|
|
|
October 1
"Rabbit. Rabbit." These were the first words we each uttered on this day, at just after midnight. See the last posting of September to find out why.
I'm back to recording the days of the month in sequence, so beginning with this month, no longer will you have to read the journal backwards. It is amazing to me that since we started this journal, I have posted more than three hundred times!
Che mancharebbe...could it be? Well, Martha was right. In addition to the meaning, "If we didn't have it, we would miss it," this phrase also loosely translates to "It's a good thing."
"During the last three months of 2005...especially as each month drew to a close, the people of Mugnano were heard to whisper the words to each other and the words passed from house to house, down the little streets and across the borgo.
As midnight drew to a close on the last day of the last month of the year, a groundswell could be heard across the village. The bells of the little church in the square pealed twenty four times, women silently bared their backsides to the moon, turned around and as the townspeople greeted each other, their first words were, "Coniglio! Coniglio!" and then, "Buon anno!"
The months passed, and in the houses where these words were uttered faithfully,...."
Can you tell I have been reading a medieval novel?
Sun rises in a clear sky this morning, and we're off to Arezzo, to the monthly antique market, for this will be the best walking weather of the year.
We arrive in not much more than an hour, and although we are able to find a place to park on the street, we can only park there for an hour. So we move the car to the parking garage we remembered from last time. Sofi and I wait in the sun until Roy parks.
The air is cool, and I feel a draft on my throat. Perhaps we'll find a vendor with light Pashima or wool scarves. I'll need one today. Roy does not sound all that well either, but he is wearing a vest.
As we approach the main street, we encounter two women from a nonprofit organization trying to raise awareness and money for animal protection causes. The poster animal is a little basotto, like Sofi, but an adorable puppy, facing right into the camera, with the image of its beard turning the little dog into a caricature of itself.
They sell t-shirts, wonderful ones, with the dog's image on the front. Only later do we realize that the words printed above the dog's face read, "call my lawyer!" in Italian. I am sorry we did not purchase more than one. Sofi is given a wonderful bandanna to wear, one that lasts all of about fifteen minutes before it finds it's way to my little tote.
But now we are walking up the hill, and before we know it the eye candy of the 200 plus vendors are all around us. We never expect to buy anything when we come to this famous market on the first weekend of each month, but on this day we purchase: one t-shirt for Roy, one lightweight warm scarf for me from an Indian shop, a prayer font that we later use on the table in the kitchen to display fresh fruit, (carved from a quite marvelous marble from Carrara at an incredible price of €55.)
Then we find an iron planter for around € 30. With all the money we've spent, Roy tells us we need to eat panini for pranzo, so he buys them for us at a little café and we sit on stone steps in the main square and all feast there. We have brought roast chicken for Sofi from home, and everyone is happy as can be.
I admit I am amazed that Roy agrees to this manner of eating pranzo, actually suggests it, for I love the idea of eating bread and cheese and even wine and fruit for pranzo instead of a sit down meal. This is the first time Roy would even think of suggesting it in decades. Perhaps he is mellowing in this respect. Magari.
We are in the midst of a wonderful day, but after about 2PM realize Roy has a dinner engagement with Don Luca and his Confraternity buddies, so we drive home through a circuitous route that includes Cortona.
Now I've been poo-poo-ing Cortona since all the Frances Mayes notoriety has changed the town, yuppifying it and driving the prices into oblivion. But today Roy wants to drive there on the way home, so we park around back (if you drive to Cortona, don't take the first street to the center of town, but instead drive around to the back. That way, you'll have a straight shot into town instead of facing an uphill climb.)
The streets are full of tourists, but the town is lovelier than ever. No matter how many tourists descend on Cortona, no matter how many stranieri buy homes there, Cortona will remain a beautiful, beautiful town. One of my favorite ceramics stores is still there, with very reasonable prices. We take a few photos of the plates I want to copy, and the owner is quite amenable.
Then we have a caffé in the square and drive home.
An hour or two later, Roy changes, picks up a jar of fig conserve to give to Don Luca, and waits at the gate for Gino and Valerio and Enzo. Roy is not feeling well. His cold has reappeared. At first he wants to drive to the Confraternity cena so that he can come home early. But now he has left the keys at home and drives off with his brothers.
Sofi and I sit in front of the telly with cheese and fruit and wine and fig conserve. I get a minor buzz on and we go up to bed early, so that Sofi can snooze and I can read. Girls' night in. It's a marvelous treat. Meanwhile, Roy arrives at Don Luca's and there are fifteen of them, including Don Luca, a priori from Bomarzo and Roy's Confraternity buddies from Mugnano. Fabrizio, Nicola, Alberto and Francesco (who lives next to Luigina) are the chefs, and during the meal Don Luca asks what day tomorrow will be. No one knows. It is the Festa di Nonni (grandparents' day), and Valerio and Roy are the only two nonni. Bravos all around to the two proud men. Roy's home before midnight, and it's good to have him home.
October 2
The sky is cold, with streaks of thin clouds obscuring a bright sun.
It's time to pick tomatoes from both ortos, but they are all past their prime. We'll cut almost all of the plants down today or tomorrow and will put up tomatoes later, squeezing them as much as possible to get some of the water out.
The priest speaks about the joys of the vendemmia, and today we bless the harvest and the grapes. On November 11th, on the feast day of San Martino, the wine will be tasted from this season's harvest. So far, we have picked...niente.
Today, when walking home from church with Laura and Mauro, Laura tells us that the sky is triste (sad). There are a few drops of rain and the sky is cloudy. The air remains cold and wet.
After church, Sofi and I work on the roses on the front path.
Italo agrees the sky is sad later when I am deadheading the roses on the front path and he walks by with an empty bucket. He takes water to the chickens in his orto. And he is sad, for his wife was Leondina, our good friend who died recently.
Speaking of triste, even the figs are sad. There are some left on the tree, but I don't think they will ripen. We have so much on the shelf, that we're only sad for the tree.
I'm going to make the first batch of polenta today, and we'll have our first fire in the fireplace. Summer seemed so short, but there's no holding back when cool weather decides to descend. So we might as well enjoy it.
But I am really tired. So when Roy tells me that pasta is fine for pranzo, I am really relieved. I look forward to a long afternoon nap in this drafty weather. The wind blows and it is a silent afternoon.
By 5PM we are so tired we cannot stay awake another moment. The power is off and on in the wind and the rain. We try to sleep, but doze off and on. Roy gets up around 7PM to see if he can get one of the circuits back on. We are back in winter weather, with an electrical system that is cranky when the weather turns humid and cold.
The next thing we know, it's past midnight, and we're still in bed.
October 3
We slept in until 8AM, and we needed the rest. The weather is gloomy, but once we're up we try to get the electrical system to work. With three circuits, only one works. So Roy maneuvers a long extension cord from the guest bedroom so that we can hook up the refrigerator in the kitchen.
We heat up some minestrone and get ready to leave for a reception in Rome given by a friend from the Smithsonian. Sofi stays in her little bed and we pick up Tiziano and drive in to Rome. We've decided to drive instead of take the train.
We arrive and meet Emanuela, who grew up in Mugnano, and her husband, Alain, who are mostly responsible for today's reception on ancient medicinal plants.
We had no idea, but the show consists of the unveiling of their website. I'm taken by the photos of botanicals, many five hundred years old! This project is one done in connection with Earthwatch and the Biblioteca in Rome, and twenty or so middle aged women in Birkenstocks and black socks and black cotton pants and t-shirts from the program are there. We speak with a couple of women who are friendly as can be.
Then it is time to begin. I want to ask Emanuela if there are slides that I can copy and paint from, as I am enamored with botanical drawings these days. But once the show begins, we see that we can look up any of them on their new web site.
It is fabulous. Just fabulous, if you are interested in medicinal plants, or botanicals, or the history of plants. The site is:
http://www.sil.si.edu/digitalcollections/herbals
I have my sketch book, and fire away at scores of drawings, while one by one they appear on the screen.
We meet Emanuela's mother, her sister, and also Simone's mother, who seems to be a good friend of the family. They must be very proud of Emanuela. We surely are, and agree that she will come for a visit in the next two weeks before she must return to Washington, DC. and her job at the Smithsonian.
We drive home as the sky turns navy blue and share the A-1 with hundreds of huge trucks. It is a good thing that Roy loves to drive. Just as we're leaving the tall and stately turn-of-the-twentieth-century tall apartment buildings in Rome, each one a marvel in itself with its beautifully orchestrated colors and grand wooden front doors...
Roy looks in the rearview mirror and asks Tiziano, "Have you ever eaten horse meat?" There are special butchers in places all over Italy that sell the stuff. What a sad commentary.
"Oh. No." he responds, "Only as a young child."
"Perhaps your mother wanted to turn you into a stallion, " I quip, then am engulfed with laughter.
Back at home, Sofi is playful as ever, and we spend the rest of the evening in front of the TV, with power restored and a promise from Maurizio, an electrician from Bomarzo, that he will come tomorrow afternoon to help Roy sort our electrical challenges all out.
October 4, 2005
We've emailed Michelle Berry to find out what she does to freeze basil. We have plenty of fresh basil growing in the herb garden, but with this cool weather it is just a matter of time before it all dies. Here's Michelle's answer:
"I put the basil in the Cuisinart and chopped it very small. Added tablespoon of lemon juice (in place of olive oil and as I mentioned garlic, nuts (pine or walnut) and grated parm to form frozen pesto cubes. In your case, I would blend the leaves with fresh lemon diluted with water - just to form a slightly liquid paste. The consistence should be wet enough to freeze into cube in ice cube trays."
What a great idea! Of course we'll take most of the basil that we have and. like squirrels, will put our "nuts" away for the winter.
I wake with the start of a headache, but am wishing it away, with the help of a welcome rub from Roy on my shoulders.
We've been corresponding with Karen Holmes, the guardian angel of the Leo Diner Scholarship at the Cinema Department of San Francisco State. We thought she had never actually met Leo, but that was not the case. Her memories bring back some of mine, and I'm sure many of Roy's, about the old lab on Golden Gate Avenue...
"Now this may surprise you but I am sure that I did see Leo and more than once! I started shooting film well before I entered film school in 1970. We had an 8mm wind-up Bolex and a 16mm Beaulieu (I still have that one.) I took my footage to Leo Diner on hmmmm.... Maybe Golden Gate Avenue? I can still see the building, the place where you dropped off film and smell the delicious odor of film chemicals.
"Whenever I am experimenting with hand processing personally, modifying my optical printer or jury rigging up some way to do creative titles, I think about Leo and his lab, a wonderful mysterious place that ignited my desire to explore process as well as content. I have always been happy that the Leo Diner Award can keep his spirit alive. "
We've wanted to encourage the Department to hold a Leo Diner Film Festival of past winners, to stir up more entrants and showcase the great creative work of the winners. Here's what she has to say about the idea...
"Let's aim for a festival next fall. It will be 14 years then and a fall festival would be a great preparation for the 15th award."
There is always something to look forward to. And now as fall gears up, with leaves turning, persimmons ripening, fires in the kitchen fireplace and the harvesting of grapes, we look forward to our short trip to the United States in late November, and the possibility of a festival in honor of Leo next year.
October 5
I've had a headache for two days, the first in months, and am unable to shake it. Perhaps it is the major change in the weather from warm to cool, from spotty showers to downpours and an overcast sky.
I manage to spend time in the studio this morning, and paint some new designs that will be fired this week in Deruta. Between an hour or so of filtered sun and dark clouds, I stand at the counter facing South. Paint seems to fly off my brush. Soon we'll visit the Commercialista in Viterbo and set up a business license. Perhaps some day we'll even be able to turn this joyous activity into a craft that actually makes some money.
Something is very wrong with our electrical system. Of four separate circuits, one keeps bouncing out. Yesterday Maurizio, an electrician from Bomarzo, came and fooled around for a while, but left because at the time we had no power outage. He told Roy to call him when there was a problem.
He left and the power went out, but Roy was unable to reach him by phone. So, day after day, Roy fiddles with the circuits, not able to figure out where the problem lies.
We take nine pieces to class, and can't remember what pieces we've taken that will be ready to pick up. I think they'll be posted on the photos section of this site today or tomorrow.
That is, until we see them. Boh! We still are having problems with the smalto. The designs are fine, but I spend most of the three hour session trying to repair the base coat on the plates we've brought to fire. What a mess. We determine that the smalto is too thin, so won't hold the glaze universally. I'm looking forward to a good cry. This is such a long, long road.
Once we're home, Roy agrees to build our first fire of the season, and it is a lovely one, lighting up the corner of the fireplace and taking off right away. This is one of the reasons we look forward to fall. Outside, on the way home, we looked up to see a sliver of a moon, and the first star, in a beautiful navy blue and pink sky, smeared with black clouds. Might as well enjoy the weather. It's here to stay.
On the way out tonight, Roy stops me to walk over to the Osmanthus, next to the parcheggio on the little path. It is filled with tiny white flowers and the most amazing smell, even more fragrant than jasmine. Funny, but I don' t recall ever seeing blossoms on the Osmanthus plants here before. October is such a month of surprises, the garden is lush and fragrant. Go figure.
October 6
My headache lingers, but we walk up to see Dottoressa in the borgo this morning at 9. She's one hour late, as usual, and those of us waiting for her laugh that she is on some other time clock.
We're second in line, and have lots to go over with her. We leave with a bunch of prescriptions, including prescriptions to see specialists for various things, and we'll probably pay around €100 for all specialist visits and the prescriptions. The care here in Italy is amazing, when you know who to go to.
Roy comes back from an errand and tells me that four of our neighbors are gabbing on the little stone benches outside our parcheggio. Lydia, Giuseppa, Luciana and Augusta sit there, happily side by side. Roy asks them if they think he needs to put in another bench and they think he should. I think we're fine for now, but love having our neighbors sit there. These women do not miss a day of walking. I wish I could say the same. No wonder they live so long.
Chris and Helena come for tea. They are here on a short visit from England, and although we've emailed back and forth for more than a year, this is the first time we've met them. We do some brainstorming with them about finding a bed and breakfast situation, and they'll visit Todi and Amelia and Narni in the next few days, although they're staying in Vetralla with friends. Then they'll travel on to Venice. Perhaps they'll run into Judith, who'll be there as well, this time with both dogs.
The power is still not fixed, so tomorrow Roy will try to reach Maurizio again and see if they can scope out the problem. Otherwise, it's a quiet day, with me snoozing to get rid of my headache and walks out to look at the garden, which looks amazing after all the rain. Sarah is right. The roses are as happy as can be.
I'm taking a break from painting. I'm still very unhappy about the smalto, and want to wait to paint until I am sure we have the correct mixture. What is the answer? Judith calls her friend Mardi, who agrees to meet with me. So I'll call her tomorrow. She has a full studio in Tuscania, so perhaps she can help me find the answers.
October 7
Last night I had some strange things happen while I tried to sleep. The back of my head, just where it meets the neck, started to quiver. I felt like old Aunt Ethel, whose head wobbled back and forth like those little bobble toys perched on the back ledges of automobiles. I lay on my back, with my arms resting over my waist, and my arms fall asleep, tingling me awake.
This morning, Roy asks me to write this down, to tell the doctor from the hospital in Perugia next month. I think it has something to do with the length of the migraine this time. But by the middle of today, the headache seems a thing of the past.
I tackle the dreaded job of switching warm weather and cool weather clothes and actually finish in about an hour. Although this house is quite small, we have organized it well, and because of our simple life, we don't really need much in the way of trendy clothes anymore. So I pull out a pair of jeans and a velour top, and that will probably be a uniform for me for these next months. I'm actually looking forward to packing for the trip to the U S in November, and think we'll be taking much fewer things than last year.
We hear from a couple more potential clients, who we'll see in the next months, and Roy will be masterminding those projects. Sure, I'll work with him, but I'm hopefully going to be busy once we can figure out what's going on with the ceramics.
Outside, there is rain and more rain, but it is a light rain, so lovely that when the late afternoon arrives we see a bright sunset reflecting across the valley in Chia. Below are the layers of misty clouds, green-grey and lush. Our garden looks like an English garden, with roses flourishing and everything green, green, green.
One of the electrical circuits still does not work, but we cannot reach Maurizio. So we continue to jury-rig our electrical needs for a few more days.
October 8
Tonight, Roy asks me, "Do you ever write in the journal, "Nothing happened today?"" How strange. There is always something to write about.
The rain continued overnight, and Roy gets out of the shower early, even before I wake up.
There is a message on the phone that Giovanna asks if we'd like to delay our planned day trip for a week for better weather. But we're adventurers, so we call back and say we're on if they are. We're all happy to go anyway, so Roy and Sofi and I arrive at Duccio and Giovanna's in Bomarzo just before 9AM.
They live in the most wonderful former guardhouse for an Orsini castello. It must be four hundred years old. Inside is a really beautiful fresco on the ceiling of the salon. When stepping into the room, you know you are inside a very special building. But I am getting ahead of myself...
We drive right up to the door, but because they are not yet ready, we have to back down twice for cars driving down from the borgo. Roy calls this "rush hour". We back down to the San Anselmo statue, the one Christopher loves with the saint's hand raised from the elbow as Christopher does in every photo.
We drive back up a third time, and our good friends get in the car, with Giovanna in the back with Sofi and me and Duccio in the copilot seat. He's happy not to drive, and Roy is happy to be the one to drive, so the day starts out well, even though it is raining.
We drive through Terni and on to the town Giovanna has wanted to visit for almost a year. Accumoli. The drive is lovely, with trees just beginning to turn. Vivid red trees stand out among thousands of different hued green trees, lush from weeks of rain as if painted drops drooled on a canvas. Here and there, yellow leaved trees stand out, with a few terra cotta ones thrown in as if strewn across a meadow. The geography is flat and hilly, with steep mountain ranges on either side, the Apennines, marked by slices of dirty and sensual fog layered between steep hills of autumn hues.
When we arrive, the first man we see is right out of a special effects movie. He is quite tiny and leans his head to one side, with ears that seem larger than his head, sticking out like sonar detectors. The sky is grey, the streets are grey, and he blends in with his grey skin and grey jacket and grey pants as if he has just emerged from around the corner out of a Brigadoon fog.
We park and walk around the same corner to a little bar. Sofi and I wait outside, along with a number of local men who all look, well, rather harsh and sullen. It is as if the cold hard winters have turned these men into characteristic figures out of a Jack London novel set in the hinterlands of Italy.
We have seen these men before, in towns like Castelluccio and Norcia, but why aren't the women just as rough looking? The women we see today have rosy cheeks and pleasant faces. When we greet them, they smile warmly and acknowledge us back. There is so much to learn...
Giovanna gets out her favorite touring book, a 1962 version of Guida Rossa, the Touring Club of Italy Lazio guide she has treasured for decades. With her as our guide, we start at the base of the town and walk up on top of thick slabs of stone, edged in river stones. As we walk, Giovanna reads from her guide, noting sandstone buildings of remarkable architecture. Some are in disrepair. It is evident that restoration efforts have taken place here, for newer sandstone can be found slipped in between disintegrated stones on various buildings.
Roy and I are reminded of Maybeck's Palace of Fine Arts in San Francisco, that Liberty Style monument to feminine beauty that started to crumble almost as soon as it was finished in the early 20th century. Why would they ever want to build with sandstone? Well, it is the local stone, so of course that is the reason. Here in Italy the stone is known as arenaria.
We are not able to enter any of the special buildings with the exception of one little church, but as we reach the top of the main street, a little bundle of a dog in black fur bounds out toward us, and a woman asks us if we want her. She must be abandonata. We tell the woman no, and Sofi sniffs a little at her but does not really care for her. We continue on about our walk, with the little bundle of fur following our every move.
We leave the town partially satisfied with the visit. leaving the little dog behind. But we still want to get inside a few of those buildings. After all, Giovanna has wanted to see them for months.
We switch gears and it's after twelve, so we've decided to drive to a nearby town, Amatrice, which is the home of Spaghetti Amatriciana, made with Pancetta. We are all hungry just thinking of it.
We arrive in the town and again, Giovanna gets out her guide. We park next to a lovely church, but not the main one in town. Inside there is a really lovely Assumption painting, and other frescoes worth spending time with.
We decide to walk down the main street, and stop at a shop to buy local Pecorino, and to ask for the best restaurant for the local specialty. The woman in the shop tells us to leave town and drive toward the lake. We should eat at Trattoria Dell Lago, which is in the outskirts of Amatrice, but overlooks the lake. I'm wondering why we should leave the town, but we agree to go, after we check out the church of San Francesco.
But the Duomo is closed. Next door is the local tourist office for the area, and a kind young man shows us around, including a peek at the cloister of San Francesco. Unfortunately, the church is only open when the local priest is here. There are no hours. Giovanna wants to see some of the artwork inside. She has read in her guide book that several important works of art can be seen here, but the young man tells us otherwise.
In the years since Giovanna's book was published, a new priest came to town and locked away all the art that Giovanna wants to see. Or has it been stolen? We are not sure. We do know that the statue taken around town on the patron saint's day, was replaced by a copy. The copy is now taken around for the latest processions.
The whole conversation turns quirky, and we believe Giovanna is sad. Sad that her book is no longer telling what the real story of the church is, and even sadder that those wonderful works of art are no longer available to be viewed.
We take solace in the fact that we're soon to eat a great meal, and drive down the hill, stopping to ask directions at an intersection. A man nods his head, takes a minute and then tells us to drive over the bridge, take a left.... His directions are good, but then again, the restaurant is easy to find. Roy pulls into a place right in front of the restaurant.
Silvano greets us, apologizing that dogs are not allowed when Duccio asks about Sofi. I am sure he tells me so because he is not the owner and wants us to know that the decision is not of his choosing. Several dogs sit sleepily and patiently outside, so we leave Sofi sleeping in the car. She has already been fed pieces of cooked chicken, her favorite, so she'll be fine.
Silvano somehow takes to me, talking to me all the while we're trying to sit down and get settled. He asks us what we want, and of course we want the local specialty, spaghetti Amatriciana. But Giovanna wants to know if we'll be eating the white or red sauce. So when ours comes with the red sauce, we ask him if this is the authentic one, and what the white sauce was all about.
He tells us that many years ago the white sauce was what was used for Amatriciana, but only because tomatoes were not available. Boh? In the recent past, Amatriciana is always served with red sauce. We're satisfied with his answer, mostly because we're starved. And the heaping plates of hot pasta are heavenly.
Once we've finished that, we are brought a big tray of pieces of roast lamb, apparently cooked alla brace (on hot coals). We're also brought diced sautéed potatoes in olive oil and julienne zucchini in a very light batter. Of course there is local red wine, made probably last Thursday, but drinkable nonetheless.
We decide to have coffee in Rieti, but when we leave I ask Silvano for a business card. I introduced myself earlier, and when I tell him I want to write about the restaurant on our website, he remembers my name and I tell him we'll see him a la prossima (next time).
We leave with cards of the restaurant, Trattoria Dell Lago. Definitely put this on your list if you're interested in wandering the far coast of Lazio past Rieti. It's a lovely leisurely drive and an excellent restaurant, especially if you like spaghetti Amatriciana, made with local pancetta.
Ah, Rieti. This is one lovely city. After we park, Giovanna leads us toward the Duomo, but first we stop at a remarkable cloister.
Then it's on to the Duomo, a really beautiful church, with some remarkable work and some unremarkable and badly done restorations. All in all, the place is worth a visit. Duccio kindly asks a woman if there is any reference in the city to San Liberato, but she asks the priest and tells us that there is none.
So the reference we received from the little church of San Liberato in the town of the same name was that it was located in the region of Rieti, and that's that. So our next research may well be in the Vatican Library. It's time we get back to our San Liberato research.
We stop at an elegant bar and Giovanna and I have camomile tea with lemon. The hot tea is a treat after all the food. Roy cannot resist gelato. Giovanna tells us of a funny story of going to a bar some years ago and asking for camomile tea with lemon, and the bartender asking her if she wants the special camomila. She does, and thinks it's so very tasty.
Some years later, she goes back to the same bar, this time with Duccio, and tells the bartender she wants their special camomila. It is then that she finds out that he has put grappa in her tea. Since Giovanna does not drink, she had no idea what the bartender meant. But we all have a good laugh. Today we are served ordinary camomila, although I'd be willing to try the special blend on a cold day.
We drive home past Piediluco, a lovely lake, and arrive home as it begins to get dark and the sky clouds over. For most of the day we've had lovely weather, cool but rainless. And now that we're arriving back home, a fine mist returns.
This has been a lovely trip, and we say goodbye to our friends at the San Anselmo statue, then drive home to find a leak in the roof of the studio. It's no wonder, with all the rain, but there is no real damage.
Inside, Roy starts a fire and we settle down for a quiet night in front of the TV. Tomorrow he'll be up at dawn, to watch the Formula 1 race live from Japan. Brooooom! Brooooommm! I can tell he'll have good dreams of racing cars tonight.
October 9
Roy lies on the couch, watching the Formula 1 race at 7AM, a race held today in Japan. The beginning of these races are particularly exciting, with what looks like little toy cars on the screen, each driver maneuvering to overtake his rivals. But the toy cars are multi million dollar real ones, the drivers world class.
For twenty experienced drivers, it amazes me that a handful of them are able to move up more than five positions in less than a few minutes after the start of the race. The psychology of this is interesting. The accidents are not. After seeing the first spill, I turn away from the screen.
I watch the first two minutes and then walk upstairs to take a shower and get back to my book, Reading Lolita in Tehran. Two things cause my mind to wander. The first is the author's description of "non-Revolutionary writers," which she writes are "the ones celebrated by the young: James, Nabokov, Woolf, Bellow, Austen and Joyce." Huh? The author is Azar Nafisi, a woman who clearly was born in Iran, but schooled in Europe.
Is it really true that young readers around the world today only celebrate one American author? Am I so ingrained in my own list of mostly American writers that I am very surprised not to see: Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Faulkner and Kerouak also among this list? For me, these were authors I celebrated in my early twenties, along with Sartre and Camus and Simone De Bevoir. My list also included Shakespeare and Hardy, but then I studied English Literature and was fixated by Hardy's influence of the power of nature over man and frustrated about his concept of man's inability to do much about his own condition.
The second diversion surfaces when the author writes, "Nabokov calls every great novel a fairy tale." Azar believes that the magic of good in a fairy tale "offers you freedoms that reality denies. In all great works of fiction, regardless of the grim reality they present, there is an affirmation of life against the transience of that life, an essential defiance. This affirmation lies in the way the author takes control of reality by retelling it in his own way, thus creating a new world. Every great work of art, I would declare pompously, is a celebration, an act of insubordination against the betrayals, horrors and infidelities of life."
Perhaps that is why I love to write. On the canvas that is the world about me, I choose to paint those things that speak to me, that move me, in a positive way. It is as if I have taken a giant brush and painted over so many events of my growing up, striking a new set as it were, and deciding to capture those moments, those images, that move me daily and speak to me of a life full of gentleness and simple beauty.
I seem to see my life these days as a kind of fiction; you might call it a fairy tale, and relationships as a kind of romantic ideal. So in these later years, I choose friendships with those who choose kindness over sarcasm, gentleness over caustic degradation of their friends, relatives and co-workers. I am able to, for in this simple life, I am not forced to interact with people on a daily basis that rub me like sandpaper. Have I paid my dues? No one knows.
I'll wear the same clothes I wore when we still lived in California for ten years or more. Bella figura (to make a good impression by the way one dresses) is not important to me. I'll always try to look presentable, but the latest fashion is lost on me, as is the frantic consumerism that we watch literally consuming the fabric that is every day life in America when we visit each fall. I'll learn this new language, hope to get to know more neighbors, but my life with Roy and our little dog on our little piece of land in this simple village is all that I could ask for.
It is Sunday, the sky is beautiful and the temperature warm. On the way to church we encounter Silvana, who tells us that every property in Mugnano is now sold. We point to the little apartment right across from the bus stop, and palates of floor tiles are stacked, waiting to be laid.
She tells us that an Italian has bought the place, but does not know if it is a Roman. She confirms that Mugnano is "molto tranquilla" and we agree. It is so important that Mugnano does not lose any of its characteristic tranquility. I think every single person in this village feels the same. At least we hope they do.
During mass, I am able to make out the 23rd psalm, and it is lovely to read in Italian: "Il Signore e il mio pastore: non manco di nulla".
I've hung out a second load of laundry on the terrace, Fabrizio and Marina and Anna have come by to ask if we'll come for pranzo on November 1 (si, certo!), and Roy has driven off to nearby Il Pallone to grocery shop.
On the way, he meets our new neighbors, a Swiss couple named Annika and her husband, who bought the little white box of a house with a roof balustrade and a little garden below us. They will come for a glass of wine this afternoon.
I speak with Mardi, a friend of Judith's who is a ceramicist in the US, but a painter when she is here in Tuscania. She invites us for a visit later this week, and tells us to bring our ceramics. She tells me she has no idea what to tell me about the smalto. When she has been here before, it was impossible for her to find anyone to help her with the complex issue of smalto for her ceramics. Perhaps that is why she paints while she is here.
Across the street, Pia's project continues at a snail's pace. One worker plods along. At this pace, it will be next summer before the little house is finished.
Roy cuts down all the tomato vines, and wants to burn the piles in place. I'm hoping he'll wait a week or more. Then we'll have to decide if and what and when to plant anything as a winter cover crop. We'll check into fava beans.
Our new Swedish friends arrive, and Annika is about the most relaxed new homeowner I've ever encountered in Italy. She and her husband, Torbgorn, have owned their house for about four days, and since it came furnished they have plenty of time to put their own stamp on it. We sit around on the terrace with a bottle of Orvieto Classico and fill them in on local trivia and give them contact information for one Swedish woman and all the Norwegians. We look forward to stopping by for a visit before they leave at the end of the week.
In the meantime, we'll greet Wendy Hallinan and her husband Dan here tomorrow, who'll arrive for a simple pranzo and to learn about buying property in Italia.
I'm really bummed. I know that I took some wonderful photographs of our Lady Hillingdon roses sitting in a pitcher in the kitchen mixed with some Buff Beauty rosebuds and herbs. The mix of yellows seemed blended somewhere in heaven. But somehow the photos disappeared. Sigh. The roses are still flowering, so we'll wait until they've blossomed and do a second try.
October 10
We wake to a clear and warm fall day. With guests arriving for pranzo, Roy drives to Lugnano and Attigliano to shop. I spend most of the morning in the kitchen, with a few breaks to putter in the garden.
Our guests, Wendy and Danny Hallinan, arrive and it is as if we've known them for years. With mutual friends and the Bay Area in common, there is a great deal to talk about.
As we unfold our lives here, we are able to speak with them about the surprises of living in Italy, and also of what we like the best about our lives. Before they've been here an hour, we invite them to stay here overnight and also to pick grapes with us for Enzo Gasperoni tomorrow.
Enzo calls to confirm an 8AM start, and Wendy seems more interested in taking in the Italian experience than house hunting. But in the afternoon, we are able to reach Patricia, who has a new listing of flats in a wonderful palazzo in Bassano in Teverina, and she agrees to give us a tour, even though she leaves for a visit to Ireland tomorrow.
We're stopped on the narrow road leading into the borgo by a line of cars. Facing us is a huge truck, partially blocking the way. "Could it be?" Roy wonders. "I think that's Patricia holding up traffic."
To the left and right of us are growing groups of men, standing around staring but not interested in helping. Evidently the driver does not think they have enough clearance to get by.
Roy gets out of the car and sees that yes, it is Patricia, and walks up to the car, sizing up the chances of her ability to get through. He closes in both rearview mirrors and stands in front of her, waving his hands forward and left, left and right, left, right and whew she has cleared the truck.
Just as she moves on, the truck driver gets into his rig and drives off. Danny and Wendy think this is fun, it is such a typical slice of Italian life. I think it's funny that it was Patricia who held up traffic. I always thought she was a daring sort. We like her a great deal, and think she's amazing to give us this time when she's frazzled trying to get out of town tomorrow.
The palazzo is quite wonderful, with three separate flats. We'll list them on this site in a week or so. Wendy falls in love with one, one that has an enormous "great room", and what's not to like? There is a little garden attached to one of the flats, but it is a shade garden, so no perfect for Danny's green thumb.
We wish Patricia a Buon Viaggio! and drive on to Porchiano to see Alicia's house, which is also for sale and listed on this site. Justin and Alicia are very kind and ask Roy to do the "tour", and I follow along, noting that the rooms are enormous and the kitchen well laid out. The fireplace is also enormous in the "great room", with an interesting glass panel covering about two feet of the top of the opening, which helps the fire to draw. This is a great idea, especially for a very large fireplace.
There are views from every room, and Justin tells us that a cinghiale comes with the property (piccolo scherzo - joke), along with a little forest, more than a hundred olive trees and plenty of land for gardening. It's too big for Wendy and Danny, but quite a property, nonetheless.
By the time we reach home, it's starting to get dark, and little Sofi has been alone for a long time. So she "fare una festa" (makes a party to see us) and we give her a treat of letting her lead us up into the borgo.
On our walk, we see an open cantina near Pepe's, and it is Pepe's. He and his uncle, also Pepe, are pressing the grapes, with Pepe the elder turning the screw of the press and Pepe the younger pouring the pressed juice into bottles. He stops to give us a bottle and also to give Sofi a hug. He tells us it is some word Roy can't remember when I ask him later, but he thinks Danny knows it.
After we finish our walk, we spend the rest of the evening in the kitchen. It's too warm for a fire, so snack away at pecorino and our figs with cream cheese and crackers and their wonderful bottle of Roso dell Montalcino, planning our morning tomorrow starting at 6AM. Buona notte.
October 11
We think the word Pepe used to describe the wine last night was bitter, so I look that word up in the dictionary, and come up with amaro. A word next to bitter is biting, and the word is one we've heard recently.
Pungente.
Ah. pungente also is the word for biting, so a little while ago, when I wrote that being catty is the same as pungente, that's what pungente really means. There is no real translation for "catty". But now when you want to use the phrase, "to the bitter end..." you can say, "fino alla morte."
I learned from Roy that when looking up the meaning of a word, also look up the words surrounding it, and you'll usually find some interesting word or phrase nearby. Reading it out loud makes the word or phrase easy to remember. I then need to use the word or phrase or it will dart out of my brain like the wind.
I'm wondering while looking out the window at 7AM whether the fog in the valley will lift. The sky is purple-y gray, as if the horizon does not exist, and the sky is a huge blanket of fog that only shows light behind the highest clouds. Brrr. So I'm surmising that we'll pick grapes today "fino alla morte". That's Roy. Mr. Dependable.
Danny and Roy are now downstairs, so I call down to Danny to ask him the word. "Agro", or bitter, is the word. So I look up "agro" and also see agrodolce, which means sweet and sour as well as "agrume" as the description of a citrus tree.
Now everyone is up except Sofi, who makes her little groaning sounds from her little wicker bed next to the desk. So I scoop her up and we're downstairs in a minute to join the morning party.
Enzo arrives and calls up to Roy a few minutes later, and we're ready to go. Sadly, we must leave little Sofi behind. The four of us follow Enzo to thirteen long rows of grapes on the flat plain outside Giove. There are nine of us, including a woman who was a family friend of Enzo's father-in-law, who died earlier this year. She shows up in a flowered housedress and apron with her own forbice, as if she's picked these same vines for decades.
Here we are, minus the Signora, after we've finished our little vendemmia:
Yes, Tiziano has joined us today. This is a real surprise, because we thought he never picked the grapes with his father. So we give him no end of teasing, and he takes it in stride. Once he finds out that Antonia is passionate about archeology, especially Roman archeology, his eyes light up and he looks as though he'd rather sit with her and talk about old tiles. But that will have to wait.
I tell Tiziano that I am sad, thinking about Tito, who picked with us last year in Mugnano. But Tito is Tiziano's other grandfather, and Tiziano tells me that he and his father are thinking about the other grandfather this morning. This is his land. Enzo's Mugnano grapes were picked last week when we were in Rome. The day is clear, and although it is cool enough for a sweater as we begin, the temperature rises rapidly and soon we're taking off layers of clothes.
I am wearing boots, but the ground is very muddy after all this fall's rain. The ground is a soft mud that sticks to my boots like it is some kind of glue. I can hear the sound of one boot and then another, making a "slurp, slurp!" sound as I slowly pick up one boot and put my foot down on another spot of terra, with at least eight inches of soft weeds underfoot. My long workpants are a mess, with at least four inches of mud covering the bottom.
At the end of the rows of grape vines, shafts of sunlight stream across the meadow. Sun is low in the sky, and although the sun is not hot, I'm going to put on my baseball cap, the red one with MIT on the crown. My father graduated from MIT, but the hat is significant because I believe it stands for Mugnano in Teverina, the signature hat of our village. Even if I am the only person in the village to wear this insignia, I believe it is the hat of our village. And today, it keeps the hair and whatever bright sun there is out of my eyes.
Just as we got out of the car a little while ago, I called over to Enzo to tell him that we were going to pick grapes "Fino al morte!" (until the bitter end). He stopped for a moment, then responded, "Ah, fino morte! A giusto!" Forget those prepositions, that unnecessary grammar. These are our kinds of folks. Just speak in the present tense, throw those words and phrases out there that we think we know, and the people from our village will figure out what we are trying to say.
So you are a sophisticated kind of person? In time, we'll be able to speak proper Italian. But don't expect great strides from us right away. Like good wine, it will take a few years for us to figure it all out. We are not in a hurry, so why should you be?
There are grapey black grapes and Trebbiano white grapes, which also have a pink tinge to them in places. We don't mix the two, but the white grapes far outnumber the black ones. Each type is really tasty. Unfortunately, we did not segregate the table grapes, and a neighbor comes by with a message from Enzo's mother in law to save some for the pranzo. It is too late. But he saves some anyway.
So let's talk about the process: There are huge black buckets (secchios), set out at the end of the rows and also scattered about in the middle of the rows as well. Each of us has a set of forbice, or cutters, and each of us gets an old plastic secchio with a handle. We form rows, with people working on either side of an area of a row, from the farthest point away to the nearest point.
Clip, clip, clip. Clip bunches of grapes with one hand, hold the bunch in the other and drop them in the bucket on the ground at your feet. If there are too many leaves or branches, clip off what's in the way. If a bunch has mold, clip it and let it fall to the ground, not in the bucket. All the while, talk away to your partner directly opposite to you.
This is all done in a kind of slow dance, with no one giving orders, the workers just gravitating to spots where they see luscious bunches glowing in the soft early sunlight, reflecting against dark green leaves, moving in and out to the sounds of the workers and the sounds of the clip, clipping of the branches and vines.
On this day, there are a lot of bunches of grapes that we can't use. We've had too much rain. But we're able to pick all thirteen long rows in less than three hours. Because it is early, many of the apes (bees) are still asleep, some of them curled around wet grapes, doing their silent snoring.
Did I tell you I've just finished reading, The Secret Life of Bees? I have a new respect for bees, although hate to be swarmed by pesky ones just when I think I'm having a perfect moment in the sun.
Back to the grapes, we try to eat a couple here and there, and they are so grapey that they taste truly sinful, and I can see Mario out of the corner of my eye. Does he really eat more grapes than he picks? I thought he'd be driving the grapes back and forth the way he moves up and down Via Mameli in his car all the day long. But today he works. And later we learn that he is Enzo's first cousin. There are some real similarities to their faces but none at all in their dispositions.
Nando is the most serious of us. He is a new pensionato, and as a former banker, has trouble smiling when he's concentrating on this new craft. His eyebrows join each other and his forehead wrinkles when I try to approach him with a silly comment. He'll have none of that.
All the while, Daniele calls out about the grapes. Whether there is a lot of mold, whether he's finding gorgeous bulbous bunches shining in the reflected rays of the sun, or just chatting away. Antonia is pretty silent. Tiziano laughs a lot, and I admit Roy and I egg him on. Enzo laughs whenever he can. We're a pretty happy bunch.
The other woman asks us if we like grapes, and tries to be friendly. But she's probably never had to speak to someone whose mother tongue is not Italian, so doesn't really know what to say. We're bonding with sloshy handfuls of grapes moving across and down between us on our ever-so-sticky hands, in a kind of rhythm. It is like the rhythm of a porch swing, with me pushing out with the very tips of my toes to keep the rhythm going. Fino morte. I'll keep the swing going with the tips of my toes. And just when I'm starting to get bored with it all, it's over. No warning. It's just over.
When we've finished, the big black secchios are lined up at the near end of the rows and Enzo collects the little buckets and takes them home. Elio, the Mugnano/Bomarzo school bus-truck driver, will stop by after pranzo to pick up all the grapes and take them to Vignanello. Vigna - nello. What a great town to take them to. Then they'll be taken to a mulino, where they'll be sorted and crushed and Enzo will be paid. He does not know how much. That depends on how much he's picked.
Our payment is a big pranzo, and of course a jug of wine "a certo punto" and after we drive home to take off our muddy clothes and feed Sofi its time to return. Rosita and her tiny mother lay out a feast for the ten of us.
While sitting around the long table, Nando, Mario and then Enzo sit across from us and the three of them are like schoolboys, lively and full of fun and wanting to talk to the four "Americans" as if we're all new little toys to play around with. Not able to speak a word of English, they prod us as if to say, "Come, come! Just get the words out. We'll figure out what you're trying to say."
This is magic to our ears, and Danieli bursts forth as if he's on stage with no script, using his background in Spanish and deftly maneuvering the minefield of Italian to tell stories, ask questions and comment on anything he can.
Antonia has the answers, the words he cannot come up with, and whispers them to him. She's not ready to "burst into song" with the words she knows. Danieli does quite well with the language, mostly because he is fearless, trying out words and phrases. We are sitting in a salon and the villagers are playing word games with us. "A five letter word ... "
Roy is treated as though he can speak the language almost fluently, and since he's at the end of the table, he is like a spectator at a tennis match, his head bouncing left and right as the villagers send a volley to Danieli and he hits it back, not sure just where it will land.
Mario keeps filling up our little plastic cups with local wine, and we can't help thinking about Rita and Ernesta, who've been left behind to have pranzo by themselves. Well, Ernesta probably never has pranzo by herself. She is the center of the village, wearing her white doctor's coat always brilliantly clean and holding court regarding all the happenings in the village in her Tabacchio.
I find so many funny things about our situation, and any chance I get to pop into the conversation, I jump onto the "court" and lob my phrases or thoughts over the net. Mostly the talk is about Mugnano, and who was born here. I tease Mario that he is a "stranieri" because he was born in adjacent Bomarzo. In Italy, unless you are "nato a..." the actual village or town you are speaking about, the person is a stranieri, or stranger.
Enzo was a forest ranger, I believe near Norcia, years ago. He knows much about the terra of Italia, and when Daniele tells him they've seen a house in Umbertide that they like a lot, he tells them that it is very humid in Umbertide, not something they expected to hear.
The food just keeps coming. When peas are served as the vegetable, Enzo waves them away with a dismissive gesture, lowering his head and making a sour face. Roy joyfully tells Rosita, "Si, tre or quatro!", letting her know in his way that he hates peas. She beams and shrugs her shoulders when I apologize to her.
A pineapple upside down cake is served for dessert, and the sharp knives we used with our main course are kept, but the forks have been surrendered along with the plastic plates we were served with the salad, our previous course.
Now we know we are in a simple village when the pieces of the cake are jabbed with a serving knife to put them on our plates, and the villagers sit around cutting their individual slice of cake and plopping it into their mouths piece by piece by aiming the piece toward their mouths and plunking the cake inside, deftly pulling out the knife and stabbing the knife into another piece from their plate. I have never seen anything like it.
It's time to move on, although it's not much after 2PM, and we lead Daniele and Antonia from Giove to Amelia, stopping once on the road to tell them that yes, that beautiful city on the hill is Amelia. We drive around the ancient Roman wall that surrounds Amelia to Macchie, where Helen and Panaghis have the rental house for them.
Panaghis meets us on the road and leads us in, then shows us the three rental units and we have a surprise. For not a lot more, they can rent the big house, for it is empty. So our new friends are delighted with this amazing gesture, and we lead them back to Amelia to the Coop, where they can stock up for their week with groceries.
Our next adventure is with an Irish-Italian man in Amelia, who has a palazzo for sale. You can see it on our site. Domenico is an architect, and has decided to sell the place, so we enter through a secret garden and it is beautiful. One would have to have a vision to see these old places, but once the weeds were cleaned up, there is a well and a lovely large peach tree and we are told also a lovely peony bush.
Yes, Daniele could garden here. A garden in the borgo in Amelia is an unexpected treat. The palazzo is about three hundred years old, and yes, we're going to show it to Daniele and Antonia tomorrow morning.
Back at home, Sofia greets us and I'm full of sadness. I do not feel right about leaving her all this time, so tomorrow she'll be with us all day and evening. Tia calls to invite us for cena. She has a big leg of lamb and Sofi is always welcome there. So we'll drive there from ceramics class in Terni.
Sofi is sweet and quiet. She does not eat all her croquante and later that night she is sick at least twice. I am afraid she worried herself sick today. So now I am the worried one, determined to keep her with us any chance we can.
We're back to scouting properties, now that we have a client who is really interested. And since Antonia wants to pursue her love of archaeology, we have a mission to find them a place where they can both immerse themselves into the ancient history and culture of this great land.
October 12
Our great friend Jim Bolen died last night in San Miguel de Allende from complications due to lung cancer. For twenty-five years, he's made us laugh and has been a particularly good friend to me. Until a few weeks ago, we wrote to each other at least once a week.
We'll raise a glass of our very best wine to Jim and reminisce about happy times. There were many, many of those.
I think he deserves to have a posting all by himself today. Please send him off with a smile, as we surely will.
October 13
Yesterday began with sun and clear skies. I scooped Sofi up into my arms and we drove off to Amelia to take Danieli and Antonia to see a gorgeous palazzo. Seeing it for the second time enhanced our appreciation for this special building. You can view a few photos of it on our web site.
After a short stop at home for a simple pranzo, we drove to Terni for a ceramics lesson and finally are feeling better about the ceramics after they've been fire. The smalto is still not perfect, but it is a lot better. I worked on a crest to give as a gift. It will be ready next Wednesday, and I liked it so much I almost didn't want to give it away. But I can always paint another one.
We drove to Tia and Bruce's for cena. They marinated and cooked a leg of lamb, and we sat around the kitchen for a couple of hours catching up on the latest news. Bruce came in and out of the kitchen from his home office. He works on US time, so we don't get to spend much time with him.
I was drawn to a design on chairs in their sun room, and suggested that I pattern the handpainted dishes after the design. Tia loved the idea. Neither of us were thrilled with the bird idea. Now I'll do some sketches and we all thought this will be the right direction. Once we've decided on a design, I'm hopeful that the smalto will be working perfectly and I can get to work painting.
We drove home and I poached pears to get ready for tonight's dinner at Domenico's outside Amelia with Danieli and Antonia. Our new friends are doing some serious thinking about the properties we've already shown them, and we may have a few more in the next week or so if they're still not sure. What we do know is that they are both very interested in Roman archeology. So Amelia is a terrific location. And if not, we'll find them a place in Tuscia, on our side of the Tiber River.
Roy checked email and there is very sad news of very dear friend Jim Bolen's death yesterday. It was a sad and thought provoking way to end the day.
So I'm very tired after last night's news. There are a few messages in about Jimmy. I thought of him during the night, but not with sadness. When getting dressed, I ask Roy to get out one of our best bottles of wine to toast to our dear friend tonight.
"Brunello?" Roy asks with a questioning smile.
"Yes." I answer. And it is then that a single tear falls. Why, I wonder? He had a life well lived, and his cancer and his financial state did not bode well for the life he would have wanted to live.
I think that the tear fell from some corner of my heart, a place we all have that is reserved for remembering someone who has touched us deeply. If only I had a little precious bottle to keep the single tears shed for dearest friends who are no longer with us. But it is just as well. I am hoping the little bottle would remain mostly empty.
We drive to Tuscania this morning to meet Mardi, a friend of Judith's who is also a ceramicist. She owns an apartment in the borgo with a remarkable view of San Francesco. I sit in a chair looking out the view and see crows flying overhead by a huge caki tree in the distance, its leaves and fruit turning into juicy orange against a tawny tufa colored background edged in wide expanses of green.
Mardi's ceramics are very interesting, and I particularly like her Etruscan images, with women's faces done in profile or her beloved cows. Mardi paints each afternoon in a field in Vulci, and stands with her colored chalks following the long horned creatures around. She does a painting a day, and pins them up on the walls of her apartment. It is as if we are viewing a latter day Lascaux, but this time the colors are vivid on a grey background.
I am encouraged by her kind words about my work, accepting of the fact that my pieces are hand made, so the intonations and imperfections are a part of the design. She and Roy speak about chemistry a little, the chemistry of the smalto such a mystery to me that I don't know if I have the ability to comprehend it.
She takes us for a walk around town, and we eat a simple pranzo at a corner café. Then we say goodbye, looking forward to seeing her next year when she returns.
Then we stop at Kevin and Clive's, a property between Vetralla and Viterbo to see if it's something that Danieli and Antonia might like. But it's too small. I tell them that with all the work they are doing on it that they might just want to keep it.
We'll see them again, and will post their property on our site soon. So we dodge a huge cement truck, and drive back home in time to stuff the pears with gorgonzola and marscapone and drive off to Amelia.
Danieli and Antonia meet us and we drive off to Domenico's, on the way out of town toward Fornole. He lives at the top of what we believe is the tallest hill other than the hill that the Duomo sits on, and the view is beyond magnificent.
After a tour around, and a few spats between Sofi and Finnegan, his sweet and playful dog, we're taken for a tour of his remarkable house and adjacent little church. The house is constructed of limestone bricks, and in some areas dates back two thousand years, with carved stones to prove it. To say the building is remarkable is an understatement. We are all wide-eyed.
Because Domenico is an architect, his eye for detail and design have crafted the work that he has done in what Lore would say is "a proper way". We sit at a long handcrafted wooden table under a vaulted ceiling, again original of limestone bricks.
We pause at least twice to raise our glasses to Jim. We've opened the Brunello and like Jim it is full of surprises. But it's not up to the caliber we would have expected of a '97. It is a good wine, nonetheless. And of course we share a few stories of our dear friend.
Domenico cooks greens just picked from his garden and lamb on top of coals in the open fireplace. His garden is a Monet painting, with red cabbages and cavolo nero so exquisite that I want an entire corner of one of the ortos filled with them next fall.
Our stuffed pears are only fair. I think they were refrigerated before they totally cooled late last night. But we have lots of other food and the night is all about conversation, of which there is plenty to go around. We leave just before midnight, and Danieli and Antonia are still there. We imagine the conversation continuing until daylight...
October 14
I wake with a hangover, and it is no wonder. We don't really eat meals at night any more, and we know why. It is impossible to sleep after eating and drinking so close to bedtime. We must be showing our age. Perhaps it was the Pimm's Cup that we drank as an aperitif. We have not been served this drink for ages, and admit the drink is wonderful served as it was with fresh mint. But it packed a wallop.
Roy gets up before me, and while I'm getting dressed, Felice comes by to tell Roy we need to plant our fava beans. They will be a cover crop for winter. I also want to plant red cabbage, cavolo nero, broccoli, and more lettuce. Felice thinks we should plant garlic. So Roy drives off to Viterbo to find it all and to have his cell phone fixed.
Our Swedish friends drop by to say goodbye for now. We look forward to getting to know these new neighbors. We did not have chance to see their house. Next time...
The day is lovely, but sad news arrives with Felice when he returns again after pranzo. His old friend Giovanni Rucco, who lives near us on Via Mameli, has just died. In the past, Giovanni and Felice carried the flowers to the monument of the war dead on our feast day each year. And now there is only Felice.
Felice takes the news in stride. He and Giovanni were the last remaining residents who fought in WWII and were born the same year. He is teaching us about so many things, not the least of which is dealing with death. A few hours later, we walk up to Giovanni's open front door, and inside pay our respects to his daughter, who lives in Soriano, and his son.
His son stands over a table in what is probably the living room, sorting through his father's things. A mop stands at the front door. "Un casino" (a mess) he comments, with his head down. Giovanni's body must be upstairs. This is the first time we have not seen a person's body laid out to be viewed after death. Perhaps tomorrow. The funeral will be at 3:30 in the afternoon.
We call Lore and Alberto in Rome to let them know, but they will not be here until Sunday. They did not really know Giovanni, but it is good to let them know that the little village is shrinking just a little more.
"Tanti morti" Tiziano exclaims when Roy calls him to make arrangements for getting together tomorrow morning and asks him if he knows. Yes, it is unusual to have so many people die in such short a period of time here. In less than two months, three people have died in our little village. So our numbers are now just above eighty.
And for us, the death of our dear friend, Jim is just one more nail. We are learning from these dear neighbors how to cope with loss. Or at least I think we are. Felice acts as if death is as natural as birth, and it surely is.
So is the character of the village beginning to change? Who will take the place of Giovanni, who sat on his front step or on a bench near the bus stop, for most of each day? He loved to great our houseguests, especially the American ones, and acted proud of the village when we introduced him on our walks up to the borgo.
I wonder how his passing is affecting Argentina, his neighbor across the street whom he seemed to have a tender relationship with. We did not see her today. But Pepe saw Giovanni this morning, and also at about noon. He seemed fine. How quickly life can be snuffed out.
Will his son or daughter move into his house? These are all questions to be answered in the coming months, as the seasons change and we find ourselves more and more a part of this tranquil place.
October 15
On this bright, cool morning, we're out with Duccio and Giovanna and Tiziano to see his Domitii carving in the countryside outside Bomarzo. We drive past the cemetery toward Mugnano and leave the car at a certain point. Then we walk on foot for about twenty minutes, crossing ancient Roman pavements with furrows made by wooden carts. We are out in the woods, so there is no telling what we will come across.
Down, down we climb. Today Roy and I both carry walking sticks, and it makes a tremendous difference. With something to lean on, I am much more secure in my step. The air is fresh and sweet, and the walk lovely, with ancient oaks all around us and birds caressing the trees as we walk below.
HERE WE ARE AT THE DOMITII NOTICE....
After we leave the marker, we continue downhill until each one of us wonders what it will be like to walk back uphill. Roy suggests that, in the interest of time, Tiziano might want to walk the rest of the way home, and I want to join him. I don't relish the thought of walking uphill all that way.
So before we know it, we've all decided to walk down, and Tiziano will drive everyone back up to Bomarzo, except me. I'll walk home and wait with Sofi for Roy to arrive.
The walk is more beautiful with each step. We have a couple of wonderful views of the village, and before we know it, we've passed Shelly and Claudio's property, and then the Mugnano cemetery, where I say goodbye to everyone and walk home. They take a shortcut to Tiziano's through neighboring properties.
This has been a memorable walk, one we'd like to repeat. It will be difficult to find a more beautiful morning. Roy later tells me that the view of Mugnano and our house are a treat from the lower properties. Unfortunately, I kept the camera. When he arrives home we embark on a search for plants for our orto. It is two days before a full moon, so tonight is the ideal evening to plant. We have not been able to find the plants we want anywhere.
We're able to find Broccolo Calabrese and lattuga Romana, but not much else, other than ravanello (radish) and agretti seeds. I am sure that we need to sit down in the next days with a planting calendar, and determine what we want to plant, when it is available and in seeds or in plants, and then Roy will program a calendar reminder on his Palm Pilot.
It is apparently too late for red cabbage or Cavolo Nero, the leafy dark green vegetable used for ribbolita, that tasty twice cooked bean soup. I can still see the purple and green-grey leaves of the red cabbage, with the cavolo nero standing tall behind it at Domenico's garden. I envision a blanket of them in front of the tufa wall above the parcheggio. Next fall to be sure.
Bells peal from the church and it is time for Giovanni's funeral. We walk up to his house, and neighbors are gathered. One hearse and a funeral truck to carry the flowers are parked outside.
Roy comments that everyone is wearing their clean jeans. That's about what to expect from this little village. Even Giovanni's son wears jeans and a short sleeved shirt.
After Giovanni's body in the casket is gently carried out, his son slowly and purposefully turns the key in the lock. We are suspended in time. The key is turned as though he does not ever want to unlock it again.
We follow the family and the hearse to the church, and stand in the very back of the church for the mass. Once the mass has been said, I stand outside with Felice, asking him if this has been hard on him.
He gives me a brave smile. I am learning that death is really not to be feared. Although Felice has know Giovanni for more than fifty years, he shrugs at the mention of death, and stands silently while Giovanni is moved into the hearse for his last ride.
"Ultima guida?" I ask Felice. "Si."
We do not walk all the way to the cemetery, but stop at our house. As we start the walk, we see Pepe the Elder sitting on a banchetta, and walk over to give our condolences. He and Augusta and Giovanni are brothers and sister. Or at least that is what we think.
We greet Pepe the younger near his garage on Via Mameli, and ask him if Giovanni was his uncle. No. Pepe the Elder's wife is this Pepe's aunt. He is only related by marriage. Go figure.
Roy plants about a dozen lettuce and the six broccoli. We already have cauliflower and swiss chard and arugula planted. So we're not doing badly.
While Roy plants, I come inside and make a bean dip and a squash soup with tart apples and ginger. I'll finish it tomorrow. We're both tired from our long walk this morning, but energized.
The night is cool, and it is almost a full moon. So with the exception of seeds for radishes and agretti that we'll plant tomorrow, we're done planting for this month.
October 16
We are so tired that we do not go to church this morning. Roy gets up early to watch the last Formula 1 race from China. But the time Sofi and I get up the fog has cleared and it will be a beautiful day.
I finish the squash and apple soup, and serve it with wonderful bread we bought yesterday at our favorite panificio. It is a dark grain bread.
We are able to work in the garden, and that is a joy. Clipping boxwood, weeding, moving plants, getting ready for winter take much less time than in the summer months. The birds are frantic this time of year. It seems there is a fear out there with the hunters nearby.
I hear a fluttering of many wings and a lot of chi-chi-chi, especially in the mornings. So the birds are undoubtedly protecting their turfs and hiding from the humans. I am sure that there are nests in the nespola trees and also in the big caki tree on the front terrace.
Bless Roy. He works so hard at reaching all the caki on the big tree, but on these lovely fall days I can look up and see yellow and burnt sienna in the tree. That means a plop (!) is not far behind. He has cut down at least one thousand of them, and there must be at least twenty hiding behind leaves in spots difficult to reach with our two-story ladder.
That reminds me. Two of our cypress trees need grooming near the tops, so we'll hope we can get Mario back soon and see if he can reach them. Every year or so they need grooming to look their best. And Mario's hand must be better by now. He has groomed the three next to the lavender garden.
Tonight we drive to Daniele and Antonia's rental house on Helen and Panaghis' property in Macchie. Tia and Bruce and their American friends join us, as well as a friend of Panaghis'. It is always good to see Helen and Panaghis again.
Daniele cooks up an incredible pork stew. He is such a good communicator. They found a macelleria (butcher) right inside the Amelia wall and said, "Bisogno maile per cuocoro humido..." The woman behind the counter pulled out a huge piece of pork belly and that's what he bought.
He cooked the stew for two days in a big terra cotta padella with a terra cotta handle and chatted with all of his guests as if it was just like home. Antonia shared his relaxed attitude and although we each brought something, Daniele was clearly the star.
Sofi behaved herself and had a good time, only venturing out twice in the dark under the almost full moon. I was cautious, because we were told there were cinghiale roaming close to the house to feast from figs by the front door, but she ran in whenever I called her.
We drove home with her sleeping soundly on my lap, and Roy reminding me that his leg was still painful. He is sure the pain came from the downhill walk from Bomazo to Mugnano yesterday. I'll try to keep him from moving around a lot this next week, although we've another house to preview for Daniele and Antonia and a few other people to contact for possible properties as well. They are clearly in love with the Amelia area, but we have not found the perfect property...yet.
October 17
Fog gives way to bright sun, and we've slept in. It sounds as if in the last week or so we've had many more birds. Perhaps the hunters are shooing them closer to the village. I am not a vegetarian, but the "sport" of hunting birds just seems so mean and meaningless.
Last night Pepe's garage was still open when we drove into our parcheggio. So we walked in to see Mario on the floor soldering steel. The steel beams for Paola's roof are being prepped there and painted with an anti-ruggine (anti-rust) coating, similar to what is used on the Golden Gate Bridge. Today they'll begin the process of installing the beams, with Mario on call on the phone, although he'll be back at work in Rome.
Pepe gave us a plastic bin of walnuts, telling us to throw out those that aren't good. We now have lots of walnuts and lots of hazelnuts (nocciole), so it's time to start thinking about making winter desserts...Will ripe caki and steamed pudding be far behind?
But we're focused on finding a source for fava beans to plant....but no luck today. The moon is full and we're running out of time to plant favas for this month. I've been told that the best days to plant are the two days just before a full moon. Tick, tock.
Roy's pain is worse today, and he's using a bastone (cane). We visit with a couple of real estate folks, and see one property in Lugnano, but it is too close to the railway tracks. So we pass on it. We scout a couple of other properties, including a huge convent, but pass on them all.
Later in the day we meet with new people in Lugnano who have a lovely house to sell. It's posted on our site. I just love the grounds. It is a very interesting setup, with many outbuildings. But the price is high. The husband died six years ago, so it is too difficult for the wife and daughter to keep up. We will show this property to Daniele and Antonia tomorrow.
Tia thinks the house behind them outside Amelia is for sale, so we follow her there, and a car is in the driveway. Tia and I go up to the door and ring the bell, but the woman tells us she's decided not to sell after all. This happens a lot in Italia.
Roy is in a lot of pain. He tries to visit Dottoressa, but she is on vacation for a few days and there is a long line at the office for her stand-in, so Roy wants to go to the Pronto Soccorso (Emergency Room) in Narni. Narni is the place to go for orthopedic emergencies.
It is a funny place, this Pronto Soccorso. We walk in a small door and have to wait in a little hallway, not much wider than one in a normal house. Several people mill about, and it takes twenty minutes before anyone will pay attention to us.
But we are ushered inside an anteroom with a desk. Two doctors come and go, and one looks like Charro. She is as tall and strong as a character in a Russian cartoon, and an official Dottoressa. Later we ask her where she was born, and she is from Praga (Prague). That is the way to ask an Italian what their nationality is. We don't say, "Where are you from?" but "Where were you born?" I rather like that.
The more I watch her, the softer her looks become. At first glance, we see flashy hair, flashy makeup with lots of black around her eyes, edged in baby blue. A large comb ties back some of her hair. Her skin is very tanned. She tells us that she loves the sun. The more she speaks, the more we appreciate her gentle but "get it done" attitude.
This Dottoressa really knows her stuff. She takes Roy into a room adjacent to where I am sitting, and I watch her move his leg up and down, check out his neck, his spine, the way he stands. We agree that he'll be given an injection for his pain, and then I remember that Roy has a severe allergic reaction to aspirin. Just in time, I mention it, and they change what they are about to give him. They give him Voltaren.
We leave with a prescription for injections (Voltaren 75mg and MuscoRil 4mg) for the next four days. This will be a first for me, but I think I can do it. I'm just not sure about getting the bubbles out of the syringe, but we watch ER all the time, and between us can figure it out. If Roy's pain is not gone by the end of the week, he'll visit our local Dottoressa Ofelia and get special x-rays and consulting.
We're in and out of there in an hour, and consider that quite remarkable. So Roy drives us home and agrees to stay off his feet for at least a day. We'll put off most of our house scouting for a day, with the exception of the Lugnano house that I can show without Roy.
Roy goes up to bed early and I'm hoping he'll have a good night's sleep. The pain has already subsided a bit, and we are both relieved. I'm moving into overdrive to take over many of the tasks he likes to do tomorrow.
October 18
Roy sleeps in a little, and takes it easy. I get ready to drive off to the pharmacy and food store. These are errands Roy loves to do, but on this day he is ordered to stay at home off his feet.
Would you believe that I have only driven the car three times since we moved here more than three years ago? I am exhilarated at the chance to feel some independence, although a little skittish about navigating out of the parcheggio, a 90 degree turn backwards onto an incline. Well, if Ginger Rogers could do it, so can I, I tell myself.
I'm able to back up with no problem. When I get to Vezio, the pharmacist, he sends his good wishes to Roy and asks me if I also want syringes. Boh! Two medicines are mixed in each batch. Oh, boy. Yes, I'll take five. If he's not better after five of these, surely Dottoressa will take over.
I drive down the hill from Bomarzo and it is as if I am on a scooter. I feel so free with the breeze from the open window blowing against my face. What a gorgeous scene. No wonder Roy loves to do errands!
At Sappori Due, Rosalba asks me where Roy is. I tell her about his pain. As I leave, Nando drives into the parking lot, and is surprised to see me. I tell him about Roy and now all of Mugnano will surely know. Can you just see the women sitting on the benches in the village, their arms folded on their laps, nodding their heads and discussing Roy's plight? Who will be the first to spread the news?
Back at home, Roy's behaving by sitting at the computer working on the mechanics of the web site. For the next few hours he relaxes. Then I leave Sofi to take care of him while I drive off to meet Daniele and Antonia to show them a house.
The house is not right for them, but they like many things about it. So now I'm feeling free as a bird and say, "Let's take a ride!" I drive them to Dawn's house in the countryside of Lugnano, then on to Rita and Filipo's. This is such an interesting couple. They are interesting and interested. Antonia especially likes old houses. She studies the provenance of them. So this property that needs total restoration is one they find interesting, if not a little daunting. Still not perfect.
We drive into Lugnano, where I see a sign and take down a number for Roy to call. Later we find out it is for a tiny apartment, but the view is remarkable.
We decide to come back home and hang out with Roy for a while and have tea. Ready, Steady, Cook is on TV, and we're able to share one of our favorite shows with them. Then they drive back to their rental house and we make plans to show them more properties on Thursday. Hopefully Roy will be a little better then.
We speak with Diedre in Capitone, and her house is one that we'll show them on Thursday. I've wanted to see her house for a long time, and it is supposed to be quite beautiful. It has the right specs, but may be too restored. This couple wants something they can get their hands dirty with, but not a complete restoration. We'll surely find the perfect place, if not on this trip, after they've returned.
So it's time for Roy's injection, and after we figure out how to snap the tops off the vials and get the air bubbles out of the syringe, I am amazed at how easy it is to stick the needle into Roy's behind. It doesn't even seem to hurt. Last night Roy had me draw a pen around the spot where I aimed today, directly across from where his injection was given last night. I have no idea where tomorrow's will land, but we'll figure it out.
Roy seems better, and we think his pain will gradually subside. I don't want to worry him, but the spot I thought was an insect bite under my right arm has formed a hard bump. I'll have to have Dottoressa check it out. Why is it that women always think the worst of these things? I'll just plod along, and think I can take whatever is in store for me in stride.
The enormity of life in this place is beyond my comprehension. Day by day we're learning so much about life and getting older and coping and dealing with challenges. The villagers take things in stride. We are learning to do the same. At least I hope so.
Today has been a glorious weather day. After the morning fog cleared, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. During mid afternoon, the temperature rose to 25. We thought we'd have rain, but it passed us by. So perhaps we'll have a few lovely days ahead. Whatever the weather, we look forward to property scouting and seeing some new houses in the next few days.
Look for some new listings on the site under property for sale. We're consciously building up that part of the site. As Ann Murphy, our good friend and excellent Mill Valley realtor advisor told us, "It's all in the listings." So we hope to have many excellent ones to check out each month.
October 19
Well, we've tumbled on from a lovely clear day to a wet, drowsy morning. But we're up early to take Domenico to properties on a first pass before he brings an Irish (gulp) developer to the area. We heard that in Tuscany developers are turning medieval borgos into a number of a kind of theme vacation parks. Is this what the world and lovely Italia is coming to?
I am still reading the book, Reading Lolita in Tehran, and am learning more of the background behind the "Death to America!" concept...In a strange way, I see how the Americanization of a simple way of life starts to change society in an unnatural way.
Of course I am not for the violence, or for the extremism of the Fundamentalists, but have to wonder about where people's priorities have changed. So should we not show him properties? How far am I/are we willing to go? My heart really isn't in it. Is this a taste of my morality?
We sit with Domenico, and the more we get to know him, the more we like him. He has a good heart, and a gentle soul. He is also an excellent architect, with an eye for purity of design and passion for authentic restoration. But first we take him to see Patricia's property in Bassano. He likes it very much. But the property he really likes is Filipo and Rita's in Lugnano.
After a quick pranzo an hour later, we dash off to class, and the finished plate I worked on for Domenico as a surprise present all last Wednesday afternoon is a knockout. I call him breathless asking him to meet us tomorrow at 9AM at the bar in Amelia. He agrees, but wants to know what's up. I tell him I have a surprise for him, but won't tell him what it is.
When we get home, I take a first look at the site of the palazzo he is developing in Amelia where the crest of the plate I've just finished came from. We took a photo of it more than a week ago. My interpretation is spot on.
Roy gets his third injection, and by now I'm feeling more relaxed about the process. Roy is feeling better, but we'll check out Dotoressa tomorrow. Also, at first light, I'll get up to take a shower and we'll drive off to Soriano to get a blood test, in preparation for a standard Perugia visit in a couple of weeks about my headaches.
We still have no power on the first floor, and extension cords jury-rigged from the second bedroom to power the refrigerator and light by the couch and the T V. The electrician promises to be here on Saturday. Let's hope he shows and let's hope even more that he can resolve what's causing the power to be so cranky.
October 20
We're out of the house just after 7AM to get to the hospital in Soriano before there is a long line to get a blood test. I'm second to arrive, and the office is not yet open. But before I know it I'm saying hello to people I've encountered many times before and laying my arm out on a green pillow.
This is the first time I have ever had my blood drawn that I am not squeamish. I'm ready to have a friendly conversation. But a thin man in a white jacket jabs my left arm as though he's blindfolded and playing piņata. Hey! I direct him to an actual vein and he mushes around, while I'm about to faint. Did he get his training with Ed Norton flailing around in a sewer?
It's finally over, and I raise my left arm as I've seen others do, as though the blood will drain back down my arm. What an unnatural behavior! I roll my eyes at the next man in line and tell him the experience has been "brutto!" He shrugs his shoulders and moves forward into the breach...
We drive past the Soriano property we've not seen for a long time, and speak with one of the owners, who agrees to get us a key on Sunday. Then we park in Amelia and give Domenico his plate. He seems pleased, telling me I should do a whole set for the palazzo. Sure, just give me an order!
But he is preoccupied with a busy day ahead, so I show the plate to Daniele and Antonia and tell him that we'll not take him to the same properties, as he's going to be looking at them for a developer, and it would not be fair to either of them.
Off we go to Capitone to see Diedre's beautifully restored town house. Well, it's a 500 year old house in a town, so I suppose that's an apt description. It's right next to the big church, and from top to cellar, she's done a top job. The thick walls are so well built that there is not a crack in any of them.
It is a very damp day, but I cannot smell dampness in any room of the house. We all think the house is grand, especially the back garden with loggia, pizza oven, grass and lovely old wall, on which she hangs lots of lovely pots of flowers. This is a wonderful property. But is it the right one for Daniele and Antonia? They don't think so.
It's off to Porchiano and then to the countryside outside Giove, to another house. This house with a pool is one I have not seen yet. We leave it with the agreement that it's best left as a summer rental.
We take them on to Soriano, and have pranzo at Tre Scalini after walking around the borgo, even up to the big castle at the top. This town is newer than the lovely Amelia, of medieval lineage, and less trendy. But shops and character abound, and they like the town a lot.
We drive by the property 2 km outside the town, and tell them we'll take them in a few days once we have the keys. But Antonia seems smitten by the Mugnano property, and she and I sit across from each other, batting ideas back and forth.
After an exceptional pranzo, we drive back to Mugnano so that they can have copies of rubbings of the ancient tiles we've found in the valley. They want to match them up to tiles in the Pantheon. What a fun exercise for them during the three weeks they'll stay in Rome! Bravo!
Daniele is just burnt out at looking at houses, so we're hoping they'll take a few days and just have fun. When they are ready and it is a lovely day, we'll revisit Mugnano and Soriano. We've shown them a wealth of properties, each one different from the last, and they have plenty to think about.
We like them very much and hope we can help them settle on something that is perfect for them.
They leave for the last night in their rental house, and we drive on to Dottoressa. After a wait of over an hour, she takes us on, as though she's a school principal and we're students asking for permission to take on a new program.
Unfortunately, we have several things to go over with her. For me, she wants me to have an ecographia subito. If I can't get a free apt, I am to pay for it. So we drive up to the farmacia and Vezio can't get us an appt. She tells us to come to Mugnano next Thursday for flu shots. We'll be there!
So when we get home, Roy calls Viterbo, and I'm scheduled for a test tomorrow morning at 9AM. That means we'll have to cancel our appt. with a realtor from Giove.
Roy's leg is so much better that I don't even give him an injection, hoping that we'll space it out for one more day. This is very promising. So if he keeps off his leg for a few days, perhaps he will get back to normal.
Outside, a slight rain continues. Tomorrow we'll buy fava seeds and plant them. While waiting in line for Dottoressa, Giovanna and Escano arrived and she advised us to not worry about planting with the phases of the moon. So tomorrow we'll buy fave seeds from Bruno and definitely plant them, three inches or so below the surface. We'll also plant spinach, while we're at it. We have room. Why not?
October 21
Rain, rain, rain. Roy calls it "sole liquido!" when greeting neighbors. We arrive at Palazzo Rocca in Viterbo for an ecographia (ultrasound) for me, and the news is all good. The bump was probably a bite from a little "animali", and although it was under my arm, we have nothing to worry about.
Since this is a private visit (Dottoressa wanted the appointment subito in the event the result was not so positive) we have to pay €55. So I ask the doctor to also do an ultrasound of my right arm. That arm is the one with the sore muscles from violin playing. But he finds nothing to worry about.
We drive to Ipercoop, a local mega-grocery store, and stock up on vedura for a big pot of minestrone. With a big special on spareribs, we pick up a package and will marinate and cook the meaty ribs slowly during the next couple of days.
While we are having pranzo today, Mario arrives to chop the wood that was delivered last summer. Roy joins him, stacking the pieces as they're cut with Mario's moto-sega. But Roy knows not to get near that dangerous machine.
Less than two hours later, everything is stacked neatly in the side wing of the parcheggio, and we're ready for winter. Yesterday we built one of our first fires of the season, and we look forward to many warm days and nights in our cozy kitchen in front of the fire.
Roy calls Christopher to wish him a happy birthday, and it's almost time for our trip to California. We plan to pack light this trip, and not buy much at all to bring back. I think the romance of buying and transporting all kinds of things has passed. We're learning to live with all things Italian, and are very close to being able to take one suitcase each for the two weeks. With Roy's leg not in perfect shape, that is more of a necessity than ever.
Roy is feeling very much better today. We think those three injections did wonders. Now we'll see if he has any recurrences before giving him more injections. But the next time we see Dottoressa, we'll make an appointment with a specialist to check him out. That should be next week, when we have our flu shots in Mugnano. Doctors are so good in Italy about providing flu shots that we heard the other day that a doctor called a woman to make sure she came in for hers.
Tomorrow is Jim Bolen's memorial. We sent our remembrance to Janet and Jerry Greenbaum last night. It should be quite an event, and we are sorry we will miss it. Jim was a great and good friend, and it's difficult to imagine a party without him. I really miss him.
October 22
Mario arrives early and the sound of the droning weed-wacker can be heard through the double paned windows. Roy goes out to see him and asks him about Vito. Vito seems to be sitting up in his chair out by the olive trees.
Mario confirms that everything is "tutto a posto" with the old guy. I am sorry we were not looking out the window to see this brawny man gently lifting the scarecrow from his chair and replacing him after the grass underneath him was cut.
Roy asks Mario if he knows of a property for sale that is caracteristico. He does, and in the next days he'll show it to us. Our scouting for properties for our clients is in full swing, and neighbors and workmen are excellent sources.
The electrician from Soriano arrives right at 9AM, and he clears dirt away from the main junction box at the front of the property. This was a box that he installed more than a year ago. The power goes back on, and he thinks he's fixed the problem. But half an hour later the power shuts off, and we have to call him again. He'll return tomorrow morning, depending on the weather.
We spend several hours scouting for properties today, and have seen five of them today. One of them is a site in Penna that is extraordinary. A good sized house can be constructed on it. We imagine Domenico as the architect and an exquisite house, so caracteristic it's impossible to tell it's a complete restoration.
It' s possible we'll show all the places we've seen today to Domenico tomorrow, as well as one other we located earlier. He'll arrive for pranzo tomorrow and then we'll show him all around.
We check in with Antonia and Daniele, who are traipsing around Hadrian's Villa in Tivoli, outside Rome. That is a fabulous site, and we're sure they're enjoying it tremendously. Roy suggests that they give the house searching a rest, and in a week or so they can take the train up and we'll show them several more places. We understand that it's not easy to view houses while you're trying to enjoy a vacation. So we space the visits out, and only show them properties that we think will be serious contenders.
We have a number of properties that are not listed on the site yet, but are hopeful that we have enough variety on our site that if someone is a serious buyer for a property in Central Italy that they'll view what we have and contact us.
We've been approached by a realtor to sign an exclusive arrangement with them, but we certainly will not. Our independence is just what is so appealing to our clients. There is no multiple listing service in Italy, so a realtor can only show what properties they have contracts for.
We can show many, many properties, for in addition to the houses on our site and others we are getting ready to post, we can work with realtors all over Italy. We are not realtors, anyway, but property scouts and project managers. So we're hoping our business will work well as a niche service in this market place.
I simmer a variety of beans this evening, in preparation for a big pot of minestrone that I'll fix tomorrow morning. We are missing celery (sedano), but if Pepe is in his garage, I'll ask him tomorrow morning if he has a little in his orto up above. If not, I'll improvise.
That reminds me. Michelle asks for my lemon risotto recipe, and I admit I mostly made it up a few weeks ago when I prepared it for her birthday. But my lemon risotto is always a big hit. Tonight I check in a Williams-Sonoma cookbook and find a recipe for lemon risotto. So I quickly email her, hoping she'll check her email today. She's hoping to make the risotto tonight.
October 23
Tiziano arrives after church, wondering why we've not been there for mass. He sees the electricista here working, and we ask him if we are the talk of the village after missing mass two Sundays in a row. Last Sunday we did not go to mass, because we went to Giovanni's funeral mass the day before.
Don Ciro tells the parishioners during the homily to love their neighbors, and Tiziano arrives with this same message and hugs. Alberto and Laura and Mauro kept our seats "warm" in church. Lore took the train to Rome for the day.
Tiziano's talk and trip to Pisa were a great success, and now he's hard at work on his latest projects, some of which will involve us as volunteers. He tells us that there is an ancient fountain right next to the piece of land that Antonia is interested in.
The mayor called him to ask him to attend a meeting regarding another ancient church in Mugnano, the one right next to the cemetery. Since the mayor knows he needs to expand the cemetery, he needs to know if there is land around the church that can be used.
Since our ashes will be buried there some day, we are hoping for a little niche in a special corner. As the land is developed and the old church is possibly restored, we'll look for our site there. It is a wonderful idea.
Roy drives off to Soriano, to see if we can take Domenico there later in the afternoon. But a phone message comes in from one of the owners that yes, we can come by then.
We walk up with Sofi to see Paola's house project, and Pepe and Mario are there excavating the cantina on the floor reached down a flight of stairs from the front door. It is so beautiful in its pristine beauty, practically untouched except for a big bread oven on one wall.
The house will be an amazing jewel box, even if there aren't many windows. What a wonderful project for Pepe and his son to take on for his daughter. They are a very kind family, and we love our casual talks with them whenever we see them.
Domenico cannot come for pranzo, so we meet him mid afternoon. We show him six properties, and he likes two of them very much. Two are a definite no and we are not sure about the others.
We see a sign for a property while we're driving back with Domenico on a back road in Penna, and take down the phone number. After we leave Domenico we drive back and the property has no gate. So we walk around and think this property is really great. Tomorrow we'll track down the owners and see what we can find out.
We arrive home to a gate that won't work and no power again. The weather this afternoon was lovely and warm, so what's up with that? Andrea, the electrician, will return on Saturday. In the meantime, it's back to our patched extension cords again.
Tonight we have a long conversation with Dawn, who sadly will have to put her two cocker spaniels to sleep next weekend. Italian vets are a rare breed. Not many of them will put an animal to sleep. These dogs are fifteen years old, blind and deaf. So it's time for them to have their rest. A vet in Orte, probably the one we took Nemo to years ago, will agree to help her. We are sad for her and for her dogs and will say a prayer for them on Saturday.
We have not seen Dawn since my lavender lunch, and it's time we got together with her again. We pass by her property under construction now and then, and hopefully she'll be spending more time there, soon. It is a really lovely site, made more so because many people travel on her strada bianca to a special little church at the end of the road. She is such a warm and outgoing woman, that we can't imagine her in a remote house. So hopefully her neighbors will stop and visit her often.
The night ends with the shutters open and lights of the valley bright in the moonlight.
October 24
Last night, the conversation with Dawn meandered to Italian taxes. It seems strangely part of the Italian character to cheat on the government. We don't really understand that. There is a tug of war between the government and the people they govern: the government charges 20% tax on just about everything, and the people maneuver carefully to find a way to avoid paying it.
So in an almost Keystone Kops way of working, the dreaded Guardia di Finanza travel in packs, descending upon people whom someone has called them about. Perhaps the person has made them angry for some reason. Perhaps they are jealous. Who knows? But once the dreaded pack of men descend, they wreck havoc on the person or persons, absconding with their computers and records for months at a time, under the guise that there is some tax avoidance in play.
Is it too simple to think that the way to fix all this is to lower the tax? Then what would people have to complain about? These stealthful characters...what would happen to them? This cheating the government, and speaking about its leaders with disdain, is something ingrained in the Italian character.
We look at the situation from afar, choosing instead to pay the tax, just as we studied and went through the bureaucracy of obtaining our Italian drivers licenses, long before any of our stranieri friends succumbed. So it is evident that the character is not solely Italian...perhaps people moving to Italy consider it a necessary part of the Italian experience. This is one character trait we hope to avoid.
I want to be able to sleep at night. I expect the tax police to come, but hope to be able to have a civil conversation with them, show them our records and not have to worry.
This morning the fog returns to the valley, and we have no idea how the day will unfold. We need to return to Deruta for new smalto. And find a commercialista. And continue to search for properties.
We meet with a commercialista in Viterbo, a nice young man who confirms that we don't need to file Italian taxes if we aren't making money in Italy. But setting up the businesses is another matter.
This meeting is an interview. Since he does not have other American clients, we're wondering if he is the best choice for us. Interesting enough, we find that accountants, called commercialistas in Italy, charge a monthly fee instead of an hourly rate. We're not ready to take on this young man on that basis...yet.
In the afternoon, we continue sourcing properties, again in Penna. We find one by driving up a driveway and encountering a cleaning lady. We know her brother and she knows Alan. So she and her husband take us to another property and we like it very much. We'll consider it....
And then we meet with our good friend, Patricia, in Orte. We like what her commercialista has to say and will call him tomorrow. In the meantime, we talk about finding projects to work on together. We'd really like that. Perhaps her Penna property and one of the properties we showed Domenico will work in tandem for his developer. We will see.
We stop at Shelly's to feed Tex on the way home, and the stars are out. Their front lawn is a wonderful spot to do star gazing, for the lights of the village, although not very bright, are far enough away so that the sky appears navy blue and the stars bright. The air is so clean and crisp on this fall night that I do a little waltz as we wait for Tex to chow down. Like Sofi, he does not like to eat when he is alone, and with Michelle and Claudio away for a few days he must be lonely.
The electricity still is not working well when we arrive home, but the gate works, and I think it has something to do with the original wiring that was done when we rebuilt our front wall. We'll try again on Saturday with Andrea, the electrician.
In the meantime, we have to get up to Deruta to buy more smalto. There are only a couple of weeks left till we travel to California, and I want to take some pieces to show to potential shops...I have spent so little time painting that I need to return to it with gusto...but we have spent so much time sourcing properties that everything else has taken a back seat.
Really, our lives are so rich that we have trouble finding time to do everything we love. I can't imagine it, but we stay up until midnight most nights, and are up at 8AM.
It is now almost midnight. Dorme bene.
October 25
On these late October mornings, fog embraces us, usually giving way to spectacular sun, albeit lower in the sky. With tremendous amounts of rain this fall, everything is green, green, except for the deciduous trees, whose leaves unveil their last bursts of passion before dropping off and laying all curled up on the gravel.
In the valley, fog clears and we're blessed with shades of green and gold, layer upon layer, the trees and bushes and plants parading for us as if suspended on a catwalk. These greens and golds and rich browns from the earth are the colors our eyes never cease to explore with wonder, with dabs here and there as if from a paint brush of terra cotta and red.
We're doing more scouting this morning, and while we're at it, we're learning about different micro-climates of the region, micro climates that change from valley to valley, hill to hill. My mind wanders back to a fantasy of medieval Italia, where the towers protected the different towns from bands of marauders and lookouts were life-saving necessities.
These days, the silence of it all, broken twice a day by a bus and now and then by a neighbor greeting us as they walk by to the cemetery, reminds us that this paradise was not always so. We must protect it. Pia arrives to work on her property across the street and tells us that it's bright and sunny in Viterbo. At just before 11AM we're still socked in.
By the time night falls, we've previewed several more properties, ranging in price from €200,000 to €700,000 and signed on with a wonderful commercialista (accountant) named Luca.
It's time to add more properties to our site, but we've decided not to post them all. Instead, view our site as a kind of a broad brush, a sampling of what our area of Central Italy has to offer. Once we're contacted, we'll preview properties that we believe will more closely answer specific needs and start a meaningful dialogue. Do let us know if you're interested, and if so, what you're looking for. Click on the "contact Roy and Evanne" on our site, and we'll get back to you within the same day.
Luca tells us that with the service we provide, we are each what is called a Procacciatore, and that makes sense. We are hunters of sorts, hunting and gathering for our clients who want to escape the very disheartening task of finding a dream property in this strange real estate market, with no multiple listing of properties. And with people who have a property to sell, we've something to offer them just as valuable.
There is more than one experience today that reminds us that we are providing a great service for our clients. An owner of an expensive house gets upset because we are not looking at their property for ourselves, but for clients. We are brought in by a realtor, and the realtor backs out of the driveway after the viewing, telling us we should have lied. We respond by telling the agent we refuse to lie. If that is the case, the agent will have to step in.
An owner of a real estate agency tells us that people who lie are all over Italia. So it is evident that we'll never become agents. We want to be able to sleep at night. Speaking of that, I've been worried about the Guardia di Finanza.
Luca educates us tonight about those tax police, telling us that they must have a court order in order to barge into our house and take our computers away if they think we are doing something to avoid paying Italian taxes.
He tells us they will call us on the phone first, and we can refer them to him. What a relief! Not that we will do anything wrong. The tax stories we've been told are exaggerations, which is something the Italians do brilliantly. It's all in a story, as though it's cocktail fodder.
So he's setting up our businesses, and we've agreed to an annual retainer. Now we can call him at any time and he'll educate us and work with us. Since we're paying him on an ongoing basis, we're really encouraged to move forward, both on my ceramics business and the procacciatore side. We certainly have a lot of great properties to offer, and this next week should see some real progress.
I'm also doing more drawing and painting, taking my sketch book wherever we go. Tomorrow I'll work on more designs in class, and if we have time tomorrow after my mammography in Orte, we'll drive to Deruta to pick up better smalto.
This has been a very busy and productive day. Tonight before going to bed, I walk out upon the terrace, followed by Sofi. The stars are out, and I take in a huge breath of fresh air, while focusing on a view so dark that only the stars and lights from Chia far across the peaceful valley light our way.
October 26
It's time for a free mammography. The facility is not modern, but the machines are the same I've been squeezed upon in California. Since my ecographia last week, I'm confident that there's nothing to see.
The fog remains, as if we're alone on an island and there is nothingness all around. What surprises will we encounter when the fog lifts its drowsy head?
Well, I've a real surprise after I arrive at the hospital in the centro storico in Orte. After waiting for twenty minutes in line, I am told I don't have to pay (biannual mammographies are free), and told to wait in the sala di attessa (waiting room). Romolo Villa ushers me right in after he opens the door wearing his official white coat, and sits down at a computer, punching my name into the machine and watching with me as the screen lights up.
You're here on the wrong day, Signora, he tells me in Italian. It can't be, I have an appointment!
Yes, but if you see this line on the letter, you are to arrive exactly on the second anniversary of your last mammography...See, it's right here on this line.
Boh! If I had paid attention I would have seen it myself, and no, he cannot take me anyway.
Outside, I'm walking on the pavement made wet by the fog, and look up to see Roy and "piccola" walking toward me. We drive on to Soriano to pick up the "analysis" of my blood test and why not. We drive on to Deruta to pick up plates that we need in what is called a bisque state, and a reformulation of our smalto.
We arrive at Mondo Ceramica and purchase rutile, a sandy substance to add to our smalto to make the finish more antique. We drive off to buy the cotto at our favorite place, but she's just closed for pranzo and will return at 2PM. She guides us to a local trattoria with a price-fixed menu, and it's perfect. But first we stop at a supermarket and buy a few slices of tacchino (turkey) for Sofi and have it cut up in small pieces.
Everyone has a good meal, and we find the cotto that we need, then drive on to class. Again, the time speeds by, and I've finished an ornate pitcher for Marissa and begun almost an identical pitcher for Nicole. Each one takes about two sessions (eight hours) to paint.
But when I leave I find that there will be no class next week. It will be the Day of the Dead. Time's a wastin'. With the adjusted smalto, I'll work at home to paint some more pieces and then fire them in Francesco's oven in another ten days or so.
With work to do on the web site and more sourcing of properties each day, we're feeling like a couple of steam engines. Where do the days go? We end this one just before midnight with a couple of books and lots to think about regarding clients and properties.
October 27
Halloween is the strangest event in Italia. It consists of the worst traditions of the United States and as far as we know, none of the best. But Italians are all agog about the arrival of this "event". Here in our little village we don't expect any "trick or treaters".
But stores are full of paper and plastic objects and costumes. What about bobbing for apples and treasure hunts and haunted houses with a scary old woman with a wart on her face opening the door? BOO! I don't think they have been told any of this.
That reminds me. Yesterday in Deruta, city workers were out in their trucks, stringing up lights...for Christmas! Yes, the city depends on
tourism for its livelihood, but I am afraid it is more than that. The Americanization of Italia is seeping in through its very bones.
If you come here, we hope you will embrace the culture and history of this grand country, and want to leave your American or English or Irish customs behind. Otherwise, how will one be able to really appreciate the history and culture of this, or any other place, away from "home"?
So why are we so helpful with people who want their own "Italian experience"? We're happy to share its authentic history and culture with others. We so want to preserve it, and are hopeful they will, too.
Dottoressa does not show up in Mugnano for her regular time. Ernesta arrives after an hour to tell us she is in Perugia at a funeral. We walk down the steps to the little building in the borgo to see Felice, who tells us he wants to plant our favas soon, and Alberto, who invites us to join him for coffee.
For the first time in all the years we have known Lore and Alberto, we arrive for coffee and a tour around the newly restored house. It looks lovely. We hear that Clara has a full time person looking after her in Rome and send our fond wishes. She hates hearing "piano, piano." Lore tells us she was told that after Clara's husband died, and after she later suffered her stroke, that is all she heard. Now she does not want to hear the too familiar "Piano, piano".
Clara wants to socialize, to have a drink, to enjoy her friends socially, but it's not quite time. As Roy's mother would have said, "There but the grace of God go I..."
We leave to drive to the Comune to drop off our photos for our new ID cards, and take a few photos of the marvelous grotesques inside the Orsini Palazzo next door. I look forward to painting them. I so miss painting. Now that Roy has added the rutile to the smalto, I'll surely be able to paint soon.
After pranzo, we meet with Dierdre at her home in Capitone and continue to be enthusiastic about her property. On the way back, we stop in Amelia to see Domenico. He tells us that the owner of the Palazzo Venturelli arrived today and Domenico showed him the plate I painted for him. It is wonderful to see it sitting out when we arrive without notice.
Tomorrow we'll meet with him again to firm up Monday's appointments. Back at home, we receive a lot of calls and emails to schedule appointments, so our property scouting is beginning to pay off.
The closer we get to the time of our US trip, the more activity there is on the many properties we have in play. It feels good to have so much activity, but I admit I yearn to be out in the studio. With Roy taking the most active role, I'll be able to move on to painting in the next days. Speriamo.
October 28
With Dottoressa's schedule all moved around, we drive to see her in Chia, then on to Lugnano and Guardea to scout out more properties. We're socked in, in such thick fog that we can't see past the shutters.
But the line at the office in Chia is so long that people stream out the door of the little building, with a few people even hanging over the metal fence against the rose bushes.
We drive on to Lugnano to spec properties and the first one we see is in Guardea. Upon reaching the property, down a rocky strada bianca, our eyes are drawn to the sight of two soaring cypress trees, at least one hundred years old, flanking a dilapidated stone casale. There is a great deal of land, more than one hundred olive trees, and an incredible view, but the price is not cheap.
We agree to take that on, and return to Lugnano, where a young man attempts to show us the property beneath Tony and Pat's. We stop him at the edge of the lane leading into the space, shaking our finger at him. He gets out of the car and Roy asks, "Who is the proprietor of this property?" The answer is just what we expected. "Pasqui."
We refuse to see the property. When the young man arrives at Roy's open car window, we tell him a little of what we know of this man and "thief" and "liar" are two of the words we use to characterize him. After we tell him a few reasons for our strong opinion, we thank him for his time and tell him we'll see him again.
Our home made minestrone soup is really magnificent, if a soup can be described in such a way, so we drive home to enjoy bowls of the stuff, before leaving to drive to Amelia for meetings.
We're home after dark, and it's not cool enough for a fire. So we work on the web site and talk about altering the home page, probably when we're in the U S. Now that we have more than twenty properties and a growing list of clients interested in properties in Central Italia, it's time.
October 29
Andrea, the electrician who "moonlights" with us on our electrical woes on weekends, is late. He does not answer his cell phone, either. So our band-aid electrical system hangs on...
Andrea arrives at 11AM, and for a few hours he and Roy jiggle and jiggle and play around with the various circuits. At one point, everything is broken. He leaves for pranzo and returns an hour later. I am sure, when standing close to him, that he had cigarettes for pranzo. But I am somehow confident about the way he speaks and the way he moves.
Finally everything works, including the emergency switch for the fogna(septic tank). We hold our breath during the day and evening, but it is as if we never had a problem. I admit that when looking around the bathroom, a room we have not had electricity in for days, the room looks nicer than I remembered. It is funny how a familiar room can look new after a few days with no real lighting...
So I want to talk about arista. Arista is a pork roast, and these pork roasts are very popular with Italian families who serve large numbers of people. The roast is cooked in advance, and served at warm temperature or cold. The name arista came from a time the pork was served to a group of monks who replied when asked what they thought of the food. "Arista!Arista!" or "Good! Good!" they replied. And so the name for the dish...That's what my old pal Artusi has to say about it in his book.
So we buy a small pork roast from the wonderful butcher in Giove, named Sgrina. He is such an artist, that we do not have the heart to tell him to leave any of the fat surrounding the meat. He slices off the fat in such a gentle way that it is as though he is singing a lullaby to the piece of meat. "Lullaby, and good night..."
Anyway, later we stop at another macelleria and pick up a few slices of pancetta to lay across the top like a diva stretched out on a fainting couch. With a few sliced cloves of garlic and a few sprigs of rosemary poked into the roast, we slide it into a preheated oven at 350 degrees.
The roast weighs about 3 pounds, but the recipe calls for a much bigger roast. We cook it for about 30 minutes per pound, or until the instant meat thermometer registers above 175. By the time it is taken out and sits, the temperature rises to the correct 185 degrees. Then I put it on a warm platter on top of the stove, cover it loosely with aluminum foil, and an hour or so later when we slice and serve it, it is still a little warm. I heat the pan on the top of the stove, add a little pork bouillon cube, a little red wine, a little water, and scrape the pieces away from the pan.
This is a very simple thing to fix. But what makes it a delicious main course, is the accompaniment of my homemade apple sauce and also a dollop of our fig and ginger and lemon conserve. Earlier I grilled zucchini strips, and serve them at room temperature and also steam some broccoli.
Rita and Filippo are our guests tonight, and they are so much fun. We really enjoy getting to know them and Sofi dances around the kitchen, she is so delighted to meet them.
In addition to wanting to sell their Lugnano property, they also have another property that they will help us to list. It sounds very exciting. This case is another person who wants nothing to do with real estate agents. They have such bad reputations in Italy.
How did I forget to mention that our new friends Daniele and Antonia have decided to buy the Umbertide property after all? We are sad to think that they won't be moving closer to us. But then there is a property that we have that is a wonderful archeological site quite near us, and Antonia is smitten by it. If it is meant to be, they will find a way to buy it...
We end the night with Roy turning back all the clocks and wonder if our automatic alarms will wake us up early anyway.
October 30
Yes, I'm up before 7AM, so I take a shower and go back to bed to read for an hour. How long will it take me to adjust to what the Italians call "ore legale, or what Americans call Daylight Savings Time? And why do we persist on turning the clocks back, or forward? Research tells me that Ben Franklin started it all. Laws are afoot to change it again.
Speaking of laws, there is a new law on the books in Rome that if a person owns a dog, he must take it out for a walk twice a day. Why are there so many laws in Italy? No one seems to pay attention to any them. But the new law I just love is the outlawing of round goldfish bowls.
There was a study that determined that round goldfish bowls drove goldfish absolutely mad, or blind, depending on who you ask. Animal rights activists are behind both of these laws, and no wonder. More than 150,000 dogs are abandoned each year in Italy. I have not seen any statistics on gold fish...
Once I'm up, we leave for mass and it is wonderful to see so many of our full time and also part time neighbors in the village on this morning. This is a joyous time for our village, for a two-day holiday begins on Tuesday, so Italians love to make this a week-long vacation.
The fog persists, and we hear that this fall is a crazy weather year. Each day, the sun comes out around noon, and the rest of the day is lovely. Depending on where you are, the fog may clear much earlier...or not at all.
We return from mass and Akiko and Giorgio arrive to give us keys for their Soriano property. We are happy that they stay for coffee, and to talk about life in Italia. We like them very much, and selfishly hope we sell their property to friends. We love the land, and it's a place we'd love to visit often.
As soon as they leave, we scoop up Sofi in our arms and drive off to the annual antique mercato in Viterbo. Lore and Alberto purchased a bench here yesterday, but we're only here for a look, and to stop in to see Patricia, who is selling some wonderful recuperated doors and an elaborate setee, along with a four-poster bed.
She tells us that a Saudi sheik is expected to arrive any day to buy the setee. So I imagine Patricia sitting there in a sari, just waiting for the buyer to arrive. If you knew Patricia, you'd know how funny this is.
We drive to Amelia to meet with Domenico at his hilltop home and stop for tea. We have just enough time to meet some new friends and enjoy the incredible view. On the outside table is a natural arrangement of blossoms from a strawberry tree. We have never seen one. The colors of the round fruit range from a chatreuse to a dark red. The berries are quite extraordinary. I'm not so sure of the taste. After a short meeting, we say goodbye drive on to see Judith at her palazzo inside the borgo of Amelia.
It is good to see Judith, after all this time. We have only seen her briefly once on this trip, but she is very happy with her home here, and with Amelia. If she had her choice, no one who is not an Italian would move into Amelia at all.
Her next project here is with the cats of Amelia. She thinks she will be successful single handedly getting every cat sterilized in town. This is a lofty goal, unless you know Judith. If anyone can accomplish that, she can.
We've been on several strada biancas today, and the last one is the one to Tia and Bruce's house. Sofi is excited. She knows where she is headed. Once we arrive, she squeals to get out of the car. In her own way, I think she likes Gioia, Tia's dog.
Helen and Panis and Vasily arrive soon afterward, and we move to the living room for cocktails, and the first fire of the season in the fireplace. While Bruce lights it up, however, a huge bee, one of those dangerous ones that fly and sound like a dirigible, floats out of the firebox and up above a large chestnut beam.
Bruce is allergic to bees, bu