Lantern with jasmine, Carmine Inferiore
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Before the snow : Carmine Inferiore
One degree at 9am. Overcast, grey and foggy - the Alps have disappeared from view, and the winter gulls are coasting in and out of the mist in a fairly ghostlike fashion. Nothing like the day on which I took the photo below, just before Christmas.
Tuesday, 30 December 2008
Before the snow : Cannobio
A tiny half-degree at 8am. Dry, with grey skies and patches of snow still on the ground. The winter jasmine is in full bloom.
Via G. Marconi, Cannobio
Monday, 29 December 2008
Motherhood means ... No : 9
Zero at eight. The whole world has turned a steely grey, and it's snowing again.
Motherhood means ... resigning oneself to the fact that after all the stuff that got schlepped up the hill (by Santa and his reindeer, of course), the favourite toy of the Christmas season appears to be composed of one piece of string attached to a champagne cork, pulled behind one running 4-year-old with one manic 5-month-old kitten in hot pursuit.
Motherhood means ... resigning oneself to the fact that after all the stuff that got schlepped up the hill (by Santa and his reindeer, of course), the favourite toy of the Christmas season appears to be composed of one piece of string attached to a champagne cork, pulled behind one running 4-year-old with one manic 5-month-old kitten in hot pursuit.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Sunday, 28 December 2008
Keats country?
Minus four at 8am. Snow still crunchy on the ground and bright sunshine. Ice on the animals' water bowls.
A happy couple of hours were passed in the sunshine of Christmas Eve in the woods between Carmine and Cannero, at the laghetto, attempting (operative word) to sail a boat.
This beautiful and strangely silent place in winter always reminds me of the opening lines of Keats's 'La Belle Dame sans Merci' :
And for my Italian-speaking friends...
A happy couple of hours were passed in the sunshine of Christmas Eve in the woods between Carmine and Cannero, at the laghetto, attempting (operative word) to sail a boat.
This beautiful and strangely silent place in winter always reminds me of the opening lines of Keats's 'La Belle Dame sans Merci' :
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
And for my Italian-speaking friends...
Che cosa ti tormenta, armato cavaliere
che indugi solo e pallido?
Di già appassite son le cipree del lago
e non cantan gli uccelli.
che indugi solo e pallido?
Di già appassite son le cipree del lago
e non cantan gli uccelli.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Saturday, 27 December 2008
The world turned upside down - Il pranzo di Santo Stefano
Zero degrees at 10:30am (yes, Mama finally got a lie-in today), with snow on the ground and cotton wool hanging over us.
In the days of my youth (ho-hum), at Rugby School Christmas celebrations used to include a Christmas dinner at which the established order was reversed. House staff and pupils were waited on by those who were usually in charge of them : matron, stern house master (in a kilt) and his beautifully bohemian wife, and various other people who normally wielded the rod. I understand this is part of an ancient tradition in which those elevated to the highest positions in society change places with the ordinary people, at least for a brief celebration in the midst of winter darkness.
Yesterday, a similar event took place at Cannobio's scuola media. More than 100 pensioners and people who would normally spend their Christmas alone were invited to the beautifully decorated school dining rooms for a lavish lunch cooked by Chef Gianni Albertella and his team from the Hotel del Lago, Carmine Inferiore (assisted by a motley crew of amateurs in flowery aprons, including yours truly). The meal was served by the willing hands of the Cannobio giunta comunale and members of the Croce Rossa Italiana, with mayor Antonello Viviano and deputy mayor Pier Angelo Ferrari firmly in the vanguard.
I understand this is the fourth such event organised by this administration, and by the looks of those present as they finally supped their caffe', digested their pannetone, and contemplated the tombola prizes, I have no doubt that it was a worthwhile way to spend St Stephen's Day.
PS By 8pm on the 27th, we were looking at minus four outside the bathroom window...
In the days of my youth (ho-hum), at Rugby School Christmas celebrations used to include a Christmas dinner at which the established order was reversed. House staff and pupils were waited on by those who were usually in charge of them : matron, stern house master (in a kilt) and his beautifully bohemian wife, and various other people who normally wielded the rod. I understand this is part of an ancient tradition in which those elevated to the highest positions in society change places with the ordinary people, at least for a brief celebration in the midst of winter darkness.
Yesterday, a similar event took place at Cannobio's scuola media. More than 100 pensioners and people who would normally spend their Christmas alone were invited to the beautifully decorated school dining rooms for a lavish lunch cooked by Chef Gianni Albertella and his team from the Hotel del Lago, Carmine Inferiore (assisted by a motley crew of amateurs in flowery aprons, including yours truly). The meal was served by the willing hands of the Cannobio giunta comunale and members of the Croce Rossa Italiana, with mayor Antonello Viviano and deputy mayor Pier Angelo Ferrari firmly in the vanguard.
I understand this is the fourth such event organised by this administration, and by the looks of those present as they finally supped their caffe', digested their pannetone, and contemplated the tombola prizes, I have no doubt that it was a worthwhile way to spend St Stephen's Day.
PS By 8pm on the 27th, we were looking at minus four outside the bathroom window...
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Friday, 26 December 2008
Santo Stefano
One degree at 8am. There's about two inches of snow on the ground and a baby-pink sunrise in the sky.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Thursday, 25 December 2008
Quote of the week No. 10 : On Christmas
A perfect Christmas eve morning in Carmine. Dry, sunny, and, in the sun on the churchyard, warm enough to lift the heart. But today it's turned overcast and drizzly. Perhaps we'll have a white Christmas, who knows.
Erma Bombeck wrote :
But if you are not a child, there is something you can do - and that is, awake on Christmas morning with children in the house. Their bright eyes and shining cheeks are enough to restore even the most jaded adult's faith in the magical.
Thank God for Christmas. I hope yours is magical too.
Erma Bombeck wrote :
"There is nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child."
But if you are not a child, there is something you can do - and that is, awake on Christmas morning with children in the house. Their bright eyes and shining cheeks are enough to restore even the most jaded adult's faith in the magical.
Thank God for Christmas. I hope yours is magical too.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Monday, 22 December 2008
CS Broadcasting Highlights of the Year 2008
Again, bright sunshine, blues skies and a warm wind. The clouds are trailing up the lake instead of down it, moving south-to-north rather than the more usual north-to-south.
Traditionally in the UK at Christmas time, there's plenty of tv-watching going on. The Brits have several excuses for slobbing out in front of the box at what they know should be a supremely social time of year. Perhaps the weather is awful and a walk doesn't seem too inviting. Or maybe you've eaten too much and can't get off the sofa. Or, better still, you want to avoid a deep and meaningless conversation with champion trainspotter Uncle Reg on the one hand and the more-than-slightly-overweight-and-nuts-to-boot Cousin Dottie on the other.
Much of what gets shown on tv at Christmas is either old stuff that everybody seems to like (Only Fools and Horses, James Bond with Sean Connery, or Cartoon Time with Roy Hudd and Emu) or content that's already been shown at least once in the year, repackaged to look like something different. An example of this is the 'Best of...' or 'Worst of...' or, more entertainingly, 'Out-takes from...'. Let's face it, this last option is cheap, and it's already been road-tested so it can't flop.
There's no tv in the House on the Hill, and given that I'm about as busy as the Boys from the Beeb at this time of year, I thought I'd do my own highlights of the year from CSB Carmine Superiore Broadcasting.
The Funniest Post of the Year (in me own 'umble opinion) : Breakfast time in Carmine Superiore is a time of virtuoso versatility amid a whirlwind of frenzied activity. A time during which Mama wears many hats...
The Most Heartfelt Post of the Year : This year, we lost too many friends and loved-ones. Such life-changing moments tend to put all other human preoccupations into perspective, and in the midst of our grief, it was the children who kept us moving in the right direction - always towards the future.
The Most Read Post of the Year : This post, a personal guide to Carmine Superiore and Lago Maggiore, drew more than 300 views and 60 comments.
My Favourite Picture of the Year : I can't decide. First, are the flowers after the rain, and second are the camellias that I caught doing arty-farty things in the fontana one Sunday afternoon. And then there was this image of the strangest mist I've seen in my few years here in Carmine, and one of the prettiest of the frescoes in the church. Click on the image to see larger versions; it's worth it.
Traditionally in the UK at Christmas time, there's plenty of tv-watching going on. The Brits have several excuses for slobbing out in front of the box at what they know should be a supremely social time of year. Perhaps the weather is awful and a walk doesn't seem too inviting. Or maybe you've eaten too much and can't get off the sofa. Or, better still, you want to avoid a deep and meaningless conversation with champion trainspotter Uncle Reg on the one hand and the more-than-slightly-overweight-and-nuts-to-boot Cousin Dottie on the other.
Much of what gets shown on tv at Christmas is either old stuff that everybody seems to like (Only Fools and Horses, James Bond with Sean Connery, or Cartoon Time with Roy Hudd and Emu) or content that's already been shown at least once in the year, repackaged to look like something different. An example of this is the 'Best of...' or 'Worst of...' or, more entertainingly, 'Out-takes from...'. Let's face it, this last option is cheap, and it's already been road-tested so it can't flop.
There's no tv in the House on the Hill, and given that I'm about as busy as the Boys from the Beeb at this time of year, I thought I'd do my own highlights of the year from CSB Carmine Superiore Broadcasting.
The Funniest Post of the Year (in me own 'umble opinion) : Breakfast time in Carmine Superiore is a time of virtuoso versatility amid a whirlwind of frenzied activity. A time during which Mama wears many hats...
The Most Heartfelt Post of the Year : This year, we lost too many friends and loved-ones. Such life-changing moments tend to put all other human preoccupations into perspective, and in the midst of our grief, it was the children who kept us moving in the right direction - always towards the future.
The Most Read Post of the Year : This post, a personal guide to Carmine Superiore and Lago Maggiore, drew more than 300 views and 60 comments.
My Favourite Picture of the Year : I can't decide. First, are the flowers after the rain, and second are the camellias that I caught doing arty-farty things in the fontana one Sunday afternoon. And then there was this image of the strangest mist I've seen in my few years here in Carmine, and one of the prettiest of the frescoes in the church. Click on the image to see larger versions; it's worth it.
Best Book of the Year : Again, I can't make up my mind. I can't decide between The Bad Girl on the one hand and Runemarks on the other. Or perhaps the best was The Enchantress of Florence, or maybe it was Neverwhere. Oh dammit! You choose.
Best Carmine Quote of the Year : This came from my neighbour, KK, who is well-known for his dry, quick and clever one-liners.
This Year's Greatest Personal Achievement : I know thousands of people do it every day but it meant a lot to me...
This Year's Largest House-Renovation Project : It was finished in time for winter...
This Year's Greatest Leap Forward in the Italian Vocab Stakes : Sadly, it was on the subject of allergies...
And finally... The Most Sickeningly Self-Satisfied Post of the Year : It has to be this one!
Happy Reading!
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Sunday, 21 December 2008
Winter solstice
Open the front door at 9am, and it's warm. Look out of the kitchen window and the view is a riot of golden sunshine, russet-and-grey trees, orange khakis, startling white snow-caps and a clear, clear Canaletto sky. Indoors, Mathilda is crackling away, the children are slurping happily on their Nesquik and two white-and-tabby cats are surveying the scene.
December 21st. The winter solstice. Ezio says it's the first day of winter, but to my mind it's midwinter, and it's all downhill to spring. Of course, Ezio's right and I'm wrong - there'll be plenty of dark and very cold days in January and February, but up here you just gotta think positive. So tomorrow I'll be thanking whatever gods are listening that the sun will be rising a fraction earlier and setting a fraction later. And if I have time, I'll be weaving a Christmas wreath in recognition of the neverending cycle of the seasons.
Perhaps also the chickens will register those extra moments of light and start laying again. Otherwise I might have to buy a second freezer...
PS Thanks one and all for your company once again for Christmas mass followed by pannetone and mulled wine...and for the beautiful decorations in the church. Fingers crossed that our nativity wins the Cannobio competition for the most beautiful scene. If simplicity is one of the criteria, we're certainly in with a chance.
December 21st. The winter solstice. Ezio says it's the first day of winter, but to my mind it's midwinter, and it's all downhill to spring. Of course, Ezio's right and I'm wrong - there'll be plenty of dark and very cold days in January and February, but up here you just gotta think positive. So tomorrow I'll be thanking whatever gods are listening that the sun will be rising a fraction earlier and setting a fraction later. And if I have time, I'll be weaving a Christmas wreath in recognition of the neverending cycle of the seasons.
Perhaps also the chickens will register those extra moments of light and start laying again. Otherwise I might have to buy a second freezer...
PS Thanks one and all for your company once again for Christmas mass followed by pannetone and mulled wine...and for the beautiful decorations in the church. Fingers crossed that our nativity wins the Cannobio competition for the most beautiful scene. If simplicity is one of the criteria, we're certainly in with a chance.
Saturday, 20 December 2008
Friday, 19 December 2008
Having time to stop and stare
Six degrees at 9am, with a beautiful apricot morning light bouncing off the snow-covered peaks. As I stopped in the middle of Cannobio on the way to scuola materna to take a quickie piccie, a small admiring crowd developed (the light, not me). This is part of the reason why I like Cannobio people. The warm wind that was hinting to me yesterday wasn't around today, but the sun felt warm-with-wintry-overtones, if that's possible.
The first winter camellias are starting to show, and our Christmas houseguests will shortly be upon us. Yikes! It seems to me that calling Christmas a Fixed Feast must be some sort of elaborate, clerical joke. Christmas is definitely a Moveable Feast and always comes sooner than you expect. That's if you're a parent (read secret Santa), of course. If you're an excited child of four, however, Christmas takes an awfully long time to arrive.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
The first winter camellias are starting to show, and our Christmas houseguests will shortly be upon us. Yikes! It seems to me that calling Christmas a Fixed Feast must be some sort of elaborate, clerical joke. Christmas is definitely a Moveable Feast and always comes sooner than you expect. That's if you're a parent (read secret Santa), of course. If you're an excited child of four, however, Christmas takes an awfully long time to arrive.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Thursday, 18 December 2008
The things they say
Six degrees at 9am, with blue skies. But there was an interesting wind in Carmine this morning, and if I feel it against my skin tomorrow, I'll describe it for you.
I always promised myself I wouldn't harp on about how cute the children are - this is a subject fit only for emails to grandparents. BUT I just can't help myself, they're so funny sometimes. Besides, it's almost Christmas, and Mama deserves some self-indulgence too.
So here's a quick digest of some recent comments that made me laugh...
AJ aged 4, when asked what his father does for a living : "He cuts down trees and tells B off."
B aged 2-and-a-half, when told off by her father (shaking head in philosophical fashion) : "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear..."
AJ when asked why he is calling for his Mama at four in the morning : "Because I like you."
B, hearing the hunters shooting in the woods above Carmine : "Naughty men, kill goat!"
AJ, practising lines for the Festa di Natale : "I bambini sono cambiati, purtroppo* - that's a kind of mouse, you know."
*purtroppo = unfortunately, topo = mouse
B, having been left alone in the kitchen with the stepstool, a pack of sliced bread on top of the fridge and a toaster on a shelf six feet above ground : "Breakfast is ready!"
I always promised myself I wouldn't harp on about how cute the children are - this is a subject fit only for emails to grandparents. BUT I just can't help myself, they're so funny sometimes. Besides, it's almost Christmas, and Mama deserves some self-indulgence too.
So here's a quick digest of some recent comments that made me laugh...
AJ aged 4, when asked what his father does for a living : "He cuts down trees and tells B off."
B aged 2-and-a-half, when told off by her father (shaking head in philosophical fashion) : "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear..."
AJ when asked why he is calling for his Mama at four in the morning : "Because I like you."
B, hearing the hunters shooting in the woods above Carmine : "Naughty men, kill goat!"
AJ, practising lines for the Festa di Natale : "I bambini sono cambiati, purtroppo* - that's a kind of mouse, you know."
*purtroppo = unfortunately, topo = mouse
B, having been left alone in the kitchen with the stepstool, a pack of sliced bread on top of the fridge and a toaster on a shelf six feet above ground : "Breakfast is ready!"
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
Sightings various
Six degrees at 9am (what is this? spring?). Still raining this morning, but as I left for kindergarten, a gentle light was shining in a patch on the lake as if the sun had momentarily drawn aside the cloud-curtains to see if it was safe to come out. This afternoon was AJ's Festa di Natale, which was crowded with adoring parents and grandparents. As we left, the riotous applause still ringing in our ears, many people stared about in wonder at the ribbons of blue sky that had appeared above while Babbo Natale was giving out gifts below.
Incidentally, the hazels have their catkins, and the magnolia in my neighbour's garden is in fulsome bud. Within every season is the seed of the next, it seems.
Today I made the second sighting in a week of a bird I couldn't dare to hope is an adolescent oriole (could I?). About the size of a pigeon, it was lime in colour and I saw it on the ground and in the low branches of a bush. Suggestions, local readers, please.
This also reminds me that the other day I was silently observed on the way up the hill by a small and rather pretty kestrel.
Could I have gone all twitchy in my old age without noticing?
Incidentally, the hazels have their catkins, and the magnolia in my neighbour's garden is in fulsome bud. Within every season is the seed of the next, it seems.
Today I made the second sighting in a week of a bird I couldn't dare to hope is an adolescent oriole (could I?). About the size of a pigeon, it was lime in colour and I saw it on the ground and in the low branches of a bush. Suggestions, local readers, please.
This also reminds me that the other day I was silently observed on the way up the hill by a small and rather pretty kestrel.
Could I have gone all twitchy in my old age without noticing?
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Book Notes No. 20: Runemarks, Joanne Harris
Four degrees at 9am. And although it's still gloomy overhead and wet underfoot, it's no longer raining. The path down is less treacherous now that some kind soul has swept away the worst of the leaf litter from the autumn. I wonder who that could have been?
Have you ever found a book that you want so much to read, to continue reading, that you carry it around everywhere you go, hoping for a quiet child-free, chores-free, pet-free, shopping-free moment in which to savour another few pages? It's been a long time since I had that wicked addicted feeling, but in the last week I've been guiltily sneaking reads of Joanne Harris's Runemarks all around the house, the province and beyond.
It's pretty good.
Actually, it's a fabulously well-crafted literary fantasy (come on publishers, pay me, and I'll create book categories for you that you only ever dreamed of).
And it's unputdownable. At times this week, I've wished I was back in the commuter belt, with all that lovely train-time on my hands.
Maddy Smith is an outsider. The rusty-coloured runemark on her hand scars her with a symbol of the old gods. It's a sign of magic, and everybody knows that magic is dangerous...Except for Maddy, who actually thinks it's all rather fun. The trouble starts, however, when Maddy's one friend, an itinerant pedlar, wants her to open Red Horse Hill and descend into World Below - a world filled with goblins and perhaps something even worse - to retrieve a mysterious relic of the old gods. Based around characters from the Norse myths, the story weaves its way underground for an earth-shattering adventure.
In its review, The Times uses the terms "rollocks along" and "spunky" in the same column. The Times has gone downhill a bit lately, but you get the point. The book is full of energy, excitement and laughs, and owes a lot, I think, to Douglas Adams. Harris's real success here (in me 'umble opinion), is her conception of the appearance and powers of the gods, and her extraordinary vision of the Norse-inspired worlds of Hel, Dream and Netherworld.
A virtuoso piece.
PS By lunchtime it was drizzling, and by the time Mama and the dotties stood at the foot of the hill looking up, it was chucking it down.
Have you ever found a book that you want so much to read, to continue reading, that you carry it around everywhere you go, hoping for a quiet child-free, chores-free, pet-free, shopping-free moment in which to savour another few pages? It's been a long time since I had that wicked addicted feeling, but in the last week I've been guiltily sneaking reads of Joanne Harris's Runemarks all around the house, the province and beyond.
It's pretty good.
Actually, it's a fabulously well-crafted literary fantasy (come on publishers, pay me, and I'll create book categories for you that you only ever dreamed of).
And it's unputdownable. At times this week, I've wished I was back in the commuter belt, with all that lovely train-time on my hands.
Maddy Smith is an outsider. The rusty-coloured runemark on her hand scars her with a symbol of the old gods. It's a sign of magic, and everybody knows that magic is dangerous...Except for Maddy, who actually thinks it's all rather fun. The trouble starts, however, when Maddy's one friend, an itinerant pedlar, wants her to open Red Horse Hill and descend into World Below - a world filled with goblins and perhaps something even worse - to retrieve a mysterious relic of the old gods. Based around characters from the Norse myths, the story weaves its way underground for an earth-shattering adventure.
In its review, The Times uses the terms "rollocks along" and "spunky" in the same column. The Times has gone downhill a bit lately, but you get the point. The book is full of energy, excitement and laughs, and owes a lot, I think, to Douglas Adams. Harris's real success here (in me 'umble opinion), is her conception of the appearance and powers of the gods, and her extraordinary vision of the Norse-inspired worlds of Hel, Dream and Netherworld.
A virtuoso piece.
PS By lunchtime it was drizzling, and by the time Mama and the dotties stood at the foot of the hill looking up, it was chucking it down.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Monday, 15 December 2008
Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree...
Five degrees at 9am. Yes, that's five degrees! But today there's the first really spiteful wind of the winter. Combine that with the incessant rain and you have a cold feeling that gets right into your bones. Christmas preparations have never been so soggy.
Carmine's Christmas tree is up!
This weekend, four gallant Carmenites dragged it, pushed it, hauled it, begged it, swore at it and scolded it up the hill. They then dressed it in multicoloured Christmas finery, all in the freezing cold and the pouring rain. Now the cheerful lights greet us in the morning gloom and the evening fog, making the children's eyes light up with Christmas colours, and warming Mama's heart.
All those of you who pass Carmine every day on the lake road, or who leave their houses shivering across the lake in Macagno, spare us a swift upward glance and you will see Carmine's Christmas greeting to all!
Carmine's Christmas tree is up!
This weekend, four gallant Carmenites dragged it, pushed it, hauled it, begged it, swore at it and scolded it up the hill. They then dressed it in multicoloured Christmas finery, all in the freezing cold and the pouring rain. Now the cheerful lights greet us in the morning gloom and the evening fog, making the children's eyes light up with Christmas colours, and warming Mama's heart.
All those of you who pass Carmine every day on the lake road, or who leave their houses shivering across the lake in Macagno, spare us a swift upward glance and you will see Carmine's Christmas greeting to all!
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Quote of the week No. 9 : Milton on paradise
The last few days have been rainy and cold. The landscape is black and white, black with the wet branches of the leafless trees and white with snow patches. Yesterday, Sant'Agata, the village that hangs magically above Cannobio, was playing Brigadoon among the clouds.
Here's this week's quote, which comes into my mind unbidden every time a visitor declares Carmine a paradise :
John Milton (1608-1674), in Paradise Lost Book I.
Australian band, Crowded House also had something to say on this subject.
Here's this week's quote, which comes into my mind unbidden every time a visitor declares Carmine a paradise :
"The mind is its own place, and in itselfCan make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."
John Milton (1608-1674), in Paradise Lost Book I.
Australian band, Crowded House also had something to say on this subject.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
Christmas is a-comin'
Two degrees at 9am and raining fairly hard, as it has been most of the night. Much of the snow has gone, but there's still enough on the ground to show us where a capriolo (a roe deer) daintily trotted down the hill at some point in the night. A good day to drive to Switzerland along the treacherous lake road for a spot of Christmas shopping. (It wasn't, but that's another story.)
Carmine is patiently awaiting its Christmas reawakening.
Those cats in the know about the rich leftover pickings to be had at the Big House have been working their way back into our hearts for the past few weeks, and are now to be found in their own private billets all over the house - on top of Mathilda, in an electrically-heated infirmary nest in the pantry next to the washing machine (absent, understandably, during the spin cycle), among the faux-fur throws on my bed and burrowed in among some real sheepskins in the sitting room.
None of them, it seems, is interested in doing anything about the little nest of mice busy engineering another population explosion in the woodshed. And Mama is looking everywhere for swathes of crimson felt with which to patch B's Christmas sack, which between last year and this has developed a very large mouse-made hole.
The new Mathilda (still unnamed) is being commissioned slowly and steadily day-by-day, with half-loads more designed to hasten the drying process than to actually heat the rooms it was designed to heat. But heat it does, even now, and once you've gotten over the surprise of walking into a bedroom with an air temperature more than a degree above that immediately outside the window, you find yourself getting used to the luxury of it quite quickly.
And with only one more week of kindergarten to go before more than three weeks of Christmas, New Year, Epiphany and Patronal Festival holiday, Mama can see a much needed break from the four-times-a-day route march.
But before we can all settle into a festive season full of extravagance, decadence and the Queen on YouTube, there's plenty of ups and downs still to do - birthday parties, Christmas shopping, concerts, Christmas shopping, AJ's festa di natale, Christmas shopping and just a tad more Christmas shopping - making Mama for one wish that Christmas presents really were delivered by an overweight chappie in a garish suit, ably abetted by six tame ungulates and a magic flying sleigh.
Carmine is patiently awaiting its Christmas reawakening.
Those cats in the know about the rich leftover pickings to be had at the Big House have been working their way back into our hearts for the past few weeks, and are now to be found in their own private billets all over the house - on top of Mathilda, in an electrically-heated infirmary nest in the pantry next to the washing machine (absent, understandably, during the spin cycle), among the faux-fur throws on my bed and burrowed in among some real sheepskins in the sitting room.
None of them, it seems, is interested in doing anything about the little nest of mice busy engineering another population explosion in the woodshed. And Mama is looking everywhere for swathes of crimson felt with which to patch B's Christmas sack, which between last year and this has developed a very large mouse-made hole.
The new Mathilda (still unnamed) is being commissioned slowly and steadily day-by-day, with half-loads more designed to hasten the drying process than to actually heat the rooms it was designed to heat. But heat it does, even now, and once you've gotten over the surprise of walking into a bedroom with an air temperature more than a degree above that immediately outside the window, you find yourself getting used to the luxury of it quite quickly.
And with only one more week of kindergarten to go before more than three weeks of Christmas, New Year, Epiphany and Patronal Festival holiday, Mama can see a much needed break from the four-times-a-day route march.
But before we can all settle into a festive season full of extravagance, decadence and the Queen on YouTube, there's plenty of ups and downs still to do - birthday parties, Christmas shopping, concerts, Christmas shopping, AJ's festa di natale, Christmas shopping and just a tad more Christmas shopping - making Mama for one wish that Christmas presents really were delivered by an overweight chappie in a garish suit, ably abetted by six tame ungulates and a magic flying sleigh.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
Weather report : more of the white stuff
There's an eerie light at 6am this morning, and a tell-tale hush. Yes, overnight there's been an inch of snow.
Where's me wellies?
Where's me wellies?
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Quote of the week No. 8 : Shakespeare on giving
Two degrees at 9am. The day started bright but has gone all dull and overcast.
Some Christmas advice from The Bard :
William Shakespeare (1564-1616), in Hamlet (1600).
Some Christmas advice from The Bard :
"Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind."
William Shakespeare (1564-1616), in Hamlet (1600).
Monday, 8 December 2008
Today in 2007, No. 3...
Two degrees at 10am. Cold and windy, but with bright, bright sunshine. A perfect day for Cannobio's Mercatino di Natale.
Today is Immaculate Conception, a public holiday here in Italy (although I do detect certain people busily at work today). Back in 2007, the outside temperature was an extraordinary nine degrees, and Mama was unravelling some fairly tricky theology...
Today is Immaculate Conception, a public holiday here in Italy (although I do detect certain people busily at work today). Back in 2007, the outside temperature was an extraordinary nine degrees, and Mama was unravelling some fairly tricky theology...
Sunday, 7 December 2008
Saturday, 6 December 2008
Weather report
Feeling warm with a massive four degrees at 9am. Bright sunshine with a moderate breeze.
Friday, 5 December 2008
Another B. story
Two degrees at 9am and raining a bit.
At the age of two-and-a-half (almost), B is becoming her own little person. She has her own likes and dislikes (loves reading, hates having her hair brushed, loves the new kitten, hates scarves), and her own ways of doing things. What fascinates me, though, is how she makes connections between things as she trots around the world after her Mama and her elder brother (generally on a steep incline).
The other day we were watching a mountain helicopter refuelling on the school playing field, and the mechanic who was rejuvenating our ancient and rather battered Panda sped past on a test drive. B. recognised the car at once with a cry of, "Look, look, Mama's car!".
Later, we were in the office of our friends the carabinieri, and she picked up a trade magazine. Breaking into the awed hush of our surroundings, I heard the same cry, "Look, look, Mama's car!", and went over to see what she had found. It was a vehicle that resembled the one below (though military equipment buffs please don't quote me), possibly without the weaponry and probably in a fetching shade of midnight blue with the word 'Carabinieri' plastered all over it :
At the age of two-and-a-half (almost), B is becoming her own little person. She has her own likes and dislikes (loves reading, hates having her hair brushed, loves the new kitten, hates scarves), and her own ways of doing things. What fascinates me, though, is how she makes connections between things as she trots around the world after her Mama and her elder brother (generally on a steep incline).
The other day we were watching a mountain helicopter refuelling on the school playing field, and the mechanic who was rejuvenating our ancient and rather battered Panda sped past on a test drive. B. recognised the car at once with a cry of, "Look, look, Mama's car!".
Later, we were in the office of our friends the carabinieri, and she picked up a trade magazine. Breaking into the awed hush of our surroundings, I heard the same cry, "Look, look, Mama's car!", and went over to see what she had found. It was a vehicle that resembled the one below (though military equipment buffs please don't quote me), possibly without the weaponry and probably in a fetching shade of midnight blue with the word 'Carabinieri' plastered all over it :
Does B know something I don't about what Babbo Natale is bringing me for Christmas, or could she have been commenting on my driving style?
Pic from Wikipedia with thanks.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Thursday, 4 December 2008
Reported conversations No. 10 : On music
A great big fat ZERO degrees at 9am. The day started bright and sunny and ended brooding, threatening more snow.
In the house on the hill, there are two schools of thought as regards music. M is a dyed-in-the-wool Led Zeppelin afficionado, and although Led Zeppelin formed part of the sountrack of her early formative years, Louise goes for something slightly more ... conservative. Louise would prefer Jessye Norman singing Strauss's Vier Letzte Lieder to Robert Plant singing about lemons. M likes to watch hoardes of 1930s tap dancers doing Trampled Underfoot in an extraordinary show of anachronistic synchopation, while Louise likes to get all meditative to Rachmaninoff's Vespers.
Louise gets to hear her kind of music only when everyone else has decamped to a different country, and M gets to hear his only if he promises to do the washing up at the same time.
A couple of evenings ago, M-in-Marigolds was running the gamut of YouTube's vast collection of Plant and Page bootleg videos, when B toddled into the kitchen for a bedtime kiss.
B (in toddler German) : Pappi, what's that?
M (in high German) : That's music.
B (in very emphatic toddler German, and wagging a wise toddler finger) : Nein, Pappi, das nicht musik.
I rest my case.
In the house on the hill, there are two schools of thought as regards music. M is a dyed-in-the-wool Led Zeppelin afficionado, and although Led Zeppelin formed part of the sountrack of her early formative years, Louise goes for something slightly more ... conservative. Louise would prefer Jessye Norman singing Strauss's Vier Letzte Lieder to Robert Plant singing about lemons. M likes to watch hoardes of 1930s tap dancers doing Trampled Underfoot in an extraordinary show of anachronistic synchopation, while Louise likes to get all meditative to Rachmaninoff's Vespers.
Louise gets to hear her kind of music only when everyone else has decamped to a different country, and M gets to hear his only if he promises to do the washing up at the same time.
A couple of evenings ago, M-in-Marigolds was running the gamut of YouTube's vast collection of Plant and Page bootleg videos, when B toddled into the kitchen for a bedtime kiss.
B (in toddler German) : Pappi, what's that?
M (in high German) : That's music.
B (in very emphatic toddler German, and wagging a wise toddler finger) : Nein, Pappi, das nicht musik.
I rest my case.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
Book Notes No. 19 : Heart of Ice, Alys Clare
One degree at 9am. Bright sunshine, frost and a thin layer of ice waiting to topple us onto our butts whenever our attention wanders from the path to the view. There's also a wind that makes us feel much colder.
The other day I was delighted to discover that a stationer's on Cannobio's lungolago has given over a small amount of space to books. Cannobio desperately, but desperately, needs a proper bookshop. Italian, German and English (the last just for me, who could happily keep a whole shop in business). This is a good start in Italian books, and it even has a few shelf inches devoted to German and English titles (mostly of the Dan Brown variety). There I found Alys Clare's novel, and happily carried it home for some light reading between sneezes.
I settled down by the woodburner, feet up, glass in hand. I started to read. I liked the easy style, the early pages enticed me into the story, and the characters leapt from the page as characters of this sort are paid to do.
Oh damn.
A few pages in I discovered that this book is one in a series and the author was busy recapping on a previous book (or perhaps, books). Don't you just hate that? What do you do when that happens? Stop reading until you've acquired the earlier book(s) in the series? For me, I suspect this would be far more complicated than a quick jaunt down to the lungolago, and might even entail a fairly long wait at Carmine's unofficial post office at the foot of the hill for an Amazon parcel.
Oh, but I was so comfortable there with the brats abed, the stove singing, the cat snoring and the wine going down most satisfactorily. So I read on, spoiling earlier books, but loving this one.
Here's the blurb :
In February 1194 a young man brings plague to Hawkenlye Abbey. He dies within spitting distance, but not of the sickness...Abbess Helewise and her friend Sir Josse d'Acquin take off in hot pursuit of the murderer while the number of plague victims rises...
It's a good read. Ellis Peters meets Marion Zimmer Bradley. Medieval murder mystery meets mystical pagans in the enchanted forest. It's not at all what you might call a challenging read, but sometimes you just gotta give yourself a break while no-one's looking. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
And there are a further nine Hawkenlye books to read. I'll let you know what order to read them in as soon as Hodder answer my fireside email.
The other day I was delighted to discover that a stationer's on Cannobio's lungolago has given over a small amount of space to books. Cannobio desperately, but desperately, needs a proper bookshop. Italian, German and English (the last just for me, who could happily keep a whole shop in business). This is a good start in Italian books, and it even has a few shelf inches devoted to German and English titles (mostly of the Dan Brown variety). There I found Alys Clare's novel, and happily carried it home for some light reading between sneezes. I settled down by the woodburner, feet up, glass in hand. I started to read. I liked the easy style, the early pages enticed me into the story, and the characters leapt from the page as characters of this sort are paid to do.
Oh damn.
A few pages in I discovered that this book is one in a series and the author was busy recapping on a previous book (or perhaps, books). Don't you just hate that? What do you do when that happens? Stop reading until you've acquired the earlier book(s) in the series? For me, I suspect this would be far more complicated than a quick jaunt down to the lungolago, and might even entail a fairly long wait at Carmine's unofficial post office at the foot of the hill for an Amazon parcel.
Oh, but I was so comfortable there with the brats abed, the stove singing, the cat snoring and the wine going down most satisfactorily. So I read on, spoiling earlier books, but loving this one.
Here's the blurb :
In February 1194 a young man brings plague to Hawkenlye Abbey. He dies within spitting distance, but not of the sickness...Abbess Helewise and her friend Sir Josse d'Acquin take off in hot pursuit of the murderer while the number of plague victims rises...
It's a good read. Ellis Peters meets Marion Zimmer Bradley. Medieval murder mystery meets mystical pagans in the enchanted forest. It's not at all what you might call a challenging read, but sometimes you just gotta give yourself a break while no-one's looking. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
And there are a further nine Hawkenlye books to read. I'll let you know what order to read them in as soon as Hodder answer my fireside email.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Monday, 1 December 2008
Weather report
Two degrees at 9am and raining pretty hard. The mulattiera, covered with autumm leaves, is booby-trapped with pools ankle-deep. Sant'Agata, on the hillside 100 m or so above Cannobio is Christmas-card kitsch with snow. There's no bad-weather muttering now among Cannobio's population. Just a twinkle, and a philosophical, "that's winter!".
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Wednesday, 31 December 2008
Before the snow : Carmine Inferiore
One degree at 9am. Overcast, grey and foggy - the Alps have disappeared from view, and the winter gulls are coasting in and out of the mist in a fairly ghostlike fashion. Nothing like the day on which I took the photo below, just before Christmas.
Lantern with jasmine, Carmine Inferiore
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Tuesday, 30 December 2008
Before the snow : Cannobio
A tiny half-degree at 8am. Dry, with grey skies and patches of snow still on the ground. The winter jasmine is in full bloom.
Via G. Marconi, Cannobio
Monday, 29 December 2008
Motherhood means ... No : 9
Zero at eight. The whole world has turned a steely grey, and it's snowing again.
Motherhood means ... resigning oneself to the fact that after all the stuff that got schlepped up the hill (by Santa and his reindeer, of course), the favourite toy of the Christmas season appears to be composed of one piece of string attached to a champagne cork, pulled behind one running 4-year-old with one manic 5-month-old kitten in hot pursuit.
Motherhood means ... resigning oneself to the fact that after all the stuff that got schlepped up the hill (by Santa and his reindeer, of course), the favourite toy of the Christmas season appears to be composed of one piece of string attached to a champagne cork, pulled behind one running 4-year-old with one manic 5-month-old kitten in hot pursuit.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Sunday, 28 December 2008
Keats country?
Minus four at 8am. Snow still crunchy on the ground and bright sunshine. Ice on the animals' water bowls.
A happy couple of hours were passed in the sunshine of Christmas Eve in the woods between Carmine and Cannero, at the laghetto, attempting (operative word) to sail a boat.
This beautiful and strangely silent place in winter always reminds me of the opening lines of Keats's 'La Belle Dame sans Merci' :
And for my Italian-speaking friends...
A happy couple of hours were passed in the sunshine of Christmas Eve in the woods between Carmine and Cannero, at the laghetto, attempting (operative word) to sail a boat.
This beautiful and strangely silent place in winter always reminds me of the opening lines of Keats's 'La Belle Dame sans Merci' :
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
And for my Italian-speaking friends...
Che cosa ti tormenta, armato cavaliere
che indugi solo e pallido?
Di già appassite son le cipree del lago
e non cantan gli uccelli.
che indugi solo e pallido?
Di già appassite son le cipree del lago
e non cantan gli uccelli.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Saturday, 27 December 2008
The world turned upside down - Il pranzo di Santo Stefano
Zero degrees at 10:30am (yes, Mama finally got a lie-in today), with snow on the ground and cotton wool hanging over us.
In the days of my youth (ho-hum), at Rugby School Christmas celebrations used to include a Christmas dinner at which the established order was reversed. House staff and pupils were waited on by those who were usually in charge of them : matron, stern house master (in a kilt) and his beautifully bohemian wife, and various other people who normally wielded the rod. I understand this is part of an ancient tradition in which those elevated to the highest positions in society change places with the ordinary people, at least for a brief celebration in the midst of winter darkness.
Yesterday, a similar event took place at Cannobio's scuola media. More than 100 pensioners and people who would normally spend their Christmas alone were invited to the beautifully decorated school dining rooms for a lavish lunch cooked by Chef Gianni Albertella and his team from the Hotel del Lago, Carmine Inferiore (assisted by a motley crew of amateurs in flowery aprons, including yours truly). The meal was served by the willing hands of the Cannobio giunta comunale and members of the Croce Rossa Italiana, with mayor Antonello Viviano and deputy mayor Pier Angelo Ferrari firmly in the vanguard.
I understand this is the fourth such event organised by this administration, and by the looks of those present as they finally supped their caffe', digested their pannetone, and contemplated the tombola prizes, I have no doubt that it was a worthwhile way to spend St Stephen's Day.
PS By 8pm on the 27th, we were looking at minus four outside the bathroom window...
In the days of my youth (ho-hum), at Rugby School Christmas celebrations used to include a Christmas dinner at which the established order was reversed. House staff and pupils were waited on by those who were usually in charge of them : matron, stern house master (in a kilt) and his beautifully bohemian wife, and various other people who normally wielded the rod. I understand this is part of an ancient tradition in which those elevated to the highest positions in society change places with the ordinary people, at least for a brief celebration in the midst of winter darkness.
Yesterday, a similar event took place at Cannobio's scuola media. More than 100 pensioners and people who would normally spend their Christmas alone were invited to the beautifully decorated school dining rooms for a lavish lunch cooked by Chef Gianni Albertella and his team from the Hotel del Lago, Carmine Inferiore (assisted by a motley crew of amateurs in flowery aprons, including yours truly). The meal was served by the willing hands of the Cannobio giunta comunale and members of the Croce Rossa Italiana, with mayor Antonello Viviano and deputy mayor Pier Angelo Ferrari firmly in the vanguard.
I understand this is the fourth such event organised by this administration, and by the looks of those present as they finally supped their caffe', digested their pannetone, and contemplated the tombola prizes, I have no doubt that it was a worthwhile way to spend St Stephen's Day.
PS By 8pm on the 27th, we were looking at minus four outside the bathroom window...
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Friday, 26 December 2008
Santo Stefano
One degree at 8am. There's about two inches of snow on the ground and a baby-pink sunrise in the sky.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Thursday, 25 December 2008
Quote of the week No. 10 : On Christmas
A perfect Christmas eve morning in Carmine. Dry, sunny, and, in the sun on the churchyard, warm enough to lift the heart. But today it's turned overcast and drizzly. Perhaps we'll have a white Christmas, who knows.
Erma Bombeck wrote :
But if you are not a child, there is something you can do - and that is, awake on Christmas morning with children in the house. Their bright eyes and shining cheeks are enough to restore even the most jaded adult's faith in the magical.
Thank God for Christmas. I hope yours is magical too.
Erma Bombeck wrote :
"There is nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child."
But if you are not a child, there is something you can do - and that is, awake on Christmas morning with children in the house. Their bright eyes and shining cheeks are enough to restore even the most jaded adult's faith in the magical.
Thank God for Christmas. I hope yours is magical too.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Monday, 22 December 2008
CS Broadcasting Highlights of the Year 2008
Again, bright sunshine, blues skies and a warm wind. The clouds are trailing up the lake instead of down it, moving south-to-north rather than the more usual north-to-south.
Traditionally in the UK at Christmas time, there's plenty of tv-watching going on. The Brits have several excuses for slobbing out in front of the box at what they know should be a supremely social time of year. Perhaps the weather is awful and a walk doesn't seem too inviting. Or maybe you've eaten too much and can't get off the sofa. Or, better still, you want to avoid a deep and meaningless conversation with champion trainspotter Uncle Reg on the one hand and the more-than-slightly-overweight-and-nuts-to-boot Cousin Dottie on the other.
Much of what gets shown on tv at Christmas is either old stuff that everybody seems to like (Only Fools and Horses, James Bond with Sean Connery, or Cartoon Time with Roy Hudd and Emu) or content that's already been shown at least once in the year, repackaged to look like something different. An example of this is the 'Best of...' or 'Worst of...' or, more entertainingly, 'Out-takes from...'. Let's face it, this last option is cheap, and it's already been road-tested so it can't flop.
There's no tv in the House on the Hill, and given that I'm about as busy as the Boys from the Beeb at this time of year, I thought I'd do my own highlights of the year from CSB Carmine Superiore Broadcasting.
The Funniest Post of the Year (in me own 'umble opinion) : Breakfast time in Carmine Superiore is a time of virtuoso versatility amid a whirlwind of frenzied activity. A time during which Mama wears many hats...
The Most Heartfelt Post of the Year : This year, we lost too many friends and loved-ones. Such life-changing moments tend to put all other human preoccupations into perspective, and in the midst of our grief, it was the children who kept us moving in the right direction - always towards the future.
The Most Read Post of the Year : This post, a personal guide to Carmine Superiore and Lago Maggiore, drew more than 300 views and 60 comments.
My Favourite Picture of the Year : I can't decide. First, are the flowers after the rain, and second are the camellias that I caught doing arty-farty things in the fontana one Sunday afternoon. And then there was this image of the strangest mist I've seen in my few years here in Carmine, and one of the prettiest of the frescoes in the church. Click on the image to see larger versions; it's worth it.
Traditionally in the UK at Christmas time, there's plenty of tv-watching going on. The Brits have several excuses for slobbing out in front of the box at what they know should be a supremely social time of year. Perhaps the weather is awful and a walk doesn't seem too inviting. Or maybe you've eaten too much and can't get off the sofa. Or, better still, you want to avoid a deep and meaningless conversation with champion trainspotter Uncle Reg on the one hand and the more-than-slightly-overweight-and-nuts-to-boot Cousin Dottie on the other.
Much of what gets shown on tv at Christmas is either old stuff that everybody seems to like (Only Fools and Horses, James Bond with Sean Connery, or Cartoon Time with Roy Hudd and Emu) or content that's already been shown at least once in the year, repackaged to look like something different. An example of this is the 'Best of...' or 'Worst of...' or, more entertainingly, 'Out-takes from...'. Let's face it, this last option is cheap, and it's already been road-tested so it can't flop.
There's no tv in the House on the Hill, and given that I'm about as busy as the Boys from the Beeb at this time of year, I thought I'd do my own highlights of the year from CSB Carmine Superiore Broadcasting.
The Funniest Post of the Year (in me own 'umble opinion) : Breakfast time in Carmine Superiore is a time of virtuoso versatility amid a whirlwind of frenzied activity. A time during which Mama wears many hats...
The Most Heartfelt Post of the Year : This year, we lost too many friends and loved-ones. Such life-changing moments tend to put all other human preoccupations into perspective, and in the midst of our grief, it was the children who kept us moving in the right direction - always towards the future.
The Most Read Post of the Year : This post, a personal guide to Carmine Superiore and Lago Maggiore, drew more than 300 views and 60 comments.
My Favourite Picture of the Year : I can't decide. First, are the flowers after the rain, and second are the camellias that I caught doing arty-farty things in the fontana one Sunday afternoon. And then there was this image of the strangest mist I've seen in my few years here in Carmine, and one of the prettiest of the frescoes in the church. Click on the image to see larger versions; it's worth it.
Best Book of the Year : Again, I can't make up my mind. I can't decide between The Bad Girl on the one hand and Runemarks on the other. Or perhaps the best was The Enchantress of Florence, or maybe it was Neverwhere. Oh dammit! You choose.
Best Carmine Quote of the Year : This came from my neighbour, KK, who is well-known for his dry, quick and clever one-liners.
This Year's Greatest Personal Achievement : I know thousands of people do it every day but it meant a lot to me...
This Year's Largest House-Renovation Project : It was finished in time for winter...
This Year's Greatest Leap Forward in the Italian Vocab Stakes : Sadly, it was on the subject of allergies...
And finally... The Most Sickeningly Self-Satisfied Post of the Year : It has to be this one!
Happy Reading!
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Sunday, 21 December 2008
Winter solstice
Open the front door at 9am, and it's warm. Look out of the kitchen window and the view is a riot of golden sunshine, russet-and-grey trees, orange khakis, startling white snow-caps and a clear, clear Canaletto sky. Indoors, Mathilda is crackling away, the children are slurping happily on their Nesquik and two white-and-tabby cats are surveying the scene.
December 21st. The winter solstice. Ezio says it's the first day of winter, but to my mind it's midwinter, and it's all downhill to spring. Of course, Ezio's right and I'm wrong - there'll be plenty of dark and very cold days in January and February, but up here you just gotta think positive. So tomorrow I'll be thanking whatever gods are listening that the sun will be rising a fraction earlier and setting a fraction later. And if I have time, I'll be weaving a Christmas wreath in recognition of the neverending cycle of the seasons.
Perhaps also the chickens will register those extra moments of light and start laying again. Otherwise I might have to buy a second freezer...
PS Thanks one and all for your company once again for Christmas mass followed by pannetone and mulled wine...and for the beautiful decorations in the church. Fingers crossed that our nativity wins the Cannobio competition for the most beautiful scene. If simplicity is one of the criteria, we're certainly in with a chance.
December 21st. The winter solstice. Ezio says it's the first day of winter, but to my mind it's midwinter, and it's all downhill to spring. Of course, Ezio's right and I'm wrong - there'll be plenty of dark and very cold days in January and February, but up here you just gotta think positive. So tomorrow I'll be thanking whatever gods are listening that the sun will be rising a fraction earlier and setting a fraction later. And if I have time, I'll be weaving a Christmas wreath in recognition of the neverending cycle of the seasons.
Perhaps also the chickens will register those extra moments of light and start laying again. Otherwise I might have to buy a second freezer...
PS Thanks one and all for your company once again for Christmas mass followed by pannetone and mulled wine...and for the beautiful decorations in the church. Fingers crossed that our nativity wins the Cannobio competition for the most beautiful scene. If simplicity is one of the criteria, we're certainly in with a chance.
Saturday, 20 December 2008
Friday, 19 December 2008
Having time to stop and stare
Six degrees at 9am, with a beautiful apricot morning light bouncing off the snow-covered peaks. As I stopped in the middle of Cannobio on the way to scuola materna to take a quickie piccie, a small admiring crowd developed (the light, not me). This is part of the reason why I like Cannobio people. The warm wind that was hinting to me yesterday wasn't around today, but the sun felt warm-with-wintry-overtones, if that's possible.
The first winter camellias are starting to show, and our Christmas houseguests will shortly be upon us. Yikes! It seems to me that calling Christmas a Fixed Feast must be some sort of elaborate, clerical joke. Christmas is definitely a Moveable Feast and always comes sooner than you expect. That's if you're a parent (read secret Santa), of course. If you're an excited child of four, however, Christmas takes an awfully long time to arrive.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
The first winter camellias are starting to show, and our Christmas houseguests will shortly be upon us. Yikes! It seems to me that calling Christmas a Fixed Feast must be some sort of elaborate, clerical joke. Christmas is definitely a Moveable Feast and always comes sooner than you expect. That's if you're a parent (read secret Santa), of course. If you're an excited child of four, however, Christmas takes an awfully long time to arrive.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Thursday, 18 December 2008
The things they say
Six degrees at 9am, with blue skies. But there was an interesting wind in Carmine this morning, and if I feel it against my skin tomorrow, I'll describe it for you.
I always promised myself I wouldn't harp on about how cute the children are - this is a subject fit only for emails to grandparents. BUT I just can't help myself, they're so funny sometimes. Besides, it's almost Christmas, and Mama deserves some self-indulgence too.
So here's a quick digest of some recent comments that made me laugh...
AJ aged 4, when asked what his father does for a living : "He cuts down trees and tells B off."
B aged 2-and-a-half, when told off by her father (shaking head in philosophical fashion) : "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear..."
AJ when asked why he is calling for his Mama at four in the morning : "Because I like you."
B, hearing the hunters shooting in the woods above Carmine : "Naughty men, kill goat!"
AJ, practising lines for the Festa di Natale : "I bambini sono cambiati, purtroppo* - that's a kind of mouse, you know."
*purtroppo = unfortunately, topo = mouse
B, having been left alone in the kitchen with the stepstool, a pack of sliced bread on top of the fridge and a toaster on a shelf six feet above ground : "Breakfast is ready!"
I always promised myself I wouldn't harp on about how cute the children are - this is a subject fit only for emails to grandparents. BUT I just can't help myself, they're so funny sometimes. Besides, it's almost Christmas, and Mama deserves some self-indulgence too.
So here's a quick digest of some recent comments that made me laugh...
AJ aged 4, when asked what his father does for a living : "He cuts down trees and tells B off."
B aged 2-and-a-half, when told off by her father (shaking head in philosophical fashion) : "Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear..."
AJ when asked why he is calling for his Mama at four in the morning : "Because I like you."
B, hearing the hunters shooting in the woods above Carmine : "Naughty men, kill goat!"
AJ, practising lines for the Festa di Natale : "I bambini sono cambiati, purtroppo* - that's a kind of mouse, you know."
*purtroppo = unfortunately, topo = mouse
B, having been left alone in the kitchen with the stepstool, a pack of sliced bread on top of the fridge and a toaster on a shelf six feet above ground : "Breakfast is ready!"
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
Sightings various
Six degrees at 9am (what is this? spring?). Still raining this morning, but as I left for kindergarten, a gentle light was shining in a patch on the lake as if the sun had momentarily drawn aside the cloud-curtains to see if it was safe to come out. This afternoon was AJ's Festa di Natale, which was crowded with adoring parents and grandparents. As we left, the riotous applause still ringing in our ears, many people stared about in wonder at the ribbons of blue sky that had appeared above while Babbo Natale was giving out gifts below.
Incidentally, the hazels have their catkins, and the magnolia in my neighbour's garden is in fulsome bud. Within every season is the seed of the next, it seems.
Today I made the second sighting in a week of a bird I couldn't dare to hope is an adolescent oriole (could I?). About the size of a pigeon, it was lime in colour and I saw it on the ground and in the low branches of a bush. Suggestions, local readers, please.
This also reminds me that the other day I was silently observed on the way up the hill by a small and rather pretty kestrel.
Could I have gone all twitchy in my old age without noticing?
Incidentally, the hazels have their catkins, and the magnolia in my neighbour's garden is in fulsome bud. Within every season is the seed of the next, it seems.
Today I made the second sighting in a week of a bird I couldn't dare to hope is an adolescent oriole (could I?). About the size of a pigeon, it was lime in colour and I saw it on the ground and in the low branches of a bush. Suggestions, local readers, please.
This also reminds me that the other day I was silently observed on the way up the hill by a small and rather pretty kestrel.
Could I have gone all twitchy in my old age without noticing?
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Tuesday, 16 December 2008
Book Notes No. 20: Runemarks, Joanne Harris
Four degrees at 9am. And although it's still gloomy overhead and wet underfoot, it's no longer raining. The path down is less treacherous now that some kind soul has swept away the worst of the leaf litter from the autumn. I wonder who that could have been?
Have you ever found a book that you want so much to read, to continue reading, that you carry it around everywhere you go, hoping for a quiet child-free, chores-free, pet-free, shopping-free moment in which to savour another few pages? It's been a long time since I had that wicked addicted feeling, but in the last week I've been guiltily sneaking reads of Joanne Harris's Runemarks all around the house, the province and beyond.
It's pretty good.
Actually, it's a fabulously well-crafted literary fantasy (come on publishers, pay me, and I'll create book categories for you that you only ever dreamed of).
And it's unputdownable. At times this week, I've wished I was back in the commuter belt, with all that lovely train-time on my hands.
Maddy Smith is an outsider. The rusty-coloured runemark on her hand scars her with a symbol of the old gods. It's a sign of magic, and everybody knows that magic is dangerous...Except for Maddy, who actually thinks it's all rather fun. The trouble starts, however, when Maddy's one friend, an itinerant pedlar, wants her to open Red Horse Hill and descend into World Below - a world filled with goblins and perhaps something even worse - to retrieve a mysterious relic of the old gods. Based around characters from the Norse myths, the story weaves its way underground for an earth-shattering adventure.
In its review, The Times uses the terms "rollocks along" and "spunky" in the same column. The Times has gone downhill a bit lately, but you get the point. The book is full of energy, excitement and laughs, and owes a lot, I think, to Douglas Adams. Harris's real success here (in me 'umble opinion), is her conception of the appearance and powers of the gods, and her extraordinary vision of the Norse-inspired worlds of Hel, Dream and Netherworld.
A virtuoso piece.
PS By lunchtime it was drizzling, and by the time Mama and the dotties stood at the foot of the hill looking up, it was chucking it down.
Have you ever found a book that you want so much to read, to continue reading, that you carry it around everywhere you go, hoping for a quiet child-free, chores-free, pet-free, shopping-free moment in which to savour another few pages? It's been a long time since I had that wicked addicted feeling, but in the last week I've been guiltily sneaking reads of Joanne Harris's Runemarks all around the house, the province and beyond.
It's pretty good.
Actually, it's a fabulously well-crafted literary fantasy (come on publishers, pay me, and I'll create book categories for you that you only ever dreamed of).
And it's unputdownable. At times this week, I've wished I was back in the commuter belt, with all that lovely train-time on my hands.
Maddy Smith is an outsider. The rusty-coloured runemark on her hand scars her with a symbol of the old gods. It's a sign of magic, and everybody knows that magic is dangerous...Except for Maddy, who actually thinks it's all rather fun. The trouble starts, however, when Maddy's one friend, an itinerant pedlar, wants her to open Red Horse Hill and descend into World Below - a world filled with goblins and perhaps something even worse - to retrieve a mysterious relic of the old gods. Based around characters from the Norse myths, the story weaves its way underground for an earth-shattering adventure.
In its review, The Times uses the terms "rollocks along" and "spunky" in the same column. The Times has gone downhill a bit lately, but you get the point. The book is full of energy, excitement and laughs, and owes a lot, I think, to Douglas Adams. Harris's real success here (in me 'umble opinion), is her conception of the appearance and powers of the gods, and her extraordinary vision of the Norse-inspired worlds of Hel, Dream and Netherworld.
A virtuoso piece.
PS By lunchtime it was drizzling, and by the time Mama and the dotties stood at the foot of the hill looking up, it was chucking it down.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Monday, 15 December 2008
Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree...
Five degrees at 9am. Yes, that's five degrees! But today there's the first really spiteful wind of the winter. Combine that with the incessant rain and you have a cold feeling that gets right into your bones. Christmas preparations have never been so soggy.
Carmine's Christmas tree is up!
This weekend, four gallant Carmenites dragged it, pushed it, hauled it, begged it, swore at it and scolded it up the hill. They then dressed it in multicoloured Christmas finery, all in the freezing cold and the pouring rain. Now the cheerful lights greet us in the morning gloom and the evening fog, making the children's eyes light up with Christmas colours, and warming Mama's heart.
All those of you who pass Carmine every day on the lake road, or who leave their houses shivering across the lake in Macagno, spare us a swift upward glance and you will see Carmine's Christmas greeting to all!
Carmine's Christmas tree is up!
This weekend, four gallant Carmenites dragged it, pushed it, hauled it, begged it, swore at it and scolded it up the hill. They then dressed it in multicoloured Christmas finery, all in the freezing cold and the pouring rain. Now the cheerful lights greet us in the morning gloom and the evening fog, making the children's eyes light up with Christmas colours, and warming Mama's heart.
All those of you who pass Carmine every day on the lake road, or who leave their houses shivering across the lake in Macagno, spare us a swift upward glance and you will see Carmine's Christmas greeting to all!
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Sunday, 14 December 2008
Quote of the week No. 9 : Milton on paradise
The last few days have been rainy and cold. The landscape is black and white, black with the wet branches of the leafless trees and white with snow patches. Yesterday, Sant'Agata, the village that hangs magically above Cannobio, was playing Brigadoon among the clouds.
Here's this week's quote, which comes into my mind unbidden every time a visitor declares Carmine a paradise :
John Milton (1608-1674), in Paradise Lost Book I.
Australian band, Crowded House also had something to say on this subject.
Here's this week's quote, which comes into my mind unbidden every time a visitor declares Carmine a paradise :
"The mind is its own place, and in itselfCan make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven."
John Milton (1608-1674), in Paradise Lost Book I.
Australian band, Crowded House also had something to say on this subject.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Thursday, 11 December 2008
Christmas is a-comin'
Two degrees at 9am and raining fairly hard, as it has been most of the night. Much of the snow has gone, but there's still enough on the ground to show us where a capriolo (a roe deer) daintily trotted down the hill at some point in the night. A good day to drive to Switzerland along the treacherous lake road for a spot of Christmas shopping. (It wasn't, but that's another story.)
Carmine is patiently awaiting its Christmas reawakening.
Those cats in the know about the rich leftover pickings to be had at the Big House have been working their way back into our hearts for the past few weeks, and are now to be found in their own private billets all over the house - on top of Mathilda, in an electrically-heated infirmary nest in the pantry next to the washing machine (absent, understandably, during the spin cycle), among the faux-fur throws on my bed and burrowed in among some real sheepskins in the sitting room.
None of them, it seems, is interested in doing anything about the little nest of mice busy engineering another population explosion in the woodshed. And Mama is looking everywhere for swathes of crimson felt with which to patch B's Christmas sack, which between last year and this has developed a very large mouse-made hole.
The new Mathilda (still unnamed) is being commissioned slowly and steadily day-by-day, with half-loads more designed to hasten the drying process than to actually heat the rooms it was designed to heat. But heat it does, even now, and once you've gotten over the surprise of walking into a bedroom with an air temperature more than a degree above that immediately outside the window, you find yourself getting used to the luxury of it quite quickly.
And with only one more week of kindergarten to go before more than three weeks of Christmas, New Year, Epiphany and Patronal Festival holiday, Mama can see a much needed break from the four-times-a-day route march.
But before we can all settle into a festive season full of extravagance, decadence and the Queen on YouTube, there's plenty of ups and downs still to do - birthday parties, Christmas shopping, concerts, Christmas shopping, AJ's festa di natale, Christmas shopping and just a tad more Christmas shopping - making Mama for one wish that Christmas presents really were delivered by an overweight chappie in a garish suit, ably abetted by six tame ungulates and a magic flying sleigh.
Carmine is patiently awaiting its Christmas reawakening.
Those cats in the know about the rich leftover pickings to be had at the Big House have been working their way back into our hearts for the past few weeks, and are now to be found in their own private billets all over the house - on top of Mathilda, in an electrically-heated infirmary nest in the pantry next to the washing machine (absent, understandably, during the spin cycle), among the faux-fur throws on my bed and burrowed in among some real sheepskins in the sitting room.
None of them, it seems, is interested in doing anything about the little nest of mice busy engineering another population explosion in the woodshed. And Mama is looking everywhere for swathes of crimson felt with which to patch B's Christmas sack, which between last year and this has developed a very large mouse-made hole.
The new Mathilda (still unnamed) is being commissioned slowly and steadily day-by-day, with half-loads more designed to hasten the drying process than to actually heat the rooms it was designed to heat. But heat it does, even now, and once you've gotten over the surprise of walking into a bedroom with an air temperature more than a degree above that immediately outside the window, you find yourself getting used to the luxury of it quite quickly.
And with only one more week of kindergarten to go before more than three weeks of Christmas, New Year, Epiphany and Patronal Festival holiday, Mama can see a much needed break from the four-times-a-day route march.
But before we can all settle into a festive season full of extravagance, decadence and the Queen on YouTube, there's plenty of ups and downs still to do - birthday parties, Christmas shopping, concerts, Christmas shopping, AJ's festa di natale, Christmas shopping and just a tad more Christmas shopping - making Mama for one wish that Christmas presents really were delivered by an overweight chappie in a garish suit, ably abetted by six tame ungulates and a magic flying sleigh.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Wednesday, 10 December 2008
Weather report : more of the white stuff
There's an eerie light at 6am this morning, and a tell-tale hush. Yes, overnight there's been an inch of snow.
Where's me wellies?
Where's me wellies?
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Quote of the week No. 8 : Shakespeare on giving
Two degrees at 9am. The day started bright but has gone all dull and overcast.
Some Christmas advice from The Bard :
William Shakespeare (1564-1616), in Hamlet (1600).
Some Christmas advice from The Bard :
"Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind."
William Shakespeare (1564-1616), in Hamlet (1600).
Monday, 8 December 2008
Today in 2007, No. 3...
Two degrees at 10am. Cold and windy, but with bright, bright sunshine. A perfect day for Cannobio's Mercatino di Natale.
Today is Immaculate Conception, a public holiday here in Italy (although I do detect certain people busily at work today). Back in 2007, the outside temperature was an extraordinary nine degrees, and Mama was unravelling some fairly tricky theology...
Today is Immaculate Conception, a public holiday here in Italy (although I do detect certain people busily at work today). Back in 2007, the outside temperature was an extraordinary nine degrees, and Mama was unravelling some fairly tricky theology...
Sunday, 7 December 2008
Saturday, 6 December 2008
Weather report
Feeling warm with a massive four degrees at 9am. Bright sunshine with a moderate breeze.
Friday, 5 December 2008
Another B. story
Two degrees at 9am and raining a bit.
At the age of two-and-a-half (almost), B is becoming her own little person. She has her own likes and dislikes (loves reading, hates having her hair brushed, loves the new kitten, hates scarves), and her own ways of doing things. What fascinates me, though, is how she makes connections between things as she trots around the world after her Mama and her elder brother (generally on a steep incline).
The other day we were watching a mountain helicopter refuelling on the school playing field, and the mechanic who was rejuvenating our ancient and rather battered Panda sped past on a test drive. B. recognised the car at once with a cry of, "Look, look, Mama's car!".
Later, we were in the office of our friends the carabinieri, and she picked up a trade magazine. Breaking into the awed hush of our surroundings, I heard the same cry, "Look, look, Mama's car!", and went over to see what she had found. It was a vehicle that resembled the one below (though military equipment buffs please don't quote me), possibly without the weaponry and probably in a fetching shade of midnight blue with the word 'Carabinieri' plastered all over it :
At the age of two-and-a-half (almost), B is becoming her own little person. She has her own likes and dislikes (loves reading, hates having her hair brushed, loves the new kitten, hates scarves), and her own ways of doing things. What fascinates me, though, is how she makes connections between things as she trots around the world after her Mama and her elder brother (generally on a steep incline).
The other day we were watching a mountain helicopter refuelling on the school playing field, and the mechanic who was rejuvenating our ancient and rather battered Panda sped past on a test drive. B. recognised the car at once with a cry of, "Look, look, Mama's car!".
Later, we were in the office of our friends the carabinieri, and she picked up a trade magazine. Breaking into the awed hush of our surroundings, I heard the same cry, "Look, look, Mama's car!", and went over to see what she had found. It was a vehicle that resembled the one below (though military equipment buffs please don't quote me), possibly without the weaponry and probably in a fetching shade of midnight blue with the word 'Carabinieri' plastered all over it :
Does B know something I don't about what Babbo Natale is bringing me for Christmas, or could she have been commenting on my driving style?
Pic from Wikipedia with thanks.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Thursday, 4 December 2008
Reported conversations No. 10 : On music
A great big fat ZERO degrees at 9am. The day started bright and sunny and ended brooding, threatening more snow.
In the house on the hill, there are two schools of thought as regards music. M is a dyed-in-the-wool Led Zeppelin afficionado, and although Led Zeppelin formed part of the sountrack of her early formative years, Louise goes for something slightly more ... conservative. Louise would prefer Jessye Norman singing Strauss's Vier Letzte Lieder to Robert Plant singing about lemons. M likes to watch hoardes of 1930s tap dancers doing Trampled Underfoot in an extraordinary show of anachronistic synchopation, while Louise likes to get all meditative to Rachmaninoff's Vespers.
Louise gets to hear her kind of music only when everyone else has decamped to a different country, and M gets to hear his only if he promises to do the washing up at the same time.
A couple of evenings ago, M-in-Marigolds was running the gamut of YouTube's vast collection of Plant and Page bootleg videos, when B toddled into the kitchen for a bedtime kiss.
B (in toddler German) : Pappi, what's that?
M (in high German) : That's music.
B (in very emphatic toddler German, and wagging a wise toddler finger) : Nein, Pappi, das nicht musik.
I rest my case.
In the house on the hill, there are two schools of thought as regards music. M is a dyed-in-the-wool Led Zeppelin afficionado, and although Led Zeppelin formed part of the sountrack of her early formative years, Louise goes for something slightly more ... conservative. Louise would prefer Jessye Norman singing Strauss's Vier Letzte Lieder to Robert Plant singing about lemons. M likes to watch hoardes of 1930s tap dancers doing Trampled Underfoot in an extraordinary show of anachronistic synchopation, while Louise likes to get all meditative to Rachmaninoff's Vespers.
Louise gets to hear her kind of music only when everyone else has decamped to a different country, and M gets to hear his only if he promises to do the washing up at the same time.
A couple of evenings ago, M-in-Marigolds was running the gamut of YouTube's vast collection of Plant and Page bootleg videos, when B toddled into the kitchen for a bedtime kiss.
B (in toddler German) : Pappi, what's that?
M (in high German) : That's music.
B (in very emphatic toddler German, and wagging a wise toddler finger) : Nein, Pappi, das nicht musik.
I rest my case.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
Book Notes No. 19 : Heart of Ice, Alys Clare
One degree at 9am. Bright sunshine, frost and a thin layer of ice waiting to topple us onto our butts whenever our attention wanders from the path to the view. There's also a wind that makes us feel much colder.
The other day I was delighted to discover that a stationer's on Cannobio's lungolago has given over a small amount of space to books. Cannobio desperately, but desperately, needs a proper bookshop. Italian, German and English (the last just for me, who could happily keep a whole shop in business). This is a good start in Italian books, and it even has a few shelf inches devoted to German and English titles (mostly of the Dan Brown variety). There I found Alys Clare's novel, and happily carried it home for some light reading between sneezes.
I settled down by the woodburner, feet up, glass in hand. I started to read. I liked the easy style, the early pages enticed me into the story, and the characters leapt from the page as characters of this sort are paid to do.
Oh damn.
A few pages in I discovered that this book is one in a series and the author was busy recapping on a previous book (or perhaps, books). Don't you just hate that? What do you do when that happens? Stop reading until you've acquired the earlier book(s) in the series? For me, I suspect this would be far more complicated than a quick jaunt down to the lungolago, and might even entail a fairly long wait at Carmine's unofficial post office at the foot of the hill for an Amazon parcel.
Oh, but I was so comfortable there with the brats abed, the stove singing, the cat snoring and the wine going down most satisfactorily. So I read on, spoiling earlier books, but loving this one.
Here's the blurb :
In February 1194 a young man brings plague to Hawkenlye Abbey. He dies within spitting distance, but not of the sickness...Abbess Helewise and her friend Sir Josse d'Acquin take off in hot pursuit of the murderer while the number of plague victims rises...
It's a good read. Ellis Peters meets Marion Zimmer Bradley. Medieval murder mystery meets mystical pagans in the enchanted forest. It's not at all what you might call a challenging read, but sometimes you just gotta give yourself a break while no-one's looking. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
And there are a further nine Hawkenlye books to read. I'll let you know what order to read them in as soon as Hodder answer my fireside email.
The other day I was delighted to discover that a stationer's on Cannobio's lungolago has given over a small amount of space to books. Cannobio desperately, but desperately, needs a proper bookshop. Italian, German and English (the last just for me, who could happily keep a whole shop in business). This is a good start in Italian books, and it even has a few shelf inches devoted to German and English titles (mostly of the Dan Brown variety). There I found Alys Clare's novel, and happily carried it home for some light reading between sneezes. I settled down by the woodburner, feet up, glass in hand. I started to read. I liked the easy style, the early pages enticed me into the story, and the characters leapt from the page as characters of this sort are paid to do.
Oh damn.
A few pages in I discovered that this book is one in a series and the author was busy recapping on a previous book (or perhaps, books). Don't you just hate that? What do you do when that happens? Stop reading until you've acquired the earlier book(s) in the series? For me, I suspect this would be far more complicated than a quick jaunt down to the lungolago, and might even entail a fairly long wait at Carmine's unofficial post office at the foot of the hill for an Amazon parcel.
Oh, but I was so comfortable there with the brats abed, the stove singing, the cat snoring and the wine going down most satisfactorily. So I read on, spoiling earlier books, but loving this one.
Here's the blurb :
In February 1194 a young man brings plague to Hawkenlye Abbey. He dies within spitting distance, but not of the sickness...Abbess Helewise and her friend Sir Josse d'Acquin take off in hot pursuit of the murderer while the number of plague victims rises...
It's a good read. Ellis Peters meets Marion Zimmer Bradley. Medieval murder mystery meets mystical pagans in the enchanted forest. It's not at all what you might call a challenging read, but sometimes you just gotta give yourself a break while no-one's looking. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
And there are a further nine Hawkenlye books to read. I'll let you know what order to read them in as soon as Hodder answer my fireside email.
Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007, 2008. All rights reserved. Please ask first.
Monday, 1 December 2008
Weather report
Two degrees at 9am and raining pretty hard. The mulattiera, covered with autumm leaves, is booby-trapped with pools ankle-deep. Sant'Agata, on the hillside 100 m or so above Cannobio is Christmas-card kitsch with snow. There's no bad-weather muttering now among Cannobio's population. Just a twinkle, and a philosophical, "that's winter!".
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