APRIL 2005

April 1
The day dawns bright and we're out in the garden, getting ready to design and install the new focal point for the lavender garden. For the princely sum of €10, we're able to finish the entire project. Once the tufa tiles are stacked, Roy measures off the space and has me agree on exactly where the tufa will be set.

We have a light garden umbrella, and need it because the temperature actually gets very warm before noon. It keeps Roy in the shade while he kneels down to methodically dig channels into the earth so that the tiles will fit perfectly. We use the plumb line at first, but then he brings out an interesting big "T" square that he has fashioned, and it works very well.

I realize that the polka rose in the raised planting area above the parcheggio will have to be moved for Stefano's serra and tufa wall repair, so think that if we find a reasonably priced big pot, we'll move the rose into that for the foreseeable future, and place the pot in the middle of our new gravel area in the lavender garden.

While Roy digs for his stones, I continue the never-ending weeding and hoeing project. Rocks sprout up from nowhere. The more I take away, the more appear. Especially after a good soaking rain.

More blossoms are out. This time, the plum tree on the front terrace sports lovely little white flowers that look like Christmas lights when night falls. But the boxwood is also in "flower" as is the huge bay tree. Roy tells me he thinks this is the best time of year in the garden, at least the best weather time of year. We have cool mornings and there is plenty of breeze in the late afternoon. Midday is still very warm. But it is nothing compared to summertime, when the temperature can reach into the 90's for weeks at a time.

Late in the afternoon, we drive to the bargain shop in Attigliano that sells garden pots, but can find no bargains in the correct size for the rose. So we drive to Pinzaglia, in Bassano, and find a perfect pot at a very good price. Before it gets dark, the pot is placed in the spot of honor and big stones are placed in the bottom, as well as a big bag of terra buona. Early tomorrow morning the rose will be moved. If all goes well, it will be happy in its new spot. It will take weeks until we know for sure.

I had no idea how sick the Pope has become, but before the day is out, his condition is reported as "gravely ill". Only a week ago I thought his condition was much better. Italian news agencies, wanting to get the story first, announce that he is dead, but then reverse their story. We spend most of the evening checking in on the latest information, but the Vatican doles out news in teacups, when the world wants it delivered in huge buckets.

Perhaps Peggy will be in Rome when the conclave and choosing the new pope will take place. We do know that for fifteen days after the Pope's death, the cardinals from all over the world will travel to Rome, and after that fifteen days, they will be locked in the Sistene Chapel until their choice has been made. But for now we wait and wish the pope a sweet and painless passing.

April 2
The pope hangs on to life by a thread, and his spokesman, who is also a medical doctor, tells the press that there is no change. But there IS a change, because this morning he is not able to participate in the mass, and falls in and out of consciousness. Last night thousands stood silently at St. Peter's Square in Rome, the noiselessness of it all an emotional miracle in itself.

I cannot sleep, and when I check on the little seedlings this morning, I can see a couple more. So we'll be up to about two dozen when we are ready to plant them outside at the end of April or beginning of May. Along with the row of San Marzanos that we'll share with Felice, that will fill up the space we have allotted to plant them in, so it is working out well.

The day is fragrant and although the sky is clear, it is not hot. So I'm back to hoeing and weeding in the lavender garden. This project feels endless, but the result is worth it. Roy drives off to pay the last payment for the serra and check on the finished pieces, and does not like the attachment to keep the window open. He prints out a picture and I don't have a problem with it. Soon, soon I hope.

I'm already thinking of buying delphinium seeds and getting them going. I love blue flowers: hydrangeas, delphinium, plumbago. And they all look wonderful in our garden. I'll have to ask Peggy to bring a package of dill seeds. Dill is not grown in Italy. The closest is wild fennel, but it is not the same. Having an honest to goodness greenhouse has me thinking of all kinds of things to grow.

Pia has hired a couple of men to work on her little tufa cottage across the street, and she weed-wacks while they mortar away. Roy is surprised that we don't see any rebar while the bricks go up. Pia is a great worker, who has no end of energy. She can weed-whack with the best of them.

Now weed wacking is something I am adamant about not letting Roy even consider. We are told that unless a person really is careful and knows how to use it, it is very dangerous to life and limb. I agree. So we call Mario whenever we need it done and he comes by subito! Perhaps next week we'll give him a call.

I notice that we have white irises in the far property, edging a path at the front of the tufa outcropping. I also see that our new plum tree and the new apple tree are beginning to flower. Again, only the Easy Going roses refuse to enjoy the light of day. Judith emails me not to worry. So I'll not expect anything from them this year. There are more blooming irises, this time the purple ones on the front bank. But they are dangerous to cut, because the bank falls off right...there. That story is an old one that we have no solution for...yet.

The day cools off sharply at about five, but we want to fertilize the roses and move one to a pot. So I do a round of nitrofosca gold, followed by a round of dried horse manure, and Roy follows around behind me with a long hose. The count is more than fifty roses, so that takes quite a while, and by the time we're both through we're both exhausted.

I sit down to watch TV, and catch the middle of one of my favorite movies, Door to Door, a 2002 made for TV movie in Italia translated into: The Real Bill Porter Story. There really is a Bill Porter, for at the end of the movie it says to check out the website: www.billporter.com. I don't know if the movie is rentable, but if you don't know about it, try to rent it and let us know what you think.

It's early, but I can't wait to get into bed. As usual, I overdid it in the garden with the hoe. The lavender looks so beautiful when it has been manicured to a fare-thee-well, and with the new focal point in the middle, I think it looks great.

It is difficult not to think about the pope tonight and to say a silent prayer. The news is spotty from the Vatican, and I am wondering if they are really giving us the real story. The politics of it all is almost frightening, especially to think that of the three men in top contention to be the next pope, the Cardinal from Milan is very close to Opus Dei, the Cardinal from Germany is already 78 and the cardinal from Nigeria is a wild card.

Some say this next pope is planned to be a transition pope, whatever that means. John Paul II's reign was 26 years, too long for some. What is that all about? Transition pope? Opus Dei? Yikes! I heard the Archbishop of Washington, D.C. give a sermon tonight about the Pope, and gee he sounds like he'd probably be a great pope. But what do I know?

And then the final bell peals. Just after 9:30 PM our time John Paul II is dead.

April 3
Roy and Sofi and I awake before the alarm chimes, and are able to take a train from Orte to Rome before 7AM. We will certainly attend the outdoor mass at St. Peter's at 10:30AM, along with thousands of other pilgrims, and are well on our way. The crowds so far are non che male (not too bad), and we notice that there are throngs of young people in their teens and twenties. I think John Paul II spoke to them. He always loved young people.

It feels like another day, until we reach the street of the Metro closest to St. Peter's. A wave of emotion descends and rises up the long stairwell like it is borne by the wind. I take a deep breath and my eyes fill with emotion. All around us are people all walking in the same direction. We are here to tell the spirit of John Paul II that we love him and send him on his way with a kiss.

St. Peter's square is enormous, but before the mass is through it is filled with "thousands" or "a sea of pilgrims" depending on which news channel you watch. We have no idea how many are here, but it is silent, silent, all around us.

We arrive just before 8AM, and find a spot at the section of the square where the curve starts on the right facing St. Peter's. Here we can lean on one of the white painted fences, sectioned and held together with huge iron screws and bolts. We find out why later, when workmen come with tools to unbolt several of them to let out women who appear to be having some kind of heart attacks.

Accustomed to these events, teams of men quietly move forward with stretchers or wheelchairs or little buggies to drive them if they are needed. The two women we see decline the little cart. One is carried on a stretcher by two men, Another would rather be taken in a wheel chair. Both look ashen.

Because we are standing by these fences, we are able to take communion right where we are located. Roy tells me that about one hundred deacons dressed in long white robes move quietly to different sections of the square. We take communion from one who stands in front of us on the other side of a white wooden partition and then give up our places, making room for thousands of others to partake.

We can see the goings on better on a huge TV screen close to us than the real events on the entrance to St. Peter's. Or at least I can. Roy can watch the actual goings on, but there are too many people in front of us for me to see myself, until we walk to the base of St. Peter's Square and I can turn around to get a better vantage point. The scene is remarkable.

All around us people are calm and silent. Sofi does remarkably well throughout all of this, finding her best spot on top of one of the fences, held snugly by Roy. Her little narrow body lines up along the top of the fence, and she is quiet, happy to be with us.

The mass ends, and we all walk forward toward Castel Sant' Angelo, where masses of media vans and equipment are staged. Many have been on this "pope watch" for more than ten years. Jim Bitterman of CNN, formerly of NBC, has been stationed here for 26 years, the same length of time as the pope.

We have a light pranzo at an outdoor cafe of homemade pasta and bruschetta, and then take a train back to Orte, where our car is parked. I'm not feeling well. For the day I have had one of my headaches, and go up to bed while Roy takes a walk up to the centro storico.

The pavement is finished, and Livio thinks cars will be kept out until after the festa next month, He tells Roy we were missed at church, but thinks it was a good thing for us to go to Rome. Earlier in the morning he walked down to tell Roy to wear his Confraternity clothes to church, but saw our car gone.

All about people are mingling, for voting is taking place today in the former school. When Roy walks back, he sees Lydia and Giovanna playing cards while sitting on the edge of two benches at the bus stop. Life goes on.

April 4
It is a quiet day here, with a purple haze hanging over the distant Tiber valley, pink light at dawn and dusk, bright green on the meadows, sheep grazing nearby, and the sound of a tiny bird that I find on an iron rod right under the roof of the building above. His shrill songs sound as though he is looking for a relative. "Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?"

Roy is gone early to get a blood test in Soriano, and I slice off the homemade sunflower seed bread made on Saturday and grill a few slices. I've made a big bowl of camomile tea for the tomato seeds, and there's enough for a cup for me, with a spoon of honey.

It's a little cool, so I put on a light sweater and rake some nespola leaves that have been nesting between the boxwood on the terrace. But I am tired from yesterday's headache, so don't get much more done before Roy returns.

I start a roast leg of baby lamb, and it is done for pranzo with potatoes and zucchini. Spring lamb with minced fresh mint is wonderful. And this dish, made with a last minute glaze of chopped anchovies macerated in a little juice from the roast and cooked over a double boiler is a winner, especially when a few chopped sage leaves and fresh rosemary and fresh minced garlic are added.

Pope John Paul, who yesterday at the mass was christened Pope John Paul the Great, left no specific instructions in his will detailing where he will be buried. That is strange to me. He was so precise about so many things. He even approved of the requiem mass we attended yesterday, to be said whether or not he was still alive. The only change was to add "The Great" to his name.

Roy thinks there were at least a couple of hundred thousand joining us at the mass, and it is expected that over two million people will descend on Rome in the next week or so.

We receive an email from the California State Government with tourist instructions to people traveling to Italy. It is full of great information regarding things to look out for.

Here are a few helpful guidelines, worth saving if you're coming to Italy:

CRIME:
Italy has a moderate rate of violent crime, some of which is directed towards tourists, principally for motives of theft. Some travelers have been victims of rape and beatings. There have also been incidents of drinks laced with drugs being used by criminals to rob, and in some cases, assault tourists. Many of these incidents have occurred in the vicinity of Rome's Termini train station and at major tourist centers such as Campo de Fiori and Piazza Navona, as well as in Florence and Naples. Criminals using this tactic "befriend" a traveler at a train station, bus stop, restaurant, cafe or bar in tourist areas, then eventually offer a drink laced with a sleeping drug. When the tourist falls asleep, criminals steal the traveler's valuables. There have also been instances where the victim was assaulted, either physically or sexually.

Americans are urged to exercise caution at train stations and airports, and when frequenting nightclubs, bars and outdoor cafes, particularly at night, because criminals may make initial contact with potential victims in such settings. Individuals under the effect of alcohol may become victims of crime, including robbery, physical and sexual assault, due to their impaired ability to judge situations and make decisions. This is particularly a problem for younger Americans visiting Italy, where the age limit on the sale of alcoholic beverages is lower than in most U.S. states. If you are a victim of such a crime, please file a police report and contact the U.S. Embassy or nearest Consulate. There are also in-country organizations, which provide counseling, medical, and legal assistance to certain crime victims.

Petty crimes such as pick pocketing, theft from parked cars, and purse snatching are serious problems, especially in large cities. Pickpockets sometimes dress like businessmen so tourists should not be lulled into a false sense of security by believing that well-dressed individuals are not potential pickpockets or thieves. Most reported thefts occur at crowded tourist sites, on public buses or trains, or at the major railway stations: Rome's Termini; Milan's Centrale; Florence's Santa Maria Novella; and Naples' Centrale and Piazza Garibaldi. Travelers should also be alert to theft in Milan's Malpensa Airport, particularly at car rental agencies. Clients of Internet cafes in major cities have been targeted. Tourists who have tried to resist petty thieves on motor scooters have suffered broken arms and collarbones.

Thieves in Italy often work in groups or pairs. Pairs of accomplices or groups of street urchins are known to divert tourists' attention so that another can pickpocket them. In one particular routine, one thief throws trash, waste or ketchup at the victim; a second thief assists the victim in cleaning up the mess; and the third discreetly takes the victim's belongings. Criminals on crowded public transportation slit the bottoms of purses or bags with a razor blade or sharp knife, then remove the contents. Theft of small items such as radios, luggage, cameras, briefcases, and even cigarettes from parked cars is a major problem.

Carjackings and thefts have also been reported from occupied vehicles waiting in traffic or stopped at traffic lights. Vehicles parked near beaches during the summer have been broken into and items stolen. Robbers take items from cars at gas stations often by smashing car windows.

In a scam practiced on the highways, one thief signals a flat tire to the driver of another car and encourages the driver to pull over. Often, the tire has been punctured by an accomplice, while in other instances, there may, in fact, be nothing wrong with the vehicle. When the driver stops, one thief helps change the tire, while the other takes the driver's belongings. Use particular caution driving at night on highways, when there may be a greater incidence of robbery attempts. There have been occasional reports of break-ins of rental cars driven by Americans when the precautions mentioned above were not followed during stops at highway service areas. (An idea is to keep your cell phone with you in the car, and if someone points to a tire and warns you, shake your cell phone at them, letting them know you are calling the police, even if you do not.)

On trains, a commonly reported trick involves one or more persons who pretend to befriend a traveler and offer drugged food or drink. Also, thieves have been known to impersonate police officers to gain the confidence of tourists. The thief shows the prospective victim a circular plastic sign with the words "police" or "international police." If this happens, the tourist should insist on seeing the officer's identification card (documento), as impersonators tend not to carry forged documents. Tourists should immediately report thefts or other crimes to the local police.

Organized criminal groups operate throughout Italy, but are more prevalent in the south. They have occasionally resorted to violence to intimidate or to settle disputes. Though the activities of such groups are not generally targeted at tourists, visitors should be aware that innocent by-standers could be injured.

INFORMATION FOR VICTIMS OF CRIME:
The loss or theft abroad of a U.S. passport should be reported immediately to the local police and the nearest U.S. Embassy or Consulate. If you are the victim of a crime while overseas, in addition to reporting to local police, please contact the nearest U.S. Embassy or Consulate for assistance. The Embassy/Consulate staff can, for example, assist you to find appropriate medical care, contact family members or friends and explain how funds could be transferred. Lost or stolen credit cards present risk of identity theft and should be cancelled immediately. Although the investigation and prosecution of the crime is solely the responsibility of local authorities, consular officers can help you to understand the local criminal justice process and to find an attorney if needed.

We're going to have to wait a long time to do the little addition to the house, so I'd like to landscape the front of the area to the right of the little iron gate leading to the lavender field. Right now the area is full of gravel, with nursery cloth underneath. This is where we store our extra gravel. So the front of it has two little steps going up, and we'll add a pot of boxwood on either side and perhaps iris and blue delphinium at the back, tiny box at the front, and a planting area in the middle that may be transitional.

I notice that white petunias are available all summer, so they'd fill in well in the transitional area. We'll take a trip next week to a wonderful private nursery in Lazio with Tia, and may find something unusual there. I'd also like to add a couple of nepeta (catmint) amid the tufa, because I notice on a walk around this morning that last year's two pots of it have come back to life. They emerge from the midst of a pile of tufa rocks by the bench above the parcheggio like crocus sprouting through snow.

We hear that Terence and Angie's au pair, Julia, is wonderful, and are so happy for them. They are just the best parents and Julia is a great help to them. In an email from Angie tonight, she tells us:

"It's amazing that you're part of a historical event with the Pope passing. In 20 years you'll be the grandparents telling the story how you were there and where you stood and what the crowd was like and how you were there firsthand."

We are both moved by her message and her thoughtfulness, and know that we are missing important milestones in the girls' lives. So when they are old enough to email, we'll look forward to notes from them. Now we look forward to their photos, and to hearing little vignettes. On the phone yesterday, one of them spoke in the background a mile a minute. Roy thinks he heard her saying actual words. How amazing life is.

April 5
We pick up eight more tufa bricks for the little flower area just before the gate to the lavender garden when we get to Tufitalia in Civita Castellano, and try the Colorobbia shop in town. We can find the 20cm square tiles in bisque, but not the large jars of transparent glaze.

When we look at the little jars they have, we realize our glaze was too thick. This glaze looks better, so we buy a small jar. I won't do any painting until we see how the first tiles come out. Nor do they have a kiln, nor recommend anyone near us who does.

We drive back through Orte, and I have a pedicure, then we come home. The sky is partially obscured by clouds and it is windy. But all except the new roses are thriving. The Jude The Obscure roses on the balcony show a tiny black bug, not much bigger than a dot, and a few leaves are curled up.

Tomorrow morning we'll spray with our special biologic mixture: 1 liter of water, 2 spritzes of liquid soap and one small glass of denatured alcohol. The leaves of all the roses are incredibly healthy looking. I feel as if I'm in a magazine garden. But before I know it, little "animali" will wreak havoc. So now is the time to spray with soapy water.

Because it is cloudy, we won't spray tonight, just in case it rains. But tomorrow first thing we'll do most of the roses before we drive to Amelia and Terni and then to pranzo with Tia and Bruce at their favorite Indian restaurant.

We can see the leaves of the potato plants poking up a few inches, near the fava beans. This will be our first crop of fava beans, and although neither of us like them, perhaps they will be an acquired taste this spring. We know that fava beans are an important crop to plant to regenerate the soil, especially where tomatoes have grown, so we'll take this all in stride. I imagine us sitting with a big basket of pods, breaking them open and sharing them with guests, alongside shaved pecorino and glasses of local vino.

There is a panificio in Orte that makes the best rosetta rolls we have ever tasted, and we take advantage of that to make tuna salad sandwiches with potato salad and cold zucchini with sprinkled fresh mint and juice from a lemon. Now we really know spring is here.

Felice comes by for his forbice (cutters). He wants to make a scopia (broom) from branches in the valley. While he is here, the doorbell rings, and it is Rosina. She has dropped a metal pot from her balcony, and Roy finds it for her behind the loggia. I show her around the garden, and when she apologizes for disturbing us, we tell her it is not a problem.

We also ask them both who won the local election. They think Stefano Bonori has won again as mayor but do not know who won for the local Consigliore, whether Tiziana or Carlo. There are hand-written ballots that must be counted. So we'll probably hear this afternoon.

Fabrizio stops the car and wants to know why we were not in church on Sunday, so Roy tells him that we were at St. Peter's Square. He tells Roy they are going to organize a bus trip to St. Rita's. I wonder if that is a "guy thing". No matter. Sofi and I always have plenty to do.

Roy drives to Viterbo to get the rest of the tubes he will need to run the water line behind the house and around behind his cottage to the lavender and olive gardens. A couple of weeks ago Enzo shut the line off in the garden. There is no pressure there. So we have to run the line from the other side of the house. He'll begin tomorrow or the next day, and thinks he'll finish without needing help from anyone.

While he is out, Augosto rings the bell and delivers the top to the frying pan we purchased in Rome from Fulvia, his daughter. She is in Rome, with chicken pox. No, she is not pregnant, so it is not dangerous. But he is impressed that I know this bit of trivia. Although he and Vincenza live in Rome most of the time, he thinks it's a good idea not to be in Rome this week.

When I tell Roy about Fulvia he tells me "Turn about is fair play." Mario, her new husband, was sick for weeks with a broken leg, and now it is her turn to be taken care of. She is very sweet, so we hope she is not suffering too much.

April 6
Today is the day we dine on Indian food. This is a real treat, because everything in the restaurants is Italian. We meet Tia and Bruce in Terni at The Maharajah, and since we don't' know a lot about Indian food, they help us to order. Nothing is too spicy. When Bruce orders, he tells them he is from Mexico so he expects his to be made "really hot". The sweet waiter smiles and serves him just what he wants.

Roy and I work on the water pipe project for the garden, and it is clearly a "do it yourself" project, but will work well. I admire him for his efforts and enthusiasm, and all the time he spends thinking about the best way to do something. These days I wear my overalls that match his, ones we bought in Southern California a couple of years ago. I really like wearing them in the garden, especially since the weather is not too hot yet.

In the afternoon, I take out a large sprayer and make a formula to spray all the roses, The process works so much better with a large container fitted with a pump, and it does not take long to do more than fifty of them. Although the roses look very healthy, healthier than they have ever looked, I know that tiny animali will latch onto them soon, and hope that we have sprayed in time. I'm hoping this will be a banner year for everything.

Lynette Evans emails me that my story will tentatively appear in the Living Section of the San Francisco Chronicle on Wednesday, April 27th. Since an editor has not contacted me yet, we are not sure.

April 7
Rome is starting to implode with all the pilgrims arriving for Pope John Paul II's funeral. Tomorrow no cars will be allowed in Rome at all, and today the streets around St. Peter's Square are jammed. It is a good thing we traveled to Rome on Sunday to pay our respects. First reported that they expected 2 million people in Rome this week, today's report is closer to 4 million. No. Five million is the number in a new update. There are not even 4 million inhabitants of Rome, so those numbers are startling.

Roy gets a message on his cell phone: " Prot. Civile...Xenorme sfflusso, da mercoledi h 22 chiuso accesso code x saluto Papa. Venerdi x funerali stop traffico Roma, area S, Pietro piena: Schermi in piazze e Torvergata." We heard on TV that a message would be sent to all Italian cell phone users, cautioning people not to come to Rome and we could not imagine that it was so. But here it is.

Here in little Mugnano, the work continues on the garden. Roy wants to finish his irrigation project, but he's been set on a new course because he realizes that a band-aid fix will look bruto. We stand at the gardener's sink, and now look at how we will have to change the fittings and the plumbing and the whole top of the structure to accommodate the irrigation system, and I agree that I have changed his little project into one of grander proportions.

Last night he was not happy with the work that we did behind the house, and I tell him that he won't be happy with the work in the garden if he proceeds. He understands and somewhat agrees. We may have to bring in Enzo, the hydraulico, but first we will design the plan. And while we are at it, I am trying to come up with a design for the ceramic tile surround that I will paint.

Unfortunately, we have been unable to find a local teacher, or an oven, to bake the ceramic tiles in. Perhaps later we will drive to Guardea to try to find Signora Spighetti, who Maurizio tells us is a ceramic artist. We have not been able to find a Colorobbia shop with an oven and a teacher who can guide me nearby. Looks like I'll have to teach myself. Fa niente.

Mario comes by for a visit with Roy. Earlier today, Roy called him to ask him to come to weed whack the weeds and spray the tufa bank, to keep the weeds up above to a minimum. Weeds on the bank help to bring the bank down, and Mario knows how to protect it well. But the big question is how much Mario will charge.

Three years ago his price per hour was reasonable. Last year the price went up by €2. This year he tells Roy it will be another €2 an hour. Mario must think we are rich stranieri, but he could not be farther from the truth. Roy has always been generous with him, but now has to rein him in. While Mario debated Roy on the phone, Roy realized speaking on the phone wouldn't work. Mario arrives to talk, and Roy invites him to sit down on a bench with him.

So we are back at the art of the conversation. Could it be that Mario doesn't necessarily want to be paid the most money he can squeeze out of Roy, but that he wants the relationship, the dance of words? Roy is up to the task. We cannot afford to pay him his new rate. We have been doing a lot of the work we'd hire him to do, but Roy knows he cannot weed-whack himself. So at least for that we hope that Mario will accommodate us. Speriamo.

I walk inside the house, so that the two men can speak frankly without me listening. Oh. And Sofia hates him. He's handsome, and does great work. He's a hard worker, too. But he's too direct with her, and she just does not like him. It may be that scent thing. Or the noise he makes with the moto-sega.

They agree on a price, and he'll arrive tomorrow at 7AM to weed whack. We both think his rate is still too high, but will be more aware of what he does and the time he is here. That's really too bad. Mario must have plenty of work, so justifies charging more.

We drive off to Guardea in the late afternoon, with a drawing of where we can find Maria Spighetti. Her shop is no longer at the spot Maurizio described, but a woman at a nearby shop tells us she now works out of her house, "the first beautiful stone house on the way to the old cemetery".

When we arrive, we don't know which side of the house she lives in, but on a walkway at the side of the house, an old man, an old woman and a child sit on a stone bench. We pull the car up close, and Roy gets out and bids them all a "Buona serra!" The woman gets up, holding a dead chicken in her left hand, and walks over to greet Roy. "Maria lives on the other side of the house." She turns around and goes back to the man to talk, plucking feathers all the while of a pollo freshly morto. We are no longer of interest to her.

Maria is not at home, but her daughter greets Roy at the gate and takes our card. We hope she will call us, since she has a studio in her home. I would like to have a relationship with a creative person who lives nearby, whether she speaks English or not.

We drive home through Alviano, and stop for a coffee at the bar in Alviano, since it is too early in the season for a gelato. The views from Guardea and Alviano are lovely, and as we drive down the steep road to the Tiber Valley, a lavender haze sits like a filmy blanket on the land as far as we can see.

At home, Roy has found a new solution for the irrigation project, and can't wait to install the new pipe for the sink. Sofi and I get out of the car just before he parks, and walk over to the twin boys whose grandparents live directly above us. Cristian and Eduardo are very very cute boys, about four years old. Wonder if there'll be a romance with our girls in ten or fifteen years....

Just before we get to the gate, I can see that Pepe is still working in his orto, so Sofi can't wait to run up to him for a hug. I follow her, and his orto is a real mess. He has been working on it all day, and Mario has worked on it for a number of days. They have had plumbing and leaking problems.

The orto sits right on top of Pepe's garage. But Candida loves her roses and her garden, and they'll do all they can to make the garden workable subito! Ubik, Pepe's dog, sits and looks down his nose at Sofi, but she races around the dirt, sending up clouds of brown earth, before stopping for a big scratch from Pepe. Then she's ready to come home.

Up in the garden, Roy installs the faucet, and steadies it with some quick-drying cement. Tomorrow Roy will continue to put the pipes in place, buried in the earth. He has a way to engineer the project now without drilling down through the sink and the tufa bricks. Bravo, Roy! He takes his time with these projects, and usually finds the best solution by looking at all the options.

The night ends with a call to Karina to check in, and we find her in the midst of some kind of emergency. She'll call tomorrow. So we hang up, wondering what story we will hear from her when she calls from the heart of Rome.

April 8
Mario arrives before 7AM to start his weed-wacking, and in the midst of his work on the far property, tells Roy he can cut down a tall tree that is causing damage to the tufa bank. He does not calculate correctly. The tree topples down upon the middle olive tree on the highest bank with a loud "crack!". Roy comes in to tell me and I am...angry.

"How stupid!" I exclaim as I stand at the top of the stairs to the far property, with Roy standing one step below me. I have my hand on Roy's shoulder, and we are facing Mario, who is cutting the tree up with his moto-sega. I am hoping he can hear me. I turn around and walk back to the house. I don't want to see him again today. He leaves just before

10AM, when the pope's funeral is about to begin on television.

Roy tells me later that the three volunteer trees on the highest bank were shoots from trees that Mario thinks were over 200 years old when they were cut down. So he recommends that we cut the other two trees down and plant better new trees next fall. We will see. I can't help imagine what the original trees must have looked like when they were at their best.

Inside, we watch the funeral, and the pope resting in an exquisitely simple but detailed and closed cedar box. More than one hundred and fifty thousand people either sat or stood in the square as well as the surrounding streets. The lines of people stretched all the way to the Tiber River. We are told later that large screens were positioned in Circus Maximus and in major tourist areas throughout the city so that people could watch the funeral from wherever they were.

At the end of the ceremony, the wind whips up as the afternoon approaches, and we imagine that John Paul II was greeted by the angels.

Tonight we are invited to dinner at Rita and Felipo's house, and Giordano comes along to make sure we are all able to understand each other. We do just fine, and enjoy getting to know them. Felipo was a very good friend of Augie's, and we thing responsible for Augie settling in this area. But this is the first time we have spent any time with them. We look forward to seeing them again.

Before the evening ends, we are invited to Filipo's studio around the corner, and are very impressed with their post production studio. We are invited to watch a 35mm print of The Recruit, with Al Pacino and Chris Farrell. Thinking that we'll just watch 5 minutes to see how great the sound in the studio is, we find ourselves watching the whole movie and driving home at 1:30AM.

There is some talk of some work Roy might do with Filipo and Rita, and this might be excellent for everyone involved. They will continue their talks this next week.

April 9
We forget to watch much of the Royal Wedding, but when we do, we get a big boot out of the variety of hats the women are wearing. The mad hatter had a field day at the cash register. It looks as though everyone enjoyed himself or herself. This is a welcome break after all the sadness of the past week. Now in years to come, no one will remember the day of the wedding, since all the mementos have the wrong date. Charles and Camilla were to be married yesterday, before the funeral of the pope was announced.

For us, we drive to Amelia to pay Silvano the last payment for the serra, and to arrange to pick it up on Monday. Stefano and Luca will attempt to pick it up in Stefano's tiny furgone, a doll carriage of a pickup truck. Unless it rains, and we may well be in the midst of a rainy, rainy April.

I am ready with a big sprayer of my favorite biological rose remedy, 1 liter of water, 1 small glass of denatured alcohol and 2 spritzes of liquid dish soap. As soon as the sun comes out, I'll rush out to spray all the roses, or they'll be in big trouble.

We return through Narni Scalo, and order the policarbonato panels for the roof of the serra, and drive on to Spazio Verde, where we pick up a flat of tiny boxwood. I have always loved the tiny box, but we have never purchased any. This time, we'll use it on the raised area of the front terrace, just before the iron gate to the lavender garden. I'll enjoy clipping it into tiny rounds before it is planted. We also pick up two larger box, that will flank the tufa steps leading up to the area and be planted in the pots we purchased last week.

It's too rainy to work in the garden, so I continue painting my latest ceramic tile design, and we'll see if there is a forno in nearby Porchiano where they can be fired. While in Amelia earlier today, we stopped at a shop that sells ceramics made by disabled people, and were told that a woman named Ivana (!) runs the shop and will return on Monday. We think Alice's boyfriend works at the place in Porchiano as a social worker where the disabled people also do crafts. So this is another avenue to explore for my new hobby.

On the way home, we speak about the small steps we take on so many of these projects. Bit by bit, we learn new ways to do things and old ways to fit into the local culture. Everything we do takes on new meaning, and it is a rich life. Back in the U.S., everything is so available and things are accomplished in such a rush, that we think we did not appreciate the journey when we were there half as much as we do now.

We speak with Angie and Terence tonight and wish them all well tomorrow at the baptism of the girls. Angie tells us that in the Eastern Orthodox faith, the babies are baptized nude, and it is the Godparents who are responsible for toweling them dry and dressing them. The Godparents are the same godparents of Terence and Angie, so this tradition is a really important one for them all. Thanks to Julia, Terence and Angie can enjoy the getting ready and the day even more.

We hear that the cousins are having a dinner in San Francisco tonight in honor of the baptism, and it sounds like fun. I think we did not give our family enough credit for its continued closeness, thinking that when Leo and Iolanda died that the family would drift apart. Instead, Terence's generation is picking up the baton, and arranging all kinds of get-togethers. We are really proud of them all, as Leo and Iolanda must be looking down at them.

April 10
Today is an important day in our family. Not only is it the christening day of Marissa and Nicole, but it is also the feast day of San Terenzio. We are sorry we are not able to attend what is to be a wonderful christening, but look forward to seeing the photos. Roy looks up the history of St. Terenzio, and the poor fellow was beheaded because he would not give up his love of god. So we wish every good thing for Terence, but hope he keeps his head about him.

During mass today, Don Luca asks everyone what his memory is of John Paul II. We do not understand the question, so when he walks down the aisle toward us and asks the Americans how we will remember him, we don't know what to say.

After mass, I ask Tiziano what Don Luca was saying, and he laughs out loud. Now that I know, I will make sure to tell him when he comes to bless our house later this week. I will remember John Paul II as a man who had strong beliefs and stuck by them, no matter what the people of the world thought. The pope needs to be a man of strong convictions. I did not agree with a number of his beliefs, namely, celibacy for priests and birth control, but admire him for defending his beliefs and never wavering.

In an interview today, an influential catholic priests said that these things that I disagree with will not be issues in the distant future. At some point, they will become a part of the Catholic belief system. Fancy that. Turning those corners would make a remarkable difference in the way a majority of Catholics in the English-speaking world view their faith.

If I were a betting person, my bet on the next pope would be the Cardinal from Nigeria.

Shelly comes for tea this afternoon and fills us in on some Rome trivia. There is a funny phrase that translated says, "I will when the pope dies." And that refers to things that hardly ever happen. The example Shelly uses is Italian women who don't want to sleep with their husbands. When asked they respond, "I will when the pope dies." So during these days, all kinds of remarkable things are happening.

We heard the phrase with a little twist a few days ago. That had to do with things not going well. The response is not to worry. Things will change when we get a new pope. But those figures of speech came about before there was a pope who stayed around for twenty-six years. I wish a long and productive life for the next pope as well.

Rain, rain and more rain. No need to water, but I want to be outside spraying the roses. So I work on painting ceramic tiles inside instead. I love this new craft, and tomorrow if it rains Roy and I will travel to Amelia to meet Ivana who may unlock the key to the firing of the tiles and my education as an artist. If it does not rain, Roy and Stefano will go to pick up the serra. So regardless, tomorrow will be a good day.

April 11
Rain continues again, a feathery light rain, but rain nonetheless. So after a little ceramic painting I concentrate on cooking a spring lamb, thanks to a recipe of Marcella Hazen that worked out well a week or so ago.

In the meantime, we clean, clean, clean because tomorrow or Thursday Don Luca will arrive to bless the house. Each year at this time, our priest blesses each house and apartment in his parish. When he is here, we will ask him to bless our little tomato plants and also introduce him to Gina, Lulu and Vito. I wish we could have a camera out to catch the expression on his face when he meets our new house-mates.

If you have not been introduced to them yet, click on Garden Art inside the Photos section of this site. Not until May or June will they be introduced to the garden.

The serra will not be delivered tonight. I fear a month or more of rain. That is good for the plants. But I'm not so sure it will be good for the roses. This is the time when the little bugs take hold, and there will have to be some hours or days of clear weather for me to spray to keep them away.

So we drive to Amelia after five pm with one tile, to see if Ivana will allow us to fire our tiles at her place in nearby Porchiano. But there is no one at the shop. I call Alice, who tells me that Fausto is the person who is in charge of the ceramics at the place in Porchiano, and he knows about me. So on Wednesday, when I am at Alice's, we'll call him to see when Roy and I can drop by.

I put the rest of the tiles in a box. In the next week, we will surely have some answers. So we drive on to Narni, and pick up the policarbonato panels for the roof of the serra, and some special silicone. The momentum is surely building about this long, long term project, soon to be a greenhouse as well as a working studio for me.

April 12
Clouds drift by but there is sun, glorious sun, and we don't have a minute to waste. So we're up early and out in the garden.

I heat the lamb up again on the stove, adding a handful of fresh thyme and a little water. Then I cook up celery root, which is just about my favorite food. I finish sautéing the agretti, and lunch today is even better than yesterday. We realize that the best and tastiest baby lamb is from the section near the ribs, so the next time Roy drives to Sgrina in Giove, he'll know just what to order. I am sorry that the celery root probably won't be around for much longer. But then there will be something else wonderful to try.

At about 3PM, Felice comes by to tell us that Don Luca will arrive at any minute. He seems a little disoriented, but tells us that his house was blessed this morning. Right now, Don Luca is blessing Giustino's house. I return inside to straighten up a few things, so don't see Felice walk to the raised vegetable bed and pull a few weeds. But he reappears just before Don Luca and Livio arrive, with his arms full of weeds. He tells us he will take them and drop them somewhere, and Roy asks him if he wants a bag to put them in. Felice tells him no.

Then Don Luca comes up the walk and we lose sight of Felice, who we know is leaving. But what we do not see is Felice, dumping the weeds around the corner of the house. This is indeed a strange thing for him to do. We are worried about him.

Sofi loves Don Luca, who appears in full dress...his black formal habit buttoned all the way down to his feet. I'm remembering a wonderful Botero painting of a priest, with a funny flat brimmed hat (probably a Spanish priest). Sofi can't stop sniffing Don Luca's shoes, and tries to sniff under his long habit. I try not to laugh.

Here we go: Don Luca blesses us at the top of the stairs just outside the front door, and Roy asks him if he'll bless our Madonna statue after he blesses the house. Yes, but let's do the house first. Before we know it, he's in the door (he's the only Italian I've ever known who doesn't have to ask permission to enter a house) and stands in the entryway. Roy takes him to meet Gina and Lulu and Vito and he and Livio smile broadly. They are somewhat surprised and we think don't really know how they are supposed to react.

Don Luca asks if they have anything to say, and we tell him they are great guests. Don't eat. Don't speak. Just sit there quietly. He blesses the room and shakes his incense a few times. We bow our heads and pray together. All the while I'm trying not to laugh at Sofi, who is moving her nose just under the edge of his garment, wondering, "What is he wearing under THAT?" and sniffing.

We don't need our "cheat sheets" anymore. We know the Lord's prayer in Italian and also the version of Ave Maria that is said here. But we have them in our hands, just in case. Then we follow him up the stairs and he asks if the room to the right is our room. Yes. "The bed is high!" he exclaims. Roy tells him it is for the view, but I tell him there is a secret and lead him back to the bedroom to show him all the storage under the bed. He smiles a broad smile. We have no idea if he's thinking we are crazy Americans or not, but before we know it, we 're out in the garden and Roy leads him up to our Madonna.

He leads us as we all make the sign of the cross again, and this time say the Ave Maria a few times for Maria. He turns around and looks diagonally across our property toward San Rocco. "Ah, our church!" "Complementi!" Roy later tells me he is not sure what Don Luca is complementing us about, but everything looks pretty good, so I am relieved.

On the way back down the path, I stop him, and address his question that he asked to us on Sunday during mass. I tell him that his question was very important to me, but that I did not understand what he meant when he first asked the question about Pope John Paul II.

I then tell him that when I think of the pope, that I will remember him as a man of strong beliefs, and his never wavering stance. Although I did not agree with many of the things he believed in, I respect him and think it is very important for the Pope to have unwavering beliefs.

"Like Bush!" he responds with a positive shake of his head.

"No, never!" I respond, and then realize that Bush sticks with whatever he believes in, so then agree with him. Later I tell Roy that the difference is that Bush is an elected politician of a democratic society, and if enough of us are against his views, we don't reelect him. The pope does not face this challenge. He and Livio leave, with many more houses left to do.

Roy and I return to the new garden plot, and the watcher to worker ration continues at 1.5 to one (Sofi and me vs. Roy) He repots the two new box, finishes the middle border and lays the nursery cloth and gravel down, and we decide that the little black ornamental border we purchased a few weeks ago will be just right. So we'll wait to plant the tiny boxwood until after we drive to the private vivaio later this week to see what else we'll put in there.

For the summer, the middle area will be filled with white petunias. Petunias live while many other annuals die in the hot sun. For the rest of the spring, we'll plant annuals, many of which will be raised from seed in our new serra! Stefano and Roy agree that they'll pick the pieces of the serra up tomorrow afternoon. I am dreaming of blue delphinium, foxglove, sweet peas....almost all to be grown from seed. I am itching to begin, and am already saving little plastic pots.

April 13So we're off to Alessandra's, but don't know exactly where to find her. Her vivaio is located somewhere within the borders of Rieti and Viterbo and Terni, near the Santuario. But Roy has a great memory for directions, and vaguely remembers "a hairpin turn here, a strada bianca there, a left turn at a bar..."

After a few "giro giros" (round and rounds), Roy stops at a cafe and asks the local policemen who say, "Sure, follow us!" and they lead us to the end of her road, an unmarked pockmarked ferris-wheel of a drive, the car spewing dust like it's Pigpen's blanket. And then we arrive at a locked gate, with no way to reach her. She does not really know to expect us. Tia and Michael and Alan are inside, we are sure doing a lot of "damage" to their pocketbooks.

After a few phone calls and much honking of the horn, Alessandra arrives at the gate; so kind and gentle and a genuinely "happy to see you" kind of person. Once we're in, Sofi bounds from the car and all is fine until Tia lets Charlie and Gioia out of the car and finally they call a halt and all the dogs are put back in their respective cars to settle down. It is as if the three of them are children, told to sit in the corner.

We have to wait over an hour for our turn, but it is worth it. Alessandra specializes in willow, which we do not buy but always think of things we'd like to fashion with live willow branches (shade seats, benches, arbors...") But willow needs to be purchased in autumn, and planted then so that it has acclimated to the earth before the warm weather arrives.

She also offers so many unusual plants that we're delighted to walk around, seeing plants that are delicious to look at. Even if not for us, they're just beautiful. This is definitely an "eye candy" kind of place. Before we leave, she gives us this season's sheet of mercatos she will exhibit at, and we add them to Roy's Palm Pilot, giving them the same importance as the antique mercatos we love to attend during the good weather.

Alan buys an entire car full, packed so expertly but so full that Michael has to ride back with Tia in her station wagon. Tia makes a big dent, too, but not as big a dent as Alan. Alan always does things in a big way, but is so happy with this garden project that Michael is designing and orchestrating that he can't wait to really live here more. We'll drop by in a few days to see the progress, which we hear is remarkable. Bravo, Alan. Bravo, Michael.

We don't buy all that much, but do pick up three iris to match the three we purchased last year (very unusual bearded iris in both a chocolate brown and a pink) and then a couple of teucrium (which we want to try on the balcony that will cascade down). And oh, yes. I've always wanted a fragrant lilac bush, this one a pale pinky violet. Two delphinium, two lobelia and a Starchy's big ears. I learned years ago from Sarah Hammond that the "big ears" can be divided easily, so we buy one with many little shoots, which we can use at the borders of the new gravel path.

The annuals will also be placed in the new little garden area around the side of the house toward the lavender garden. So we did not do all that much damage. But now we rush home because Stefano arrives with Luca just after 2PM to pick up the serra from Amelia.

Roy drives first, leading the way, and they return home in a little over an hour with the serra expertly angled and tied like hands in prayer. Luckily, there is no glass here, just the metal frames. The whole thing is leaned against a wall in four pieces in the parcheggio, with a "speriamo!" that they will be able to return to install it before Peggy arrives.

Felice arrives in a few minutes, and he and I have a merry old time, just yakking like two old fuddy duddies. I even understand a little of what he has to say, and have some things to say in return. He listens to me intently, and even when I have to repeat myself he tries to understand.

I show him the peonies that we have moved, three plants that are so happy in their new location. But he does not know what they are, wondering if they are weeds. I spell out "P - E - O - N - I - A. He repeats these letters after me and still does not understand until I bring out the brochure from the peony viviao and show him the word and the pictures. Now he understands. But when we ask him what the word is for lizard, he gives us some kind of dialetto, but does not know what the general Italian word is. Roy looks it up, and it is "lucertola".

Meanwhile, Sofi is determined that "Larry" (we refer to all lizards as Larry", as in "Where's Larry?") is somewhere either under or behind her little dog house, and spends hours digging behind it and all around it. While she is in the midst of her dig, she scoops the gravel and earth backward with her little paws, making long narrow indentations in movements so rapid that before we know it her little water dish clouds up with dust and whatever else Sofi pushes behind her.

Larry is nowhere to be found. She has dug all around the little house, a little "trough" about three inches wide. She is just narrow enough to fit between the back of the doghouse and the front of our house, and when we walk by we see her either sitting at the corner of her house looking up at us and waiting, or her tail knocking back and forth while she scurries behind it.

Although I am not sure if today is in the right phase of the moon to plant seeds, I plant three types of flower seeds in pots and place them in the guest bedroom window anyway. The types are forget-me-nots (non-ti-scodar-de-me), and two sizes of bucca leone or lion's mouths, which I think are the same as sweet peas, in a variety of colors. I take our lunar calendar upstairs to study and translate, realizing that I now need to document each thing I plant, what phase of the moon, how long it takes to come up, etc. Do I use a notebook or computer? I like visual documents, so may have Roy work with me on a chart. In the meantime, I'll start a notebook.

Tiziano arrives for a visit, bringing a big jug of homemade wine that he is sure has our handprints on it (because we picked the grapes), and after a walk around we show him the tufa outcropping on the farthest property that is clearly visible now that a tall tree has been chopped down. We note that ancient castagno bracing appears near the top of the ridge, and all three of us want to learn more, hungry to find out if there are any pre-Roman artifacts to be found on our land.

We agree that in the next week we will don high boots and take shovels and climb up to it with a ladder to explore with our cameras and notepads. I envision a kind of "Dr. Livingston I presume" kind of process, with Tiziano pointing ahead, Roy chopping brush with a machete and with me behind snapping photos as we go. Well, maybe Roy won't have a machete, but he will have a big stick and probably also a big shovel. Don't ask...

Back in the kitchen, we celebrate Tiziano's victory. He has just been awarded a three-year research project covering the pre-Roman to medieval countryside consisting of land bounded by Chia and Orte on our side of the Tiber River and from Giove to San Vito on the other side. We offer, and Tiziano accepts, to help him in whatever way we can during these next three years. We have so much to learn about the countryside, and he is so much fun, that we will really enjoy helping him with this grant.

In the back of my mind I am putting together details for the book I have started to write, which will be a quasi-historical novel based on fact, paralleling characters in modern day Mugnano with characters in pre-Roman times. It will take many years to complete, but we have nothing if not time.

We finally learn that his cousin, Tiziana, and Stefano Bonori, won the local election for the next five years. So now we know. We also learn that one of the Carabinieri in Bomarzo has a kiln and paints ceramics as a hobby. He is one of the Carabinieri who came to our house after our robbery. The list of people to contact regarding ceramics is growing. We forget to call Fausto this afternoon, so will have to wait until Friday afternoon to try him again.

Tiziano leaves and it is not yet dark, so Roy and I take apart the dog house, Leaning the roof on our outdoor table and turning the rest of the house on its side. There is nothing beneath, nothing behind, but for the next twenty minutes Sofi races around and around, in and out of the little structure, until she is satisfied that Larry has left, at least for the night. On these beautiful days, Sofi spends hours chasing him and never tires of it. Who knows what she'll do if she ever catches him...

April 14
I can't wait to get out of bed. With the early morning mist on the valley all but disappearing, and a bright haze settling in below a pale lavender sky, I open the window and hear the birds telling me to hurry. There are so many birds making so many sounds that it takes the jolt of an old cinque-cento puttering up the hill toward the village to get me to take a shower.

This is a garden day, a puttering day, with many projects but no deadlines. I remember taking Felice up to the peach tree yesterday. As he bent branch by branch to look closer through his cloudy eyes as though peering through a lens, he showed me how to find the tiny peaches underneath each spent blossom.

His old gnarled fingers formed a cup. Using three fingers and a thumb, with the soil of the earth rich and thick underneath his nails, he gently slipped the cover off a spent bud, revealing three tiny egg-like knobs, fuzzy and frightened, all huddled together. In a few weeks when they have grown some, we'll pinch them off here and there to allow more space in between and encourage bigger fruit.

I can just taste the peaches now, fragrant and fresh from the tree on a summer's day. Was it years ago that Sarah and I dined on ripe peaches at the big double sink? We laughed out loud as we made messes of ourselves in our sleeveless dresses. allowing the red juices to run down our arms all the way to our elbows. We leaned in as if we were trying to take a bath in their juices and looked guiltily out the window toward the valley to see if anyone was watching us. This year, speriamo, Roy and I will dine on the peaches from our own tree.

Tia told me last night that Alessandra told her that she has had no luck this year with her seeds. Perhaps that is why we have so few tomatoes growing in the next room. But I am hopeful, and by the time the serra is installed, we'll have plenty of seedlings of tomatoes and now flowers to celebrate my new workshop.

I rush to make breakfast with our homemade ciabatta bread, Shelly's apricot jam and of course peanut butter for Roy. There is the requisite espresso in a little cup for me, a mug of it for Roy, and a clementine, and perhaps now we can move outside.

Roy adds new gravel to the area just behind Sofi's dog house, and we rearrange the little wooden structure, leaving the top halfway open. She loves her house, with its tile "cave canem" (Latin for "dangerous dog") and perhaps will use the house more this year. We are hopeful of many things.

I spray a few of the roses again, pinching off a few tiny worms and a few curled up leaves. I will be relentless, checking each leaf of each rose every day or so to be sure they are free of mites and other bugs.

We see early signs of buds on the Philadelphus, also known as mock orange. This is a good sign. We have not seen flowers on these old plants for years. The rosa banksias shows signs of early blossoms, and even a Paul Lede rose shows us a bud or two.

But the new roses still show no signs of life. I feed them nitrofosca gold, dried horse manure, clip off the dead wood, and the plants become smaller and smaller. Judith tells me roses are hearty plants, so don't give up.

Roy leaves to find dottoressa to go over the results of his last blood tests. On the way, he drops off an old bidet and an old broken ladder at the dump in Bomarzo. Sofi and I stay at home and clip boxwood and start another loaf of ciabatta. We have lots of the flour, and it won't keep forever, so I'll keep making it every few days.

The third dish this week made with leftover lamb is the best yet. I make a red sauce, starting with olive oil, a minced onion and a garlic clove in its shell. I have a new way with garlic. I leave the cloves unpeeled, and squeeze the garlic out soft and sweet after everything is cooked and add it to the sauce, I add chopped celery, several anchovies chopped finely, a bottle of our San Marzano tomatoes pressed through our ancient Foley food mill, pepperoncini flakes, some chopped green olives and their juice,

It cooks down awhile, and I lower the temperature to a slow simmer and add the leftover lamb and its sauce, and some fresh minced thyme from the garden. While this melds, I make a salad dressing with our vinaigrette, add a little milk, chopped feta cheese, sliced green olives, fresh thyme, a half of a ripe avocado, a little chopped celery and salt and pepper. There is still bread from yesterday, sour and chewy and still soft inside, perfect for dunking in the red sauce. As we finish this meal, Roy fills me in on his tooth ache.

The next thing I know, he has called Dr. Chiantini and we prepare to drive in to Rome for a 6:30PM appointment. It is just as well. The sky is clouding up and it looks as though we might be in for some rain. I take one last look around the garden, inspecting the roses for bugs and curled leaves, and return to the house to change.

The whole trip takes just about four hours from the time we leave the house. Included in this is one detour to the kitchen shop near the Vatican to pick up a 24cm frying pan. These frying pans are not expensive, and the large one we purchased three weeks ago is a real winner. So it is time to retire the little pan we purchased on our first trip to Mugnano over seven years ago.

Roy has an infection in his mouth, so Dr. Chiantini takes a photo and shows it to him right away on a huge monitor. So he's to inject a gel on his gums for the next week or so, and if he has pain, take more tachiprina (an Italian moderate pain killer that works quite well).

Sofi and I sit in the car. I'm reading a Donna Leon mystery novel, and don't get very far before Roy returns. The weather in Rome is lovely, and we drive home to a blue and then purple and pink sky, framed by those gorgeous pines of Rome.

Roy deserves a treat, so I broil a couple of bananas with brown sugar, a little rum, and butter, and a spritz of whipped cream on top. It's a good thing we don't eat dinner anymore. And we're all happy to be home, nestled in our little house.

April 15
We don't worry about the tax man here on April 15th, because we have until June 15th to do our U S taxes, since we no longer live in the U. S. So I open the shutters to find the house shrouded in thick fog. It is then that I hear in my subconscious, the eerie sound of a flute playing the signature piece from a favorite opera, The Pearl Fishers by Bizet. I don't know why I love the music from this opera so. But I know almost every note from the first act. Yes, the first act. The opera goes steadily downhill from there. Perhaps that is why it is not often performed. But the first act. Oh, the first act.

The music I hear in my head is a flute soliloquy (Can an instrument play a soliloquy?) at a range so high it mimics the sounds of the birds outside our window. I will have to tell Angie about the opera. She plays the flute lovingly, and sometimes takes it out to play for the girls. Recently she took the violin out and the girls stopped in their tracks to hear the music. We are so proud of Angie for wanting to introduce the girls to music at an early age.

A few weeks ago I said to Roy, "What music do you hear in your subconscious as you wander through the day?" He had no idea what I was talking about. I have always heard music playing in my head, as a kind of an undercurrent to whatever I am doing, Often it is the last piece of music I hear playing somewhere.

Yesterday, it was "Cheek-to-cheek". I can still recall the incredible dancing of Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire as he swung her over his knee in her frothy feathered gown and they dipped and tapped perfectly in unison in a piece so sublime that I can still hear him now, singing, "DANCE! with me! I want my ARMS about you, the charms about you, will carry me through to....Heaven. I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so, that I can hardly speak! And I seem to find the happiness I seek. When we're out-to-ge-ther-danc-ing-cheek-to-cheek."

This morning after breakfast, the day is still cool and foggy, but it's time to dismantle the chicken coop. I start wearing a light zip-up sweater, but take it off after only a few minutes. Roy arrives with a blue plastic bucket full of the tools he'll need: a hammer, a chisel, metal cutters for the chicken-wire, plyers...

Bang! Bang! There is something so satisfying to Roy when he whacks away at the rotten wood, pulling back old rusty nails with the back end of his hammer. I notice that some of the nails are very old, with rectangular tops, and they're all very rusty. So one by one they are dropped in the blue bucket.

Before we are through, all the mattone, all the tin from the roof are down. The sheets of rusty tin are wound up and tied. The mattone is stacked against a side wall. The tufa bricks are laid on end on top of the raised planter for later use. The two castagno poles, partly eaten away at the bottom, are taken out and saved for a later project. The chicken wire is clip, clipped and then the whole mess is folded neatly and set aside.

Roy stands up on the raised planting area, beside the lattuga Romana that grows happily at the front, and chisels and hammers away the tufa blocks that must come down. We'll finish as much of the prep work as we can, so that Stefano's job is smaller, encouraging him to help us sooner rather than later. I am really hoping it will be done before Peggy arrives on the 27th.

We have not forgotten about the ceramics that need to be fired, so Roy tries to reach Fausto on the phone a couple of times and finally reaches him. We'll go to see him on Monday. The woman in Guardea arrives back on Tuesday, and we'll get in touch with her, too. So hopefully next week we will see some finished tiles.

I make fresh bread crumbs from the ciabatta bread and use them to coat the persico fillets Roy buys from the woman in Attigliano. We have not seen Italo, the fish monger who comes to Mugnano in his truck each Friday morning, in weeks. Does he still come to Mugnano?

Fabrizio rings the bell before pranzo, and brings us the information on a special pilgrimage to St. Rita's at the end of the month. It will be a bus trip and Don Luca will officiate at a special mass. We'll certainly go, once we find someone to take care of little Sofi.

In the afternoon, we drive to Viterbo to research how to build the shelves and countertops for the serra. I am distracted buying packets of seeds, and now will come up with a way to catalogue all of them, and to document what I do, what works and what doesn't work. I'd surely love to plant peas, but it's the wrong time of year. So I'll make up a calendar of my own for things I'd like to grow.

We do find tiny plastic rings; the kind I'll need to make the Roman shades in the greenhouse out of a kind of soft muslin; something that can be washed easily. I'm not ready to stitch them up yet, because I'm not sure of the dimensions. But since the pieces of the house are here already, it won't take any time to measure.

We can't imagine what it must be like to work five days a week in Italia and get anything done. Any project we take on takes weeks to complete, and we are known to be pretty resourceful folks. So when we arrive back home and survey the rubble covering what will be the floor of my greenhouse/studio, we have to laugh.

The back wall of tufa bricks is more than six feet high. It hangs out there like the back of a bombed out building. So tomorrow Roy will move most of the rubble to the bottom of the path, readying the area for Stefano. Perhaps when he drives by the mound of rubble and sees it he'll be reminded and convinced to put someone off for a day to finish our little serra. Magari!

This just in: My garden story for the San Francisco Chronicle and photos have been rescheduled to Wednesday, May 11th. Speriamo (I hope so)!

April 16A constant rain continues until early afternoon. We take advantage of the wet weather to do errands, and return with two beautiful small rhododendron plants from Spazio Verde in Terni. Better yet, we are able to drop off two ceramic tiles to be fired. A woman at Spazio Verde named Ivana teaches ceramics and art and we've seen her there on several occasions. On this visit, Roy asks her if she's willing to test fire a couple of my tiles. She is.

I'm looking at seed packets nearby, and hear Roy call out to me. Distracted from studying the time of year to plant specific flowers, I walk over to meet a new friend. Ivana is a delightful woman, who does not try to sell me any art classes...or anything. When I tell her that I'm teaching myself how to paint ceramic tiles, and that my love is the ancient Italian design of the grotesques of Raphaello, she agrees with me, and takes out an incredible tile that she has painted herself, with some of my favorite figures boldly lighting up the square.

I take a deep breath and smile broadly. "Yes, that is the type of design I'd love to paint. But first, I need to see if the technique I have used so far will work." She tells me about a spray called "Crystallina" that she uses on top of each piece before it is fired. The result is shiny, although I prefer an opaque finish.

But Roy comes over and tells her that he thinks the shiny finish is better, especially for tiles to be used outside. So I compromise. She tells us where to buy the Crystallina in Deruta, and also in Terni. But a 25 kilo container is very expensive, and it is difficult to buy a small amount. She thinks the Colorobbia place in Civita Castellana might have it.

Best of all, she looks at the two tiles we have kept in the car for just such a spontaneous meeting, and tells us she'll fire them for us and have them ready on Tuesday. On Monday, we'll drive to Porchiano to meet Fausto, and next Tuesday Ivana from Guardea will be available again. So I am hopeful that next week we will learn a lot more.

I am resigned to the fact that all the work I did on our first tiles might be for naught. The glaze I put on them is probably too thick, and the design won't show through. So we'll see what happens with our first two tiles, and will take two of the latest tiles that do not have a glaze on them to Fausto on Monday, to ask his recommendation for glaze and see if he'll fire those for us. I'm anxious to do more painting, but must wait until we have more results from the first two sets of samples.

Something profound has occurred. One of the reasons we live in Italy is my love of Italian ceramics. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would be talented enough to paint them myself. I think that my first two designs were not bad at all, and as my confidence grows, I think I'll love pursuing this new craft.

While this proceeds, on a parallel plane, our relationship with Tiziano and my interest in writing a book also continues apace. The idea of an ancient piece of tile made from a kiln in our very own valley becomes more dramatic as the story builds in my head that will find its way onto the written page. Perhaps there will be an artist who painted on these tiles from Mugnano.

Years and years ago, my father's counsel to me was "Learn everything! It will all fit into place. " And now all the things I love are taking root. It amazes me that I must steal time away from other projects to play the violin, but my passion for this place takes many forms. And of course there must be time to clip the lavender and boxwood and tend the roses. And now there must be time to plant the seeds and tend the flowers and vegetables.

With Roy by my side, I cannot think of a better life.

Pranzo has finished, and the sound of Sofi barking outside draws me to her. Giuseppa walks down the street below, and looks up and waves with her umbrella. Valerio and Elena walk up the hill toward the village at the same time and also wave. I'd love to invite them in for coffee, but there is much to do this afternoon.

Earlier we called Loredana, who is very busy, as usual, but is mostly happy with the results of their almost-finished house. They are unhappy with Stefano, our favorite muratore, because he hates to say no to anyone and takes on too much work. That means that any project takes longer, as he steals a little time from one, and then another, and then another. He is like a juggler who has too may balls in the air. We can't imagine using anyone else, so wait our turn for him. So although we want the serra finished in another week, it may take a month until we can get the time from him.

It is difficult to be upset with Stefano for long. He never takes time off, and if he is not working on one project, he is working on another. So we look forward to attending the mass for the christening of his daughter tomorrow. We will take a photograph of them coming out of church and then place the photo in a frame for them as a little gift.

Tomorrow will be the day of two special masses. First, at Christo Risorto in Bomarzo, will be the 50th wedding anniversary mass of Escano and Giovanna. And then, in the Duomo later in the afternoon, will be the mass for Stefano's daughter, Corrin. In between, I'll find the time to cook a leg of spring lamb. And of course spray the roses, which will really need it after all this rain. Will we have a spring this year? Or will spring rain turn into a summer heat wave with no sweet and warm days in between? Fa niente. Every day is lovely here.

Roy drives off to Il Pallone to find Mexican beer. We are invited to Tia's tonight for a Mexican meal. We call Tia and ask her how many will have dinner, so we'll buy enough. Bruce is out of town. I ask if she'll have ten people. She responds, "You can buy enough beer for ten, but there'll be three of us!" Sofi is definitely an invited guest at Zia Tia's house tonight as well. So Sofi and Charlie and Gioia will be doing their usual romping around while we get together with Tia.

April 17
It is Noah's ark weather. We sleep in a little, because mass is at 10:30 at Cristo Risorto in Bomarzo. It is a mass in celebration of Escano and Giovanna's 50th wedding anniversary. We keep our camera with us, and during the mass Roy takes a few pictures of the handsome couple.

The mass is a rousing one, celebrated by Don Luca, with many children singing and leading the procession at the start of the mass. There is someone at the church with a guitar, an organ plays, and some kind of hand cymbals clang during the most animated pieces of music. The hymnal next to us is quite large, but we have no idea what hymns are sung, or when. Everyone in the church knows each piece, for it seems the entire congregation is performing for a t v audience; they raise their hands, clap, and sing OUT LOUD, at full throttle. It's an amazing spectacle after our modest little masses in Mugnano. The sounds are all amplified by the dome-shaped mattone-tiled roof and hard walls.

After the mass, Escano tells Roy he wants us to join them for pranzo. We don't want to intrude, but decide to attend. First, we drive home to pick up Sofi and print a photo or two for them and place one of the photos in a quasi-gold frame. After all, this is their 50th, and gold is important on this day.

We get directions to the restaurant, located on the way to Tuscania. In Italy, directions to places out of town are given as kilometer markers. This restaurant is at km 11 of Strada Tuscanese. So we don't have trouble finding it.

Escano stands right at the door, and is so surprised and delighted by the photos that he and Giovanna show them around to everyone at the party. Before we are through at about 4:30, we have each eaten: one antipasti, two pastas, one segundo (mixed grilled chicken and meats), roast potatoes, salad, dishes of strawberries, a cake made with amaretto (gold colored liquor in honor of their golden wedding anniversary) and then coffee. We have learned to eat the Italian way, with just a little of everything. But it is still a lot of food.

We meet the Pizzi's, Michelle's next door neighbors who we have never met, and sit with them and with Michelle and Claudio and Giuliola and Livio. Giuliola is a lot of fun, and she and I have a great time, though we don't understand everything each other is saying. A lot of hugging and laughing goes on just the same.

Oh. Before we sit down, prosecco and salty snacks are served. Livio takes a spoonful of peanuts in his hand and tells us they are noce Americana. We cannot figure out why until we realize that Jimmy Carter is a peanut farmer. And we ask them if that is how they came to call the peanuts noce Americana. They agree.

During the meal, there are a number of shouts of "baci, baci!" so Escano and Giovanna, who are seated at a tiny table by themselves, facing the rest of us, kiss and we all applaud. At the end of the meal, people stand up and salute them with glasses of spumante, and holler, "Discorso! Discorso!" (Speech! Speech!)

But this is a sweet and somewhat shy couple, so they don't have anything to say. The whole thing is so very sweet, and they are the kindest couple, hugging us and thanking us for being there. We thought we would feel like intruders, but they made us feel a real part of the day.

The rain just won't stop, and when we walk out to see Sofi, who has waited in the car for us all this time, she runs around a little, but just wants to be with us. So we drive home and as we get out of the car, Pepe comes by with some greens that sound like lupine that we are to cook in a frittata. He gives Roy specific instructions, which he partly gives to me. I will make a frittata with it tomorrow to go with the lamb, I suppose. We purchased a leg of spring lamb yesterday to have for today, but it will keep until tomorrow.

I have much to read about the phases of the moon and so much to learn. The grow light has been kept on in the guest bedroom window for two days, lighting up the seedlings during all the rain. I must jump in and learn the planting instructions, read eight different articles and find a way to understand them all before planting any more seeds. But we have lots of seeds, some given to us yesterday by Tia, as well as some we have purchased during the past two weeks.

Now I am wondering if we'll be able to use the serra at all during the next month. Stefano is so behind schedule that I don't put much faith in him being able to install it before June.

And oh, we missed his daughter's christening. We just could not walk out on Escano and Giovanna's. We were not missed, as they did not expect us anyway. We did hope to appear to take a photo for them, but am sure that other friends were there to document the day.

April 18
The sky is clear, at least for a little while, so I rush to get dressed and Sofi and I spray all the roses. Even if it rains again, we'll have protected them from today's onslaught of bugs.

We drive to Porchiano for our appointment with Fausto. Fausto does not look at all the way I thought he would. He's more of a Fabio, with a gentle mane of long sandy hair, tied back with an elastic band. All around him are students dressed in white lab coats. They are all male, and have various disabilities. We don't see people with physical disabilities here, so perhaps they have learning disabilities. It appears this studio is funded by a grant from the Italian government. We also meet Francesco, a man who also seems to work there as an instructor.

Fabio, I mean Fausto, is very sweet with me. We learn that the crystalline that Ivana spoke about on Saturday is a spray used to produce a shiny finish on the tiles, and he shows me how the process is done with a pump sprayer. He finishes one of mine over a stand at the sink, and then gives me the pump to do the second one. We have brought two without a finish, and two that have the opaque finish that I fear is too thick. On Saturday, we gave two similar tiles to Ivana in Terni, and hers will be ready for us to pick up tomorrow, as will these.

While we're learning what is to be done, a young man can't stop talking with us. He wants to talk about California and tells me he knows a song about California. Then he tells us a name we know as Luke Perry on Beverly Hills 90210. A man sitting down speaks a few words of English. We think all the men are fairly young in age, and they work around the room making ceramics with clay. These are the same ceramics we saw at the little shop in Amelia a week or so ago. If I were more knowledgeable, this would be an interesting place to volunteer.

We'll return tomorrow afternoon when Francesco, the other fellow we spoke with who lives in the countryside below Giove, will be there. That will be after we pick up our tiles from Ivana in Terni. So we will have had experiences with two of the three people we have heard about in the area who know about tiles. Then we will have to figure out which person I will work with. Sometime this week, we will make an appointment to meet with the woman in Guardea as well.

I think I am going to fix a leg of lamb for pranzo, but we cannot find it. Roy looks everywhere, until he finds it...in the car. It has been there under some towels for two days. So we throw it out, sadly, but still have the lupino from Pepe, so I clean and cut it up in a marvelous frittata. The lupino has a spicy taste, strong as mint but with a different flavor. With a little prosciutto cut up, an onion, a couple of San Marzanos from a jar on our shelf and freshly grated cheese, this is our best frittata yet.

The sky is overcast, but Roy plants the rhododendron, which are ready to burst with flowers. I also notice an old white azalea that has decided to flower. We purchased it a couple of years ago, but it has not flowered after its first blush it's first year. And this year, after three or more years in the ground, the violets look as though they will flower as well, under the shade of the huge bay tree.

I take photos of the three Easy Going roses, and will email the photos to the vivaio in the Netherlands. They stand out like sore thumbs, in the midst of a profusion of happy flowers and plants. C'MON! They are not all dead, but look as though they are in shock.

Roy plants the four little rosemarino prostratus that will one day replace the huge monster of a bush above the lavender. Rosemarino prostratis does very well here. It's cascading down the walls of the parcheggio right now with a profusion of pale blue flowers.

I begin to journal my seedlings and flowers and plantings in a new little book, hunting back in older journals for details of dates and conditions. Now Roy is out doing errands, and it's time to sit down and sift through the information on phases of the moon and pick up some needed knowledge.

I love the Litany of the Saints, sung in Latin. Watching the beginning ceremonies in the Sistene Chapel, I hear a lone voice singing the names of each saint. The voice is difficult to describe, and the fellow who sings reminds me of a bird who always sings the same sweet high notes. " San-ta-Ma-ri-a..." And then the response from all the cardinals is, "Pray for me, Maria."

What's this? Silvio Berusconi just resigned as Prime Minister and will form a new government. Boh! He is one strange man, but like butter, always seems to slide off the plate without getting hurt. This time, he is reforming a new government, which is a thing that Italians do to ward off immediate elections. But this time, he has much less support. So there'll be a jelly-mold on the plate for some time. But don't' rule Berlusconi out. Although he did not manage to keep his office for the full five-year term, he knows how to put on a good face. And "bella figura" (making a good impression) is all-important in Italia.

April 19
We have a new pope. Benedict XVI, formerly Cardinal Ratsinger of Germany. We watch some of the goings on on TV, but are so busy in the garden that we don't watch the whole thing.

In the afternoon, we drive off to Porchiano to pick up the tiles that have been cooking in the special clay oven. Francesco greets us, and I hand him a chocolate cake that I made for the students and teachers as thanks for letting me cook my tiles. The cake is quickly taken out of the room and completely disappears within the next ten minutes. That pleases me.

When we're back near the oven, Francesco takes out the tiles for me, and they are still quite warm. I can tell that the glaze is not too thick after all, but my technique needs some work. While I am waiting for the tile to cool, a man heads into the room toward me, and comes up to me and takes my arm, bending it up from my elbow. At that moment, he is grabbed from behind and taken out of the room. All the other young men ignore what has just happened. And at that moment I realize I will not be coming back to this place to fire my ceramics. What just happened was a taste of what it is like to work with the mentally disabled. And I am not trained, so it is better that I look for another source.

Now that' I'm reviewing the journal days later to post, I just can't remember what else we did today.

April 20
Today is Roy's birthday. In his honor, I fix spring rolls with shrimp and vegetables from scratch, a special Asian cucumber and sesame oil salad, then make a tasty chicken stir fry and rice. Since we hardly ever have a chance to eat anything other than Italian food, this is a real treat. It is so much food that he has his dessert hours later, a kind of "castle" in a huge wine glass, as Lore calls it, made of: chocolate cake crumbled up, fresh whipped cream, strawberries in Grand Mariner, homemade cherries in Couivorsier, walnuts. Groan.

Later in the evening we walk to Lore and Alberto's for spumante. Today is also Lore's birthday. But the best treat is what I find when I open up the computer when we arrive home and find a copy of an email that Roy sent to our good pal, Bob Kalsey.

Roy's humor is a kind of "sit down" humor. His message is worth including in the journal. It made me laugh out loud. If it offends you, probably you should stop reading the journal. Have a good day.

Here it is:

"I am sending this message in Roy's computer as mine is "in the shop" getting all kinds of new Papal software installed.

I understand from Roy and Evanne that you have been ill - so what, it's part of God's Divine Plan that we all suffer a little to earn the right to ask for absolution for our sins. But, more humanly, I hope that you are feeling better.

There has been a question on a lot of people's minds since they've seen me on TV in my new Papal wear; How does he, so quickly, get a Pope Hat to fit so well? I'll let you in a little secret - the Pope Hats are "one-size-fits-all". They have a little plastic (papal grade) adjustable strap, sort of like your American baseball caps.

I would hope that, in honor of my new papacy, you and all that you know, will have Eggs Benedict in the coming days to celebrate my new job, as a matter of fact, have XVI of them.

Kind regards from Citta di Vaticana and also from your friends Evanne, Roy and their silly dog Sofia Maria.

Yours in Christ, Bennie XVI"

April 21
The sun comes out for a while, and we continue to work in the garden.

Roy really makes a difference with the tufa wall that will be the side wall of the greenhouse, knocking out a canal where one metal wall of the serra will fit. Oosten walks by on the street below the house, and he helps Roy to lift the metal wall including the door. They lean it against the back wall, supporting it with a couple of tufa bricks. It's very exciting and very, very close to being a reality.

I watch him hack away, knowing that he's hacking away at a stone facade that is thousands of years old, created by an eruption of lava before the time of Christ. What an amazing place we live in.

Roy calls Stefano and no. He can't help us install the serra before Peggy gets here next Wednesday. But he does think we'll have it finished within the week. Magari!

Because it did not rain this morning, Sofi and I are out spraying very early. We find those little bugs on the rosebuds, and I shoot the rose spray on them, almost hearing them cough from the alcohol. Most everything looks fine. But two of the carciofe plants are being chomped on by some animal. Sofi has been with me, so could it be a cat? Or a rat?

That reminds me. Roy found a big mouse in the loggia yesterday, or rather Sofi found it, sniffing close to it. I hollered for Roy, who came with a shovel and heaved it across the street over an old wall.

I make two huge trays of potatoes Anna, and after we tuck Sofi into her cage at 7PM, drive down to Rome for a birthday party for Karina, Shelly and Sergio. We have not seen Sergio since the year we purchased our house. He is a film director, probably about eighty. and I'm probably close to the top of his list for people he hates most in the world.

The week we bought our house, Sergio wanted to cook us a dinner. We were trying to accomplish an enormous number of things in two days time, and showed up twenty minutes after 7PM for a 7PM dinner at Shelly's, rushing to get our bed installed and some last minute items. He was not pleased. As we sat down to dinner, he pulled out a pipe and said to me, "Do you mind if I smoke?"

I don't know what possessed me, but I replied, "As a matter of fact, Sergio, I do!" At that, Karina and another woman stood up and cheered and he steamed. From then on, he has had nothing to do with me. Until tonight.

Halfway through the evening, I walk up to Karina, telling her I want to wish Sergio a happy birthday. I need her to go with me for support. When he turns around to face me, I say, "Do you know who I am?" He stands up and kisses me on both cheeks. I say, "You hate me. You really hate me." He sits down and tells me he can't possibly hate me. I respond, "Do you remember me?" He answers, "No. I don't. Who are you?" I tell him and he just looks at me with a start. So I respond, "See? I told you you hated me. But I want to wish you a very happy birthday, anyway. " And he just sits there stunned as I walk away.

The rest of the night is fun, too. Peter, Annie, Alex, Karina, Barbara, Shelly, Claudio, and Giordano are all there, as well as a number of new friends, including Clara and Stefania. Clara is Karina's new protegee giving the Angels and Demons tours, a voluptuous and charming young woman from Hungary who Roy refers to as Zah Zah. Roy asks her what she does for a living. She replies, "I am a broker." Roy then asks, "What do you broke?" thinking he is being very funny. She bounces back, "..men's hearts."

If I could dream myself decades younger and slimmer, I'd wear what she wears: slim jeans on the bottom with heels, a black lacy camisole cut straight across and a low cut black top that looks as though it could double as the top of a ball gown. The ruffle is fashioned of a kind of silky taffeta, and the rest of the long sleeved top is black jersey. The ruffle stands up against the back of her neck, and frames her face and her bodice like a dream. Her peaches and cream complexion and blonde hair complete the look of a total knockout. Clara shows off a rollicking sense of humor, returning to joke with me after each cigarette.

Stefania is another wonderful young woman we meet tonight. She has a dream of moving to Barcelona to live for a while, and just after I speak with her I meet Clara, who has just arrived here from...Barcelona! So before the night is through, I manage to hook them up together. Her goal...her dream...is closer to reality than she thinks. And I love being able to put them together.

We are used to going to parties in Italy where we are two of the only people who speak English, so many of the evenings are a real effort. This night is different, with as many people speaking English as Italian. As much as we want to immerse ourselves in Italian culture, until we learn the language better it is so refreshing to be able to go out to socialize and just relax.

Several people at the party are German, but I am surprised that there are so many people without good things to say about the new pope. Italians say that if you're not happy with the way the pope is handling things, wait a while, and there'll be a new one. Perhaps that is why a pope so elderly was chosen. I don't know. But I'll try to not to judge him, In the meantime, we're telling everyone to go out and eat Eggs Benedict in his honor.

Silvio Berlusconi is in really hot water. Now that the no-confidence vote is over, President Ciampi has to decide if he'll let him continue to run the country. Berlusconi has offered his resignation, as he must, but he thought he could just put together a new coalition and things would be the same. Not this time. So we'll see in a few days what the fate of Berlusconi will be. He is a slippery character, and usually winds up on top, smiling that George Washington toothy smile. Today, there is no smile on his face as cameras capture him at the same conference table with Ciampi, acting like a schoolboy gone bad.

April 22
It's Earth Day. It's also the fifteenth anniversary of my father's death. We have a spectacular visit at Landriana, a famous garden south of Rome. Today, there is also a mercato, a very upscale mercato, with the most unusual plants, scores of roses and herbs and trees and peonies and annuals and perennials...The whole nine yards.

We are allowed to take Sofi on the tour, and she behaves really well. The garden tour, which we take before walking around the mercato, is made up of twenty-five or more "rooms", one winding around to another and another. The tour takes just under an hour. Now this garden is moving to the top of my list of favorite gardens. I love the meandering way it has been designed.

We break down and buy one Pat Austin blowsy rose and several herbs. Then we stop for a quick panini and drive on to Villa Aldobrandi. This is a surprise. We decide to drive home by way of Frascati, and find out that this villa is open today, Friday, but not on the weekends. So of course we take a stroll around, and like this garden very much, too! It has a little of Caprarola, a little of Lante, even a little of Bomarzo. It needs a lot of work, but we like the unfinishedness of it, too.

On the way home, we stop at Castorama, a huge garden and hobby store, and find some very inexpensive wooden shelves made of pine slats, that will be perfect in my greenhouse against the back wall. Again, Sofi has been a dream of a dog all day, not complaining when we leave her in the car here and there.

April 23
We're up early and out, first to pick up my glazed tiles from Ivana in Terni and then to Montecastrilli to the spring mercato for the tomatoes and herbs.

Ivana is really a lot of fun. She's willing to give me some guidance and some inexpensive lessons, which take place any day I want to take them, right in the shop. So the next rainy day Roy will drop me off. I'm looking forward to it.

At Montecastrilli, we're old hands now, so know to park at the top on a side street right near where we pick up our tomato plants and herbs and vegetables and flowers. The prices are so inexpensive that we're happy to stock up.

We want San Marzano tomatoes, mostly for Felice, but these are called bananas. They're longer than the regular San Marzanos. Next to the bananas is a newspaper article about the gigantic tomatoes an old man grows and sells at the mercato. We buy two, and hear later from Tia that they are fabulous. She tells me that one tomato can serve four people with buffala mozzarella. They are very pulpy with very few seeds. Can't wait. She calls them Black Russians, but we do not see that name near the plants.

We also buy tomato plants in the shape of hearts (the leaves are that shape, don't know about the fruit), beefsteak tomatoes and one other kind. They'll fill up the row against the tufa wall next to the potatoes and fava beans.

Up above we'll plant our heirloom tomatoes. Tonight the Earl of Edgecomb variety is looking pale and yellowy. I'll see if the food we have will work for them.

We also buy two zucchini plants that are expected to have a large amount of flowers, and some flowers and herbs. And one blue hydrangea. I have a weakness for blue hydrangea, but we don't have a lot of room for shade plants.

At home we quickly eat pranzo and then spend the whole afternoon planting in our new garden area and in the raised area in front of the greenhouse. Many of the seedlings are planted in big planters, because we don't know if there will be a mess when the greenhouse is installed.

The word is that tomorrow should rain, perhaps we'll even have thunderstorms. So I tell Roy that San Anselmo and God and I will have a private service here at home, while he drives up to Bomarzo to take part in the mass. If it rains, there will be no procession, but the Duomo will be mobbed, and I am so tired. I look forward to doing some inside work tomorrow morning to get ready for a dinner Monday night here and then two days of fun here with Peggy and Mary Louise, rain or shine.

April 24
Today is the Feast Day of San Anselmo. San Anselmo is the patron saint of our big town, Bomarzo. At least that's what Fabrizio calls it after today's procession. Fabrizio is one of Roy's confraternity "bro's" and they are awed by the size of the crowds and the size of the procession. The all begin their walk at 10:15 and do not arrive at the Duomo, where Augusta and I wait for them with hundreds of other folk until almost noon. That's a lot of walking, especially with the end of it a veritable "cardiac hill", leading to the Duomo.

I am able to garner a seat on the aisle. Well, Roy drops me off before he walks up to Cristo Risorto, the church where the procession begins. And when I arrive at the Duomo, Augusta is there because Mauro dropped his mom off when he walked up to meet Roy and the others. So of the first five people in the church, I know three. The other is Enzo Rosati, our plumber, who just had to come in to give a prayer to his patron saint.

When Augusta sees me, she asks me if I'd like to go up to meet the saint. I do not remember that he is actually buried behind the altar. So there he is, in repose, with a strange mesh in the shape of his face. His actual face looks like a soufflé ten minutes after it comes out of the oven.

Anyway, I am taken by the shape of his nose, or rather the shape of the mesh. Augusta and I confer and she confirms that yes, it is a Bomarzo nose. With a start, I realize she must be from Bomarzo. And a few minutes later, she tells me that her mother was born in Bomarzo. I like her a great deal. For most of the almost two hour wait, we sit quietly in a pew and now and then speak to each other.

I have a small paperback in my hand, one that I kept out of sight until I think I might as well give it a look. It is a transplanting guide, all in Italian. I am so amazed that I can actually figure out about half of what it is saying. That's a remarkable achievement, considering how little I could understand even a year ago. The language does seep under our skin. These days, when the TV is on an Italian program, if we concentrate we can figure out most of what they are saying.

So the bishop participates in the mass, and also the procession, along with eight, yes eight, priests. Don Luca performs a fabulous job, as usual. At one point, when communion is given by several of the priests, he knows just what to do and how to reroute one priest so that the line will move more quickly. I am reminded of the communion at St. Peter's a week before, with 100 deacons or priests surrounding St. Peter's. Is this kind of orchestration something that is taught in Jesuit training? I see it sometimes as a kind of performance art.

After the mass, Fabrizio shakes Roy's hand and tells him he'll see him on Saturday. Oh. the tree frolic. Fifty or so men find a tall tree (last year's was more than 24 meters) and Pepe puts it on his truck and brings it to the fountain at the curve coming into Mugnano. Then the men carry the tree all the way up the hill to just across from the Orsini Palazzo. Negotiating the curve is a major event, and then they figure out a way to get the tree to stand up and "bury" it in the sidewalk, hopefully with a Mugnano flag on top. Usually they forget the flag until it's too late.

We drive home and stop to feed Sofi. Then we pick her up and drive to Tony and Pat's for a farewell pranzo. Their house is starting to feel more like a home to them, though there is still a lot to be done. We're not sure Tony is really happy with their decision to buy this house. One of these years, we expect it to be put on the market.

Speaking of houses, we receive an email from a good friend of Betsy and John Cutler's in Mill Valley, CA. She is looking for someone in Italy to swap houses with her for five weeks starting the third week of May. Her house swap situation outside Orvieto fell through. We're not able to help her, but hope she can work something out. We don't think we'd be candidates for a house-swap, but some people seem to like the idea.

The sky remains overcast all day, but we drive to Il Pallone, which is the market on the way to Viterbo that is open on Sundays, and then drive back through crowded Bomarzo, which has a fair taking place, and later a procession, but no Palio this year.

Down at the intersection to the Monster Park, Alberto Cozzi in his volunteer uniform signals us to drive "forte". He is also the priori for the Confraternity in Mugnano, so has been busy all day long.

" 'Remind you of Mountain Play duty?" Roy asks as we drive down hill. It surely does. We have our little projects here that we volunteer for, but none of the day-long tasks to compare with volunteering at Mountain Play performances. We do have unforgettable memories of those experiences. Some things just can't be repeated.

I'm making spring rolls again tomorrow night and also chicken sate and a cucumber salad. Tia will come for cena and also Alan will come. Bruce is still out of town and Alan leaves the next day to go back to Kuala Lumpur and Australia. We know this food is something he's probably tired of, but he's willing to come just the same.

The peanut sauce and the marinade for the chicken come out wonderfully well. As usual, I do an internet search for recipes, print out a couple and then take ingredients from all three. We'll see how it comes out, and if it's good we'll add it to the Food part of this site soon.

There is a message on our cell phone, and it's from Peggy, checking out her cell phone from the airport. So we call her and she's so funny that we can't stop laughing and can hardly wait until we see her on Wednesday.

Fireworks start at about 11PM, and we're up anyway watching an old Woody Allen movie. So I go over to the couch and keep Sofi occupied so she won't get crazy from the noise of the fireworks. After they're over, it's time to "hit the sack".

April 25
This is a real holiday in Italy. It is Liberation Day. So on this day, Roy feels that Americans are treated especially well. It marks the liberation of the Italians from German Occupation and the end of WWII in 1945.

We're usually feeling pretty liberated, and today invite Tia and also Alan to come for an Asian cena. The weather is partly overcast, but Roy fiddles around in the garden, weeding and cleaning up to get ready for guests. I spend a lot of the time in the kitchen. Sadly, there is no Palio in Bomarzo. The word around town is that the track is too muddy from all the spring rain.

Mid afternoon, the doorbell rings and it is Paola. We invite her in, and she's followed by Fulvia and Vincenza, so we invite them all in for tea. Of course, they meet Gina and Vito and Lulu, our spaventapasseri, sitting silently in the living room, waiting for better weather. Roy tells me that the fruit trees are starting to show some damage due to bugs and humidity.

We all sit down for tea, and Vincenza is pretty amazed by what I am preparing: spring rolls. They call them rolatini privavera. We have many kinds of tea, and she asks for green tea. Boh! We have none of that! She tries a ginger lemon and tells us that she likes it, but perhaps she is being polite. Paola and Fulvia, being a younger generation, are thrilled at the chance to try different teas. Fulvia, fresh from a bout of chicken pox, is feeling much better and can't wait to talk about Mexican food. I show her a little pot of cilantro. A couple of days ago, I bought a bunch at the tiny international store in Viterbo. There were a few roots attached to the cilantro, so I took a chance and potted the bunch. Almost half of them actually "took" and we'll put the pot out in the garden soon.

Since Tia and Alan are expected in less than an hour, they bid us goodbye. Now it is time to get back to work. Tia arrives with both dogs. I take a relaxed view of them, closing them in the front terrace. Before the night is over, Gioia has climbed up into the herb garden in front of the loggia and dug a big hole with her long paws. Tia tells us Gioia is a devil, but they just love her. She is really cute, playing Alpha Dog with Sofi, but they get along really well. We'll just buy some more little basil plants, and the herbs will be fine. Charlie stays quietly outside for most of the evening.

Well, the peanut sauce and chicken sate are really great, and the spring rolls are good, but I did not cook them in a hot enough oil. They took too long to cook. I'll know next time, because the ingredients were wonderful.

We finish the night with Tia's homemade peach pie and it's delicious. Then everyone goes to their cars while we stand and wave at them under a full moon. It's a beautiful night.

I know that fireworks will start soon, so when I hear a rumble, I go over to the couch in the kitchen and sing to Sofi, keeping her attention off the noise. Roy stands at the kitchen sink and cleans up, then tells me when the fireworks are over. It's time to turn in. And we're all tired.

April 26
Roy and I drive to see Danieli in Sippiciano early this morning, while it is still foggy, and both get our hair done. Roy also gets his beard trimmed. He looks pretty terrific.

Stefano comes by this afternoon, and is happy that the serra job will be easy. So he tells us they'll finish it on Friday. That means Peggy and Mary Louise won't get to see it finished, but I'm excited about Friday anyway.

We're both really excited about seeing Peggy. Yesterday she called to tell us Mary Louise just served her a welcome Prosecco. Today she calls to tell us she's in heaven. The two of them are walking all over Rome on this beautiful day.

Roy drives off to do an errand, and Felice comes by while he's out, ready to plant the tomatoes. I tell him the other member of his squadra, or team, isn't home. He agrees to come back tomorrow at 2PM. I think Roy won't want to plant then, but secretly think it's terrific. Peggy was with us in 2001 when we picked up the very seeds we have germinated this spring. So right after pranzo, we'll watch Roy and Felice build the bamboo support and plant the fifteen tomato plants we bought on Saturday. Peggy's tomatoes are still in the guest bedroom. They won't be ready to plant outside for at least a couple of weeks. But she'll be thrilled.

Tonight I cook a baked fish for tomorrow, make a homemade loaf of ciabatta, a chocolate cake, and heirloom tomato sauce to go with the fish. So tomorrow when the pals come, there won't be a lot of work to do for pranzo.

The moon is still full, and the evening is beautiful. When we have a lovely day, it's almost too wonderful to bear.

April 27
We pick up Peggy and Mary Louise at the Orte train station, then drive through Orte, and arrive home for an early pranzo. Roy preps and lays the irrigation tube for the tomato area for fifteen tomato plants, while I chatter with the girls. Felice arrives at 2PM to begin our annual planting of the tomatoes. Mary Louise (or ML as she is often called) dons my coveralls and garden hat, after asking if she can do the planting. Wow. Is Roy ever thrilled!

Felice points out the holes, Roy gives ML a pot of terra buona to scoop and some fertilizer for the tomatoes. I hand her the plants, one at a time, while Peggy captures it all on film. Roy is incredibly relieved that he can stand up all through this, because of the pain in his leg. ML appears happy to be working in the garden, fitting right in. She takes my cutters and even gives me some advice on the Easy Going roses. We agree that two have made it. There may even be some growth this year. Now that's a miracle!

Beginning our tomato planting is very significant while Peggy is here, because she went with us to the Kendall Jackson Heirloom Tomato Festival on September 9, 2001, where we picked up some of the seeds that we've used to grow this year's tomatoes. Those plants are still in the guest bedroom window. They'll take another month or so until they're ready. But the idea of it all, and ML's wanting to participate, makes the event even more special. Sofi noses around everything to inspect, but is still more interested in chasing lizards.

After we're done, ML and Roy drive off to Viterbo to find a bicycle shirt for her son. Peggy and Sofi and I stay home and rest. Once they're back, we take a leisurely walk through the village, meeting local folks and discussing the mattone in the borgo. It's possible that cars won't be allowed. Wouldn't that be wonderful! Now that our eyes are used to it, it is as if the square has always been paved that way.

Back at home, we eat little treats of this and that, and chat over homemade fig jam and cheese and prosecco cocktails made by Peggy and ML of macerated basil, Gran Mariner, Prosecco, scotch and ice, served in champagne glasses. What a treat. We're all off to bed under an almost full moon, the air sweet and mild. These are two fabulous house guests, open and relaxed and fun to be with.

April 28
One by one, we get up and greet a lovely day. We eat homemade toasted bread, both ciabatta and a rye, with our homemade sour cherry marmelada. "M.L." wants to market my jams to the U S. I'm happy that she loves the taste, but don't really have an interest in making a big deal out of it. It will never pay for itself. At least I'm realistic about that. And perhaps things taste better in Italia. We remember visiting Italy some years ago, and thinking that was true then.

Peggy and I get to do our walk to the cemetery, a walk we have each dreamed of since we took our walks together on mornings in San Rafael three years ago. The morning is warm and sweet. We take Sofi along, while Mary Louise stays home, downloading her photos onto a cd. Now she can take hundreds more.

Arm and arm, Peggy tells me that she often thinks of me when stepping out her front door to go for a walk. I really loved the time with her that last year before we moved. I think of her often, too, when Sofi and I walk around the loop below our house.

Dogs aren't allowed in the cemetery, but the iron gate is open, so I take Sofi in my arms. She is always compliant, liking the rest on my hip while I walk around. I introduce Peggy to the five family names in the cemetery. Almost everyone in the village is related to at least someone in these five families.

Before too long, we've arrived at the angels. There is one standing with a basket of flowers, and to it's left is another angel embedded in the design of a marble cross. We notice a freshly painted green bench right across from them, and sit. Peggy takes a few photos.

We talk about the angel at the cemetery in San Rafael that we used to visit, and I talk to her about possibly having an angel to watch over Roy and me after we're gone. We have the right as residents to two cemetery plots here. The "plots" are boxes near the center of the cemetery.

I ask Peggy where she thinks we should be, and she suggests to the right where the white marble boxes are. We'll just need one, for our ashes, and space in front for an angel. I used to think this talk was maudlin, but we need to make sure that Terence and Angie don't have to go through a lot of turmoil when it's our turn. I hope we go together.

We continue our walk, and read the names of the people and look at their photos. Each time we come, I recognize more photos. Noticeable are the number of young people who die in their teens and twenties. We see their photos in the prime of their lives, and remember how much pain is held in this sacred place. We also note how beautifully kept it is, and how many fresh flowers adorn the different areas.

Each day, I wave at women walking to the cemetery. This is characteristic of all Italian towns and villages. The respect for the dead is profound. I recall visiting the cemetery on November 1st, the Day of the Dead, where there is a mass said each year. We see Felice smile then as he dusts off the spot where he will rest one day.

Before we are through, we've seen every grave and every photo, including the one of Celestino Natale and his wife (the couple who built our house in 1935). We walk down the hill and take the loop back around on the strada bianca. We see that yes, Felice really has abandoned his orto. I show her Karina's old house, now owned by a Norwegian minister, and we walk up around the corner, stopping at Felice's cantina to see if he's there. It's locked up tight, so we continue our walk back home.

We walk through the garden and then get ready to drive to Orvieto. Roy has to drop us off, because his usual parking area in the back is blocked off. This morning the vegetable and fruit vendors are there. So we walk around and agree to meet Roy at Giacomini's ceramics shop.

Peggy and ML love to shop, so we take our time. Roy finds us on the street, and we have to encourage our guests along if we're to make our pranzo reservations on time. We stop at my favorite little church, San Giovanni's, and then find our way to Chiara's pottery shop. I tell them not to bother at any other shop. If the stores close at 1PM, not to open again until 4, they can get the best quality and prices at this shop. They agree, and make a substantial dent in Chiara's inventory, having their pieces shipped back to them in Marin.

Then we're off to Asino d'Oro for an incredible meal. Roy and I each eat a primi of pork jowl. It's a kind of bacon that is incredibly delicious with a sprinkle of olive oil and fresh sage. ML eats tripe, and we all have a taste. It's the first time for me, and I think the last. Perhaps it's an acquired taste. Peggy has pasta. I can't remember what else we eat but it is all wonderful and trendy and non typical.

We have time to walk a little before taking them to their train. They'll be back in Rome in time to do plenty of walking around. But before we know it, we're saying c'e veddiamo at the station.

At home, we work some more on the pergola by the big olive tree, but it will take more than a few hours to complete and we need some more special screws. So the project will continue...

April 29
Stefano and Luca arrive just after 8AM. Before he starts his work, he tells Roy that a young man who lives in the paese of Mugnano was killed yesterday in a motorcycle accident. I think he is Simone, the same young man we met in Terni when we bought our camera two years ago. He seemed like a gentle soul. We are sad for his family.

I call Tiziano and leave a message for him, asking if he'll find out if it's the same Simone we met and where he lived. How strange that yesterday Peggy and I walked to the cemetery, reading the cemetery markers and speaking about the photographs of young people who died early, mostly in automobile accidents. Could it have been at the same time as Simone's death? How eerie.

Luca and Mario set up a short brace of scaffolding behind the tufa wall of the serra for Stefano to climb up upon, and Stefano knocks a few spots of tufa off the ancient wall above with his wide angled chisel. Roy looks at the chisel longingly, telling me his is too narrow. Stefano then slides a short panel of wood into a groove to hold three rows of tufa bricks that will be built above it. We have designed a specific height for the tufa wall. All the tufa bricks are reused from bricks that Roy dismantled when we took the chicken coop apart a few weeks ago. Now the wall will be stabilized. Buon idea.

Mario is a good addition to their little team. We do not know where he is from. Stefano has so much work to do for people all over Mugnano, as well as Bomarzo, that it's critical that he has more help. People are impatient with him, because he is forced to flit like a farfalla from one job to another, keeping everyone waiting just a few hours, or a day, or three days. He has many, many "balls in the air". So he continues to concentrate on the creative and difficult work, and his two workers back him up, mixing the cement, spraying the water, and all the time carrying on conversations.

I fix a pot of coffee, and bring it out with some breakfast cookies. When they stop for a drink, I tell Stefano this serra will be my "office" and he tells me he thinks it will be my "sauna". We all laugh, and he is probably right. We'll have to rig up a fan, in addition to the fluorescent tubes for the lights.

Stefano wants to put a short ramp up to the door, and build the structure up a little. That is a great idea. He has so many great ideas. Within three hours they are finished with the back wall, and leave for a few days while the cement hardens in the sun. Roy will water it a few times a day. Stefano hopes to return on Monday afternoon for the next critical part.

In the meantime, Roy will go out to look for different paint and we'll paint the metal. Right now, the serra has an undercoat of dull grey, which I like very much. The topcoat that Roy tries looks pretty shiny and blue to me. So he'll look a little more, and we'll decide on the color this afternoon, painting it all before Monday afternoon so it will be ready to assemble as soon as Stefano is ready. The little seedlings are itchy for their new home, lurching out toward the rays of the sun from their perch inside the guest bedroom window.

I love wearing my Carhartt tufa colored overalls, but they are a thick material, and we'll look for something light-weight for the summer, like the ones Stefano wears. Perhaps Orsolini in Soriano will have something. Stefano's makes him look like a garage mechanic. They are a medium grey with red top. I'm holding out for something, well, more blue...

I clip boxwood while we watch the workers, and then Roy gets the copper sulfate ready to spray the fruit trees again. We're not sure if this is what we should be doing, but last evening when it was still light, I worked on the peach tree and noticed its leaves were getting "curly leaf", a characteristic disease of peach trees. Roy also sprays the two plum trees and the apple tree. We're no longer afraid to use rame sulfato (copper sulfate) spray, knowing that it is biologic.

We've put the baby gate back on the bottom of the stairs, and we've also staged a box to sit on the chair in our bedroom. So now Sofi can't jump up on the chair, and I carry her when I walk upstairs and down. That warning a few days ago at the Orte train station by a man who owned a basotto frightened me. I don't want something to happen to Sofi's back. She's such a sweet dog.

There is a lot of noise this morning from trucks. The broken water pipe and the construction trucks repairing the street and the electrical wires have all but stopped traffic. Italo arrives in his fish truck, and has to maneuver around a backhoe. Don Luca arrives in his Darth Vader outfit on his motorcycle, and asks us if he can park near our driveway. I wonder if it has something to do with yesterday's death. He leaves after twenty minutes and waves a c'e veddiamo to us.

Trucks making deliveries to Ernesta's (the only store in Mugnano), the construction trucks, Italo's fish truck, Elio's school bus, are all propelled in a kind of dance, moving back and forth like toy cars in a carnival ride. Now and then a car tries to travel up the hill, but waits its turn patiently. By 11AM, they are all gone. The air is silent except for the hundreds of birds. Did I tell you that yesterday, Mary Louise heard the cuckoo?

We eat tuna salad for pranzo on crusty bread, and I'm anxious to go back outside, clipping boxwood, spraying roses and listening to the birds. Roy joins me while Sofi bounds around looking for lizards. He does not have to hack away at any tufa under the serra, because Stefano will arrive on Monday with his little jackhammer. Roy will love that! So he waters the wall to help harden the cement and we drive off to meet Maria Antonietta, the ceramicist in Guardea.

But first we stop at the TittiBar, where Roy picks up a present that Angie has left for us. It is a remarkable watercolor of a Basotto Nano puppy that looks strikingly like Sofi during the time Angie sat with her more than a year ago. After we drive to Guardea, we'll backtrack to Amelia and have it framed, subito!

Maria Antonietta is a dear woman with a long mane of straight grey hair flowing down almost to her waist and bright blue eyes. She welcomes us in to her little house. After showing us a few of her ceramics, we agree that it will be a good idea for me to take a few private lessons to get me started on technique. She has an oven, so I can also bring the tiles that are waiting to be fired.

We walk out to her little studio in the back, and make a date for me to return at the beginning of the week. I tell her that I want to learn how to paint grotesques of the Rafaello school, and she understands. But first, she'll help me work on my painting technique. I'll start with a test so that she can see how much help I'll need to get started. I bring her a couple of finished tiles and she commends me on the detail. I don't think they're that good, but the vote of confidence helps boost my spirits.

Back at home, we work on the pergola in front of Roy's garden shed, and it takes until the sun goes down for us to make any progress. We'll continue working on it tomorrow, until we hear the noises of the men coming up the hill with the village tree...

April 30
It is true. Simone was the young man in the village we knew to say hello to who sold us our camera two years ago. Now he is dead. Our entire village is in a kind of shock. There will be no tree raising today. There may be a cancellation of the entire festa, scheduled for next weekend. His funeral will be in Orte, tomorrow. We are all so sad.

Felice arrives early, just after nine, because the sun is warm today. He wants to take his zappa out of the garden shed and weed the lavender field. "Non troppo lavoro," we tell him. He wears wool slacks and a v-neck sweater over a shirt with a collar. But no hat. He declines any offer of water.

Before he leaves, we stand under the shade of a loquat tree and he is philosophical about the death of Simone. He tells us, "When you're dead, you're dead." He agrees with me that life goes on. Everything around us is green and fragrant. We can hear a tractor below us in the valley. The birds work overt