walls. There are no doors between each room, but when looking forward from one room to the next and the next, the view of portico after portico is fantastic, with exquisite paintings surrounding each one.

I did not feel well this morning, and I really don't feel well now. Alice's backrub the other day shook up something in my equilibrium, and I am dizzy. A pain in my neck is worse, and I think I am getting an influenza. But I did not want to miss any of this, nor did I want to get in the way of Karina and Roy's adventure.

Walking down the steps and the ramp, round and round, down and down, I start to lose my perspective and the dizziness gets worse. Somehow we reach terra firma and outside the cold air feels great.

We walk around to the front of the Vatican, for we are going to stop at the places where the murders took place in the book Angels and Demons. We find the obelisk, and then find the west wind. It is a marker on the ground on the west side of the obelisk, and a wind is blowing from the west today.

We take a bus to Piazza Navona, to the place of another murder, and I am really fading. So we walk to the restaurant that Bruce and Tia recommended, and it is one that Karina does not know. La Campana is the name. We learn that it is one of the oldest restaurants in Rome. Inside, there are three rooms. We are led to a table in the second room, past plates of all kinds of vegetable antipasti on platters, and on the right wall a refrigerated case right out of Campo di Fiore. Melanzane, bunches of fresh zucchini flowers, oranges, berries, lemons, all lusciously arranged behind glass doors. In the front of the cases are huge platters of cakes and poached pears.

Tia tells me to be sure to have a dessert with chestnuts, but I am not very interested in eating. The vegetable antipasto is delicious, but I can't eat much. I try spigola, which the waiter fillets, but can't eat much of that, either. Karina eats carciofi Romana and a buffala and rugghetta and pomodori salad, and Roy eats pasta and a vedure fritti and a kind of suppli. Everything is very tasty and we recommend this restaurant highly. But I'm sliding downhill and unfortunately today's adventure comes to an abrupt end.

We take a train to Orte, and Roy brings me home before picking up Sofi, who has played nonstop in Tia's garden. I think she has been a good girl, and she runs up to our room and sits in her wicker bed to wait until I get up a few hours later. We'll surely go back to Rome in the next month, this time with Sofi, because there is so much to see, and these cold months are the best time to view touristy places. We remember how wonderful Venice was during Christmas one year, and even though we go to these places in the warm months, the cold months are the time when we can really experience them in the most relaxing way.

January 22
Shelly comes by for coffee, and brings some clothes for our scarecrows or to donate to Caritas. One vest I particularly fancy. It will be perfect for the young boy. During the next two weeks the three scarecrows, a mother and two children, will be finished and planted by the fruit trees. Roy is in charge of making the frames.

But Roy is interested in getting back out to the tufa project in the far yard, and after pranzo the sky clears and it is warm enough for him to get out his ladder and hand saw. Sofi and I stand on the middle bank and watch him hack away at the dead trees, the overgrown brush, and he tells me that if he has the choice between planting a plant and hacking away at underbrush for three hours, he'll take the three hour project.

Sofi noses all around, but stays clear of all the tree limbs and ivy and underbrush that Roy throws over the tall tufa wall. He is now up above the tufa outcropping, walking on a kind of path behind it. Tree by tree, the area is cleared. We decide to keep a little of the ivy on the top of the tufa for now. He thinks it may be helping to keep up the tufa wall. There is much to be done. So for today, he has cut down an enormous amount of wood before he stops.

That reminds me. Early this morning we get a call from Antonio. The firewood is ready. So at around 10 AM, Mario and Pepe come by with Pepe's tractor and Roy and Mario and Pepe stack the wood neatly in the parcheggio. It is gorgeous, and all quercia, or oak. Serena is the secretary of the association, so we'll pay her the €80 for two metro stero. We have enough wood for the remainder of this year already, so bit by bit Roy will cut this wood up and stack it for next year.

We come inside for tea as the sun lowers in the west, and have a discussion about Italo cutting his wood into little pieces for his stufa. Roy thinks a stufa is a good idea. A stufa is a wood stove kept in the kitchen to heat the room. Roy would like us to have a stufa and to run pipes around the back of the house to heat the other rooms as well. So Roy has another project to take on. If we find a stufa that can be installed flush in the wall to the right of the fireplace and pipes run around the back of the house, what will it look like and what will it cost? Roy thinks it will save us a ton of money on heating.

The solar panels on the roof were supposed to do this, but with our inability to understand much Italian when buying the house, we were talked into putting up a system that only heats hot water with solar energy. To convert it to be a heating source, the cost would skyrocket. So this is another option. I think it would take us a couple of years to pay it off in cost savings, but I am keeping an open mind, especially if it is a great looking one.

January 23
I think today will be a fine tribute to old San Vincenzo, for a clear blue sky appears at first light. But as the morning wears on, clouds sail by until the blue is obscured by dappled grey. At eight AM, an explosion went off in the valley, to tell us, "Evvvryyybudddiyup!"

Mass is late this morning, at eleven AM. But at 9:30, cars are parked across the street and men with burgundy quilted jackets stand looking over the valley. It is the Polymartium Band, here in honor of our feast day for San Vincenzo. San Vincenzo is our second patron saint. The more important one is San Liberato, whose day is celebrated at the beginning of May. I don't know why we have two, but why not?

I count at least three dozen musicians before the morning is over, and there are some young ones interspersed among the regulars. We don't see Roberto Pangrazi, our geometra, but Giuseppe, who works for the commune, is there, playing a drum.

Last night I prepared sliced bread soaked in an egg and milk and cinnamon batter. This morning it is baked as a different kind of French toast...this time without the frying. Very tasty. We have a bottle of maple syrup that Roy heats with a little butter. He also cooks some breakfast sausages, but it makes a real mess in the kitchen.

I am all for cooking any foods like sausages on the grill or outside in the summer kitchen. Now I completely understand the need for a second kitchen. The fan above the stove does not clear out anywhere near the amount of smoke that is created. So we'll smell like sausages today.

We dress for church, and walk up early, to see the band on its procession up and down all the little streets in the village. Sofi guards the house, but we leave her outside.

We stand at the bus stop as the band approaches after parading down two little streets behind our house. What this band lacks in artistry it makes up in strength. We decide to follow them up the hill, and meet a few neighbors on the way who join us.

Once we are at the square, we decide to sit on the bench in front of Ernesta's in the sun. Felice comes by for a hug, and the scarf we gave him three Christmases ago is carefully wound around his neck, tucked into his Sunday coat. He also wears a handsome hat. Antonio comes by, and we thank him for having the wood delivered to us yesterday. He tells us that the wood is from Vallerano, and it is excellent quercia, or oak. We are surprised, thinking that the wood came from the forest in the Tiber Valley, but pleased that the quality is so good.

He tells us that there was too much rain this fall to cut, So I ask him if they had to pay a lot for the wood and he tells us no, because they performed all the labor services. I hope that it worked out for the Universita Agraria as well as for us. Antonio is a fine young man. We are thrilled that he is its president. He and Pepe and Mario do a tremendous amount of work for this volunteer organization, and we think they really enjoy the work. We hear the three of them below in the valley on weekends, working in the fields and on their tractors, laughing and yelling.

Gino walks up the hill in double-time. For a ninety-six year young man he is quite extraordinary. He joins us on the bench, telling us yet again that he is from Orvieto. When Roy asks him how old he is, Gino tells him eighty-four. I remind him that he is ninety-six, but he will have none of that!

Roy walks inside the church to change into his Confraternity costume, and the next I see him is just before the mass, standing in the front row, wearing the bright red and navy blue costume of the Confraternita di San Liberato. Don Luca is dressed in a very ornate red vestment with gold threads in honor of the occasion. A reliquary of San Vincenzo stands in front of the altar, with silver cherubs holding up the frame. Inside of the frame, I later notice, are two bone fragments, probably from fingers. But the glass on the front is broken.

I still am amazed that saints are carved up after death and their remains are scattered all over Italy or Spain by groups of nuns who specialize in this gruesome activity. I read last night in the Dan Brown book, Deception Point, that Christopher Columbus's scrotum is in safekeeping in the cathedral in Seville, Spain. "When the church obtains the remains of a great man, they saint him and spread the relics to different cathedrals so that everyone can enjoy their splendor."

Don Luca is a great priest, and he is very well organized. So when four or five members of the Confraternita walk up the side aisle after mass has begun to get dressed in the sacristy, Don Luca looks down at his watch to let them know that they were bad boys. Gianpiero, as Priory, will have to take them out to the woodshed later...

All in all, about fifteen members of the Confraternity are in attendance, and when it is time for the procession, dear Roy is given the bandiera of San Liberato on a tall pole to carry. What an honor! I do not have our camera, but will be sure to bring it next time. Everyone treats him so well, and he takes his role so seriously, that I can't help but beam with pride.

The little street leading all the way to the Duomo has been paved, in herringbone bricks edged in river stones, so the band paraded up and down to "christen" it earlier. Now, the women and then the men are organized in two lines behind the band, with Don Luca at the rear. His microphone sends his voice past us, as if he is in two places at once, and we respond to him as we are counseled. I can keep up, for many of the phrases are said often, as long as I am not first in line.

I am way in front of Roy in the procession, but when we turn the corner to walk down to Via Mameli, I can see him and he sees me and smiles. The procession leads all the way to our gate, and Francesco stands there in uniform to protect all of us. Sofi is nowhere to be seen. We later find her in the cave, huddled in fear from the sounds of the fireworks in the valley.

When the procession ends we have arrived back in the little church. I wait for Roy while he changes and then we walk home to a frightened Sofi. She cheers up at the sight of us, and we're home now for the rest of the day to relax.

January 24
We are on a snow watch, but nothing has happened here yet. Each day friends tell us that very cold weather and possibly snow are on the way. This morning we drive to see Ulla at Castello Santa Maria, to help her get started with her internet connection. We are there for less than two hours, but think we make some progress. We perform some computer setup, or rather Roy does, while Sofi and the cat engage in a staring match once the cat jumps down from under the covers of Serena's little bed. Then we find resources for her and encourage her to call a person who advertises individual computer training. That done, we drive home.

Later in the afternoon, Felice arrives and Roy shows him the new pots and the work he has done on the tufa wall. Felice has spoken with Livio and Giuliola, who own the land somewhere behind the tufa wall, and they have no problem with Roy's cleanup. Some time this spring we'll get together with them to see what kind of documents they have to show where their property line stops and ours begins. The land is mostly abandoned beyond the tufa wall, and probably not of much use to anyone. It is on the North face of the hill, and we think quite steep. Our property description is not very concise.

I do some research on the internet regarding greenhouses, but like our design better than anything we have seen. But I ask that the back of it be taller, with a steeper rise toward the front for more sunlight, that a door be placed in the middle of the side wall and to give one of the windows a hinge opening toward the front. Roy responds subito with a great drawing, detailing everything. He is a master at defining drawings, and really enjoys the process.

In the next few days we'll do some research at a glass place in Narni and see if they also make the fiberglass panels for the roof. We're almost ready to take the design to Virgilio. At this point, I'm not expecting a greenhouse for this year's spring seeds. I'm sure it will take a couple of months just to get it fabricated. Virgilio always has a long waiting list. So we'll scale down our garden plans for this spring and summer, and will speak with Stefano in the next couple of weeks to show him the design and get his thoughts about installing it.

We have an email from Robin Diner and learn that on Saturday, little Hannah was born. So now Robin and Jim have joined the grandparents' club. Welcome! We are sure that Leslie will be a wonderful mother, and Clay a great dad.

January 25
Angels' dandruff appears in big fat flakes at about ten am, covering as far as the eye can see, when Sofi and I stand at the front door. The sky is grey, obscuring most of the far landscape. Because there is a wind, the flakes blow sideways and up and down before....turning to rain. Drat. All around us the hills are covered with a white blanket.

But here, because we are a little lower than the high hills surrounding us, we have nothing. Only rain. Just in case, we put off our trip to Terni. Tia reminds us that Italians are crazy drivers, and dangerous ones when the roads are slippery. So we stay at home, with Roy only going out to Attigliano to shop for necessities.

I am reminded of the story of Mugnano being saved almost a thousand years ago because from the lookout atop the castle in Soriano, Mugnano could not be seen. "As far as your eye could see" was the goal of marauders who destroyed towns all around. And little Mugnano was saved. Today Mugnano is saved from the snowstorm. But if we have a lot of snow, the steep road up to the village will be impassable. So for this we are thankful.

This afternoon, I start to sew clothes for the scarecrows. I finish half of a blouse for the young girl, with shirring on the cuffs and neck of the shirt, made from a soft plaid cotton kitchen towel. I then start on her flowered pants before realizing that there is not enough light in the room to continue to work on this dreary afternoon.

The young boy will be easy to do. The girl and the mother will take all the work. We'll be sure to have photos on the site when we're done. Now, it's details, details, details...I love the creative aspects of this project, and coming up with designs for the clothes...old clothes or unused fabric remnants or cotton kitchen towels that are reworked.

It is almost a shame that this family will have to stand outside in all the rainy weather..."Just stop it, Evanne!" I tell myself. I have to remind myself to ask Roy if he'll donate a baseball cap for the young boy, but realize that we have a fun rainhat with basottos on it from Marielisa. We will see which one is just right.

There is a delay in sending the roses from the Netherlands, because there is a frost, but we receive an email from England telling us that they cannot send roses to Italy...by law. How daunting! So having a nursery in the Netherlands is a very good idea. We're not ready to plant them, anyway.

The design for the greenhouse, or serra, is finished, and we will take it to Virgilio tomorrow, after Roy gets back from seeing Dottoressa in Mugnano. His leg is bothering him again, and he thinks it might have something to do with his lower back. I hope not. Otherwise, he feels fine, and has not experienced any repercussions regarding his kidneys.

January 26
On this cold morning, we drive to Terni for a few errands and then to Narni Scalo to the glass place, to get quotes for the glass and roof of the greenhouse. We want this before taking the design to Virgilio. Guilermo stands way in the back of the cavernous building. He appears about 65 and has a face a little like Jonathan Winters. He even wears a cap that Winters would wear when doing an old man impression. But his jolly face and smile that turns his face into a ripple of folds tells us that he's happy to see new friends.

He has a wonderful material to use for the roof that is a kind of plastic with channels. It is much better looking than the old sheeting that sits on top of roofs all over Italy. He and Roy go over the measurements. Roy's design is very detailed and this helps. Before we are through, we have a very low price quote and a sample of the roof panels. Now we can go to Virgilio. We all agree that the greenhouse must be in place before ordering the panels, to make sure they are just right. And they can be done in a day.

But Virgilio is closed, so Roy calls him late in the afternoon and goes up to see him. Stefano just happens to be there, and so the three of them go over the design, and Virgilio will have a price in ten days. He can make it in April or May. Stefano tells us to expect it in June. That's about what I thought. So we'll have a smaller number of pomodori, and they'll never see the inside of the greenhouse.

I spend several hours working on the scarecrows, and have the body finished for one adult, except for the head and the stuffing. Roy will go to Viterbo tomorrow to find some kind of pillow stuffing that can handle weather. The hay no longer looks like a sensible alternative.

January 27
Roy drives to Viterbo, but the mattress place is closed by the time he gets there. So we'll try to return tomorrow to find waterproof material to stuff the scarecrows. We don't like the way hay looks, so think some kind of plastic will work better. He does find wood to make the scarecrow poles to sit in the ground.

Shelly sees Roy on the Mugnano road and asks him if Dani can stay overnight tonight. After dark, Dani arrives and we spend the evening watching TV. Sofi is happy to have a new friend for a few hours. Dani prays for snow, so that he won't have to go to school. I remember how few snow days we had in high school. The headmaster usually overslept when it snowed, and while we woke up earlier than usual and listened intently to the school closing announcements after snowstorms, our school hardly was on the list. It seems so long ago.

January 28
Roy gets up early to take Dani to school before it's even light and I hear the magic words, "Snow!" I sit up and turn the light on next to me, and yes, today is the day of our one-day-a-year snowfall. The leaves on the nespola tree stands so tall we can touch them from our window, balancing at least an inch of powder on top. Beyond to San Rocco there is a sea of white. The lavender mounds wear their snowy hats; even the gravel walks are covered. Let's take some photos!

Instead, I stay in bed and open a book, reading until Roy and Dani are out of the shower and Roy takes Dani to Attigliano to school. Well, we are sure there won't be school, but Roy takes him anyway so he can hang out with his friends. Michelle calls and she'll come back from Rome later.

By the time the car glides into the parcheggio, Sofi and I have opened the side gates to get a closer look. Sofi is not sure of what this white powder is, but her beard is quickly full of snow and she likes it, racing up and down, snow flying as though she is an engine-powered snow-blower.

After breakfast, we drive slowly to Viterbo to find a solution for the insides of the scarecrows. The streets are clear, but no one wants to be out. It is a day to stay close by the fire. Children stand on the steep road past the centro storico in Bomarzo, throwing handfuls of snow at people they know driving by. I don't imagine they have any experience making snowballs or even snowmen. Now that would be a sight to behold!

The streets remain clear all the way to Viterbo, and traffic remains very light. We drive to two mattress stores, which don't know what to tell us. Roy asks for little pieces of plastic, shaped like beans (fagiolini), and we are directed to an Obi-like store called BRIK and another wholesale store that sells paper goods. But no one can help.

"Let's go to see my old friend, Claudia at Mailboxes Etc.!" Sure enough, they have a huge bag of "popcorn" and sell us half of it for an exorbitant price. No matter. It is what we need.

Back at home, I can hardly wait to get going, and sew up the wrists and ankles of the man and the young girl so that we can stuff them and see what they look like. The popcorn is perfect, and Roy gets the job of stuffing the gloves with uncooked hard pasta.

Sofi has a soft foam ball in her dog house that she does not play with, and it becomes the head for the little girl. The sewing machine zips along rapidly, and a plaid shirt for the girl is done, a jersey fits on nicely, and the flowered pants are perfect if not too long. Later they'll be cut and hemmed, after I figure out what to do with her feet. Ah, perfect wool long socks, stuffed and then my old sneakers fit just fine! When Roy comes upstairs, she's sitting with a leg hanging over one arm of the chair. She is really a tomboy.

The funniest figure is the boy-turned man-turned old man. Finally we have a place for our old man mask. With a funny looking mesh baseball cap from Tosca, this is one scary dude. It is late by the time I'm finished with him, and he scares me so much that I don't want to be alone in the same room with him. When he's finished, I take him down to sit in the living room to greet people.

Here's lookin' at you, kid!

January 29
It's time for more sewing today, to start the woman scarecrow. She needs to have a real figure, and I spend extra time with her. Her costume will be more elaborate than the other two, and I'm not sure what to do about her hair.

Tia asks if we want to go to dinner with them at a Chinese restaurant in Terni tonight. Sure! This will be our first Chinese meal in Italy...ever. We agree to meet them there, and find a great gastronomia across the street. But we park right in front of the place where I usually buy setting lotion for my hair, and I see a wig in the window that looks cheap. Let's find out.

Inside, we ask for a cheap wig. Three or four people stand around waiting to close, and an older man asks us if the wig is for Carnevale. No, a spaventapasseri (scarecrow). There is a wonderful lavender one in the window, but it is €58. No thanks. A young woman leans over to the window display and takes out a Carnevale wig, made of shiny colored strands of all different bright colors, and long bangs. €15. Perfect! We leave with it, and instead of putting it in the car, take it for "show and tell" at the restaurant. When Tia and Bruce arrive, Tia can't wait to try it on. It is very funny. But now I want it for the young girl.

The meal is pretty good. We like the Peking duck, but the rest of the meal is not exceptional. We are so starved for unusual food that we scarf it up anyway with bottles of Kirin beer. Afterward, we drive to a place that sells expensive wines, but also serves wine by the glass as well as regular cocktails and different kinds of hot chocolate. There is a lounge upstairs, and when we climb the stairs a couple is just leaving. A whole area is empty, just for us. Since we were rushed out of the restaurant by a long line of young people waiting for tables, we take our time here, before taking our good friends back to their car and driving home.

This was a fun evening, but the best part is getting home and putting the new wig on the young girl, who sits with a leg over an arm of one of the living room chairs. She's ready to go. What do you think?

January 30
We're tired, but walk up to church, and it is quite cold. Inside, hardly anyone is there, but by the time Don Luca starts the mass, a few more hearty souls dwindle in. This is the smallest group we have ever seen in church on Sunday. Before the mass, I ask Tiziano how his grandfather is, and he tells us Tito is a little bit better.

We tell him we know why, and to find out the answer he will have to come to our house. Better to bring a camera with him. Roy thinks that when Tito sees a photo of the old guy sitting in our living room he will get better subito...not wanting to be replaced.

We ask Tiziano about Marieadelaide. She has not been in town for months. And he tells us that she is in Bel Colle hospital with some pulmonary illness. Poor woman. She must be really sick.

More sewing today, but the sky is clear and the afternoon is warm. So sewing will have to wait, because it's a day to be out in the garden. I start the long project of cutting back roses and firming up the soil around them, while Roy brings his saw horses to a spot below the side stairs and methodically cuts the wood into plastic lugs. There is enough wood that came down from the top of the tufa wall for almost a winter's worth of kindling.

There are almost fifty roses to tend to, but I'll begin with the three Cornelia roses on the edge of the bank near San Rocco. There is so much Bermuda grass sticking up, that I realize this is a never-ending job. But three roses finished are better than none at all.

Sofi loves this part of the land the most, and flies through the air with one of her toys.

Tiziano comes by around six for a short visit. He is amazed by the character sitting in the living room. When he invites us for dinner later this week, we tell him to tell his grandfather that if he won't sit at the table with us, we'll bring our new relative...

January 31
I open the bedroom windows wide. The sky is so blue that today will be warm, and this is a great day to freshen up the room. But after I'm downstairs for a while I see that Pepe is burning in the valley, and the sky smells smoky. So I close the windows for now.

After breakfast, we're all out in the garden. I'm able to cut back all five roses on the front path with some help from Roy with the higher branches. The roses are Lady Hillingtons. They are strong and healthy, so after a first pruning I'll probably return on the next beautiful day to clip them again. The guide wire we installed on the walls really works well, and is hardly visible on the lovely tufa wall. There are plenty of tiny nodules on the branches, and we can tell that the fruit trees can't wait for spring.

I'm able to finish all the roses in one of the firoieras as well, with five roses cut back in the planter near the side wall. We have something called Stallatico that Tiziana at Michellini tells us to give all the plants during the dormant period (now), and unfortunately Sofi thinks it's a treat, so tries to eat it. It is not dangerous, but we'll need to find a way to disguise it in the earth.

Everyone in the village is out today, and they all talk about how beautiful the day is. And we are all hopeful that the warm sunny days continue. We don't have a huge garden; we have just enough to keep us busy. So we take on our gardening tasks slowly, sure that we'll have plenty of good days in the next few weeks to finish our winter pruning.

I'm almost finished making the last scarecrow, but there are no pictures of her to post yet. I'll work on her face tomorrow. That will be the most difficult part. What's planned for next month? We look forward to buds on the plants and trees, and perhaps even consider seeding one of the banks in the far property to have a little grass. Right now it's wild.

While Roy is out cutting wood, he hears voices and looks up to see Giuliola and Livio and their daughter walk to the end of Via Antica. They look over at our land, and perhaps theirs behind it. Roy asks if they mind if he cuts down the huge dead tree, and they do not. One of these days we'll have them over to figure out where their land ends and ours begins. It is at least on the other side of the huge tufa wall.

Catherine comes by for tea, and we lend her a pruning book. It seems strange that people seek our advice for roses, but they do. The more we work with roses, the more we love them, and the better we become at taking care of them. A key is the horse droppings, and Catherine also tells us the hay that they roll around in works wonders, mixed in with the earth. There's always something to learn.

FEBRUARY 2005

February 1
The month starts with terrible cold weather. An overcast and angry sky brings us bone-chilling cold. The fireplace works overtime, and licks of flame dance around last year's wood. We have plenty to last us for the season, no matter how many cold days we have.

The third scarecrow is close to being finished, but it's too cold to finish her upstairs, so I spend some time hanging out with Roy watching TV. We have fresh perch fillets that he bought in Soriano this morning, and I am in the mood for pasta. So I cook up some garlic cloves and sliced onion in olive oil, add a few anchovies and stir them till they disappear, then add pitted green olives and some of their juice, a squirt of tomato paste, a jar of our heirloom tomatoes that have been strained through our trusty Foley food mill, some dried thyme, and serve it over bavetti, or flat spaghetti. Roy raves about the sauce.

In the meantime, I've taken a few slices of day-old breadcrumbs, and put them in a food processor with fresh Italian parsley. We now have wonderful breadcrumbs. After beating up an egg and dipping the fillet in the egg, I dip it in the breadcrumb mixture, add some dry seasonings and pat the extra breadcrumb mixture on top of it. I start to add some oil to a pan and sauté it, then change my mind and put it in a preheated oven around 375 degrees, with a little of the red olive sauce on top. Because it was partially sautéed, the breadcrumbs get a little crispy.

There's too much food for one meal, so we put one of the fillets in the outside refrigerator for tomorrow. I have Ready, Steady Cook, the BBC cooking program, to thank for encouraging me to make homemade breadcrumbs, instead of using the very fine breadcrumbs offered in the store. Backstage, we have plenty of jars of tomatoes, so we'll not run out of them before our next batch next fall us ready.

I'm writing more, and looking for new writing projects that will actually pay us, on these cold days when it's not fun to be out in the garden.

February 2
This is a significant day for many reasons, both religious and non-religious. The day begins with Pope John Paul being rushed to his local hospital, I Gemelli, which has been called the third Vatican after St. Peter's and his summer residence, Castel Gandolfo. He has had nine hospital stays since becoming pope, and this latest bout is a bronchial infection. Strangely, we celebrate the Blessing of the gola, or throat, in a benediction late in the afternoon in our own church in Mugnano, an annual event announced on Sunday.

We are two of about fifteen people in the little church, with Don Luca presiding. Before the beginning of the service, my eyes are drawn to a cintura, a kind of corded crimson sash with an elaborate fringe at each end. Tied to the bell announcing the arrival of the priest and beginning of mass, it is located at the front of the church near the sacristy door. I see it swing slowly like a gentle hand moving back and forth just under the surface of a pool of water. I am mesmerized by it.

The service is a sweet one. Each of us is given a candle, and Don Luca lights the candles of those of us at the end of each row, and we in turn light the candle of the person next to us. When it is time to blow our candles out, he tells us to relight them at home and rekindle our faith. He has two candles, which have been crossed and tied with a red ribbon. We form a line and when it is my turn, he speaks his blessing on my behalf, moving the crossed candles so that the cool wax of the unlit candles rests against both sides of my throat.

Thinking back on the Pope and the news media this morning, the European press is all-agog about his health. As a kind of reigning monarch, his sickness today reflects upon sick people all over the world, young and old, and he seems to be a beacon for them. Don't give up. There is much to live for, and many things to do. So although the press wants things shaken up for media's sake, calmness seems to pervade the Vatican.

This is not new news that the pope is ill. Medical experts in New York are interviewed on CNN, and they think he can recover nicely. Unfeeling sorts, who are news-hungry, want to stir up possible backstage antics and political wrangling, equating the goings on inside the Vatican with American politics. What they don't realize is that the Pope has no intention of stepping down. His advanced age, which is really not so old at 82, is really a plus. All the people who have been promoted or hired since he became pope want him to live longer, even if only for their own sake. So the cardinals' date in the Sistine Chapel will have to wait. And the "Pope watch" continues.

I say a prayer for him and for a friend, who is battling illness, but is full of life and I send each of them a prayer in my heart for their continued courageous and indomitable spirit. Thinking back about the cintura tied to the bell inside the church, I am reminded that each day is full of meaning and full of symbols. I am starting to speed up my days, and catch myself forgetting the little things.

In Italy, today is a day that also portends the end of winter. It is a lovely day, and Lore tells us that if the weather is lovely, it means that spring will come soon. If the weather is bad, we can expect winter to continue for six more weeks. On the phone today, I ask her if she knows about Punxatawney Phil, the groundhog in Pennsylvania, who draws almost 30,000 people on this morning each year to see if he sees his shadow when he comes out of his hole. If he sees his shadow, there will be six more weeks of winter. But you know all that.

Since today is warm again, I'm back outside clipping roses, and neighbors are happily walking by and greeting us. Enzo stops by to check on the leak in the bathroom. Roy decides that he does not want to fix it himself, so Enzo's assistant, Fabrizio, will come by later this afternoon to work on it.

Earlier today Roy returned from visiting Dottoressa, who gave him a prescription for liniment, and thinks he has tendonitis. She tells him to wrap his knee in a bandage, and her treatment seems to work after only a short time. He's feeling much better.

February 3
Roy tells me that when Fabrizio came yesterday to fix the leak in the bathroom, he called it a "crepa". So I ask Alice today while she's kneading my back like it's a ball of soft dough, if crepa means leak. She tells me it means crack. "Avere una perdita" means to spring a leak. So she would use the word "perdita", from the verb, perdere.

We then have a discussion about language, and she tells me that the English language uses many more words to describe something than the Italians do. That makes sense. So it is important to understand the context in which things are said, before one can understand what word actually fits. And that is why people tell us to listen to Italian being spoken on the TV and see if we can get a gist of what is being said. More and more we are doing that.

We received an email a couple of days ago from a man in North Carolina who is trying to find Canasta Crisphead lettuce. Google must like our site. People contact us almost once a month after doing a Google search. It's fun to make new friends. So this afternoon we stop at Bruno's in Attigliano, but his Canasta seeds are not crisphead. The lettuce is rounder and the tips are a brownish red. I think this is the strangest lettuce. And it does not look crisp to me at all. I think he wants what we think of as a kind of romaine, but its centers are not so stiff. We were told last summer that this is also called Canasta. We'll keep looking.

But I email him to tell him we'll keep looking, and an email comes back, telling me that this is what he is looking for, and he has found it in the U S. I admit this lettuce is very tasty. I just don't like looking at brown leaves in a salad. Now if I could have a meal and just look at it instead of eating, I'd be thin as a rail. Don't look for that to happen.

A few days ago when Tiziano was here, Roy asked him about a flock of over a hundred little birds, flying all together, swarming and weaving over the valley like shirts blowing in the wind. They looked like sparrows. Si! Passeri! Tiziano knew all about them. Ah. Spaventapasseri are scarecrows and so they are meant to scare...sparrows!

At Danieli's, while waiting for my hair to "take", he reads to me from the newspaper about the pope's condition. When I tell him what I know, he tells me that he is impressed that I know more than he does about the pope. The newspaper reports that when there is a new pope, they think he will be Italian. Not so fast. Let's see if we can keep this old gent's heart ticking a few years longer. Although I don't agree with a lot of the things he espouses, I cheer him on from the sidelines.

I suppose I love having an elderly pope just as I love the pomp and ceremony of the Catholic Church. Am I less of an idealist than I think? Or do I just love the ceremony? Perhaps a little of both. But then I am a dreamer at heart. And with my dreams, many things come true.

February 4
The weather mystifies me. One day is "come primavera" and the next we're blasted by cold weather and threatening sky. Today the spring returns, and it's important to not waste a lot of time before getting all the roses pruned.

Roy loves clipping the suckers off the caki trees. Right now, he's up in a ladder in the tree in the side yard. The suckers make good kindling, and clipping wood and making kindling is one of his favorite pastimes.

What does Sofi like? Anything as long as it's right nearby. I need help from Roy to cut some of the stronger rose branches. I read that Iceberg roses like to be cut back severely, and that makes sense. Otherwise, they're leggy, and we want them to grow horizontally across the front fence. Once we have all the roses cut back, Roy will make a mixture of terra buono and stallaticco and will feed the roses. I don't really understand why the roses should get anything right now. But it's what Tiziana at Michellini recommends, so we'll do what she says.

Roy has just come back from Shelly's, where he picked up several buckets of Victor's droppings. By the time March comes around, they'll be dry and ready to mix with good soil and other nutrients. We're going to really feed the roses this year, to see if we can get them to give us explosions of color. We are situated perfectly, facing south, with plenty of irrigation. So if we watch for "animali" and spray a biologic spray, we should be just fine.

I have more sewing to do for the Senora scarecrow, but that will have to wait until the afternoon cools down. We picked up a hair extender this morning at a beauty supply shop, and it will be perfect for her. So we'll be finished before the end of the weekend. I am excited enough that I'm willing to make them for other people. They've become more of an art form, or garden art. It takes a lot of time, but I really enjoy making something out of pieces of fabric and my imagination. I'd like to make a ballerina that floats from a tree, but someone will have to commission that. After this one, I'll move on to other projects.

February 5
Today is clear and cool, but the sun is out, and I am able to finish pruning the last of almost fifty plants. While I am working on the roses, Roy is playing in the trees, deciding to do all tree pruning himself. With the double story ladder against the main trunk of the caki tree on the front terrace, he works methodically. If he works a few hours every day, he should be finished with all the trees in a week. Or two. Speriamo.

Later, I finish the third spaventapasseri. She is a shorter Gina Lollobrigida type, so I suppose Gina is her name. I do think she will spend most of the time inside, coming out for good weather. She'll be out to stay in June. Since the clothes can come off and be washed, all three characters should do quite well.

Felice comes by while we are having pranzo with two tools, one of which is ours. He is here to prep for the potatoes, and readies the soil against the wall facing San Rocco. So there will be plenty of room for the sprawling zucchini. He tells me that it is time to get the seeds planted for the pomodori, so I'll take them out of the freezer soon and ready the guest bedroom for tables of soil and seeds, in front of the window. Hopefully next year we'll be able to plant the seeds in the greenhouse. Since the pomodori will be planted in the upper garden this year, there is less room, so we will have fewer plants.

I want to introduce him to our new relatives, so bring him in the house before he starts in the garden. I turn the overhead light on in the living room and lead him into the room. He raises his head and steps back, in a kind of shock, at the sight of the man who looks like Tito's double, facing him on the couch. He is speechless, and does not know what to say, taking his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his forehead.

He turns to his right and sees the young girl, playfully hanging one leg over the side of an ornate chair. And then he laughs. He takes a few minutes looking around the room, at the bookshelves, the books, the photos, the furniture, and returns his gaze to the old man. And then he applauds, telling me it is all a wonderful sight. Roy tells him they are "fatto a mano, a Ivana" and he responds, "Complementi," nodding at me. I've decided to name the old man Vito and the young girl, Lulu. Wonder what he'll think of Gina. She'll descend the stairs tomorrow.

After Felice leaves, I decide to finish Gina and bring her downstairs tonight anyway. She will look better when she's standing up, Carmen style, against tufa bricks in the far property, with her basket under her arm. Look for her photo on our site soon.

February 6
Carla starts the hymns off like a cannon firing, but at least her voice is strong. The rest of us jump to attention and chirp out like little birds all lined up on a telephone wire, and we even finish sort-of in unison. There must have been a meeting, because Carla takes on Marieadelaide's post as choir leader, and we are all relieved that she was chosen for this role instead of any of us.

Don Luca announces that the Festa di San Liberato will be held during the week of May 1 to May 8, with the main procession on May 8th. In the coming weeks, we'll hear about what is planned. In some years, Ferragosto (August 15th) has been the date of the main celebration, with Francesco heading a group of villagers who set up the medieval pageantry. In other years, this weekend is the main event, culminating in spectacular fireworks shot off right below our house in the valley.

Lore and Alberto arrive right after church, to supervise the fallegname, who is to do the woodwork in their new house. He has been to the house four times to measure, and Lore laughs. Roy tells her he's measured four times, but will cut once. It is said that if woodworkers come to measure twice, they'll only need to cut once. So Roy tells her that because the worker is old, perhaps four times to measure, but if they're in luck, he'll cut only once.

Finito! The roses are finished. They have all been clipped and fed with stallatico and new soil. In a month we'll start to feed them. But for now we can concentrate on other things. Today I used a new pruner, manufactured by ValleVerde. It costs about €10 and I think it is better than the very expensive Felco's that we have used for years. I'll have to call Tia to let her know where to pick one up locally.

In the afternoon, just as the sun starts to lower in the West, we walk with Sofi to the other end of Via Mameli. She is really good, and we don't need to put her on a lead. Her first visit is to Pepe in his garage, where he gives her a hug. Roy sees an old carved cane, or bastone, there and asks him what it is made of. Sassafras. The word in Italian is similar, but it makes sense. Sassafras wood makes great walking sticks. A few minutes later on the way, after making a wide swath around Nando's cats, Carlo and Oosten meet us on the end of the little lane coming up past the public washtubs, carrying a table to Oosten's house.

Once we reach the end and turn around, Augosto and Vincenza drive up and stop in front of Italo and Leondina's house. Leondina gets out of the back seat and what's this? Italo has his shoulder in a cast. Mamma mia. Roy helps him out of the car. When we ask him what happened, Italo seems to have selective memory. Something happened at his campo, when he was cutting branches on a tree. When Roy sees it is his left shoulder, he tells Italo that is fine. Italo saws his wood with his right hand.

Vincenza tells us he'll be eighty-five next month. He seems to have the joie de vivre of a sixty year old. Leondina laughs at him, and he even laughs at himself. So it is nothing too serious. We are happy to hear that he went to Bel Colle in Viterbo and survived. That hospital gives us the willies.

But when we return to Pepe's garage, we ask him what happened to Italo. He tells us that Italo won't admit it, but he climbed up into a tree and sawed off a big heavy branch. It fell on him, knocking him out of the tree, and fell on his shoulder. He screamed out and I think Gianfranco heard him. But today, he can't wait to jaunt down the street to show his war wounds to all his pals.

The cold night ends with Sofi by the door, wanting to go out. She is outside for a long time, and I open the door to see if I can locate her. A ha! Her front paws are up on one of the rose planters on the terrace, and her beard is full of dirt. She has been chomping on the stallatico. I call her in, and we try to tell her not to do that any more. But she is so cute that it is difficult to chastise her. Roy promises to tell me tomorrow what the ingredients are in the stallatico.

February 7
Pepe told us yesterday that today would be cold. It is cold, but beautiful and sunny and of course we're outside in the garden. We move both the Crepescule roses from the rose arch to the right of the stairs going upstairs to the upper garden above the lavender, one below and one above. They did not like their spot on the terrace. Perhaps they were too "in your face". Now they live in spots where previous roses have not been happy, either.

First, there were Walter Branchi's Glorie de Dijons. Those puny roses were so wimpy that no matter how much we coddled them, they bloomed only now and then, with sorry specimens that were gorgeous and fragrant, but lifeless and tiny, whose blossoms refused to stand up. Then we took all the soil out and planted Buff Beauties.

Two of them took, one on the other side of the stairs and one on the other side of the mammoth rosemary bush. But the spot on the right seemed jinxed. So we're playing with fire, but we're playing. We figure that if the Crepescules weren't happy on the terrace, perhaps they'll be happy here, with full sun and plenty of irrigation.

We spend a lot of the day digging out the spots where the former roses grew and the new roses would be planted. Scoop by scoop, we move the old "tainted" soil to the wheelbarrow. In the far yard on the middle terrace, we have a very uneven terrain. So we're using that soil to fill in. Some day we may even plant grass. But for now, it's all we can do to try to even things out.

So new Alister Stella Gray roses now flank the rose arch on the terrace. We also began the project of making three real arches going up the stairs above the lavender garden. We have the black iron side supports, already planted in the ground with cement supports underneath. Those were insta