Carmine Superiore shimmers like a mirage
in thirty degrees of heat haze.
in thirty degrees of heat haze.
Friday, 31 July 2009
In the heat of the afternoon
A hot and sultry kind of day with a cracking storm this morning, followed by fairly heavy intermittent showers.
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Summertime...
Hot and sunny once again. 27° at 4pm as I dashed to Cannobio for emergency plumbing supplies (when will this house ever be finished?).
Summer is coming along nicely, with hordes of children dashing about the place - today with homemade bows and arrows. And more arriving on Saturday... I think we're on track for another Enid Blyton Summer.
Summer is coming along nicely, with hordes of children dashing about the place - today with homemade bows and arrows. And more arriving on Saturday... I think we're on track for another Enid Blyton Summer.
Monday, 27 July 2009
Nonio and other sights
Weather continuing hot, dry and bright.
Yesterday, we threw our knapsacks on our backs ("val-deri, val-dera...") and headed off early to the small village of Nonio, on the western bank of the pretty Lago d'Orta.
Expect steep and narrow roads, a place announcing itself as the "village of cats" (although we saw not a single one as Pandissima chugged through in second), and if you're lucky, a magical sighting through the trees of a crone in a blue shawl watching her goats in the dappled sunlight.
Here, at the Località Laghetti, we found man-made fishing lakes, a refugio serving food and drinks, walking routes leading into the quiet of the mountains, and a large number of chappies making lots of noise with guns.
Lunch was in the picturesque town of Omegna, at the northernmost tip of Lago d'Orta, and our afternoon devotions took place back in Carmine, at the S. Messa for the Festa della Madonna del Carmelo. The beaming faces of so many friends and neighbours was a heartening sight.
Our evening meal was attended by terrifyingly large numbers of children, small and a bit bigger, leaving the "play" room looking like a bomb site...
Yesterday, we threw our knapsacks on our backs ("val-deri, val-dera...") and headed off early to the small village of Nonio, on the western bank of the pretty Lago d'Orta.Expect steep and narrow roads, a place announcing itself as the "village of cats" (although we saw not a single one as Pandissima chugged through in second), and if you're lucky, a magical sighting through the trees of a crone in a blue shawl watching her goats in the dappled sunlight.
Here, at the Località Laghetti, we found man-made fishing lakes, a refugio serving food and drinks, walking routes leading into the quiet of the mountains, and a large number of chappies making lots of noise with guns.
Lunch was in the picturesque town of Omegna, at the northernmost tip of Lago d'Orta, and our afternoon devotions took place back in Carmine, at the S. Messa for the Festa della Madonna del Carmelo. The beaming faces of so many friends and neighbours was a heartening sight.
Our evening meal was attended by terrifyingly large numbers of children, small and a bit bigger, leaving the "play" room looking like a bomb site...
Saturday, 25 July 2009
Quote of the week No. 25 : Love thy neighbour...
Bright, but after yesterday evening's storm, it's close-the-doors windy. And there's a very handsome stray hunting dog lying disconsolate at my side as I work, waiting to be reunited with his chums (who, in his absence, have managed to bag a 100-kilo wild boar this morning not too far from Carmine...).
Eric Hoffer, (1902-1983), American writer and philosopher :
"The remarkable thing is that we really love our neighbors as ourselves: we do unto others as we do unto ourselves. We hate others when we hate ourselves. We are tolerant of others when we tolerate ourselves. We forgive others when we forgive ourselves. We are prone to sacrifice others when we are ready to sacrifice ourselves..."
Eric Hoffer, (1902-1983), American writer and philosopher :
"The remarkable thing is that we really love our neighbors as ourselves: we do unto others as we do unto ourselves. We hate others when we hate ourselves. We are tolerant of others when we tolerate ourselves. We forgive others when we forgive ourselves. We are prone to sacrifice others when we are ready to sacrifice ourselves..."
Friday, 24 July 2009
Sensing Carmine
Hot and sunny. Summer holidays in full swing, although for some reason Mama this afternoon finds herself chained to her desk and working - now how the hell did that happen?!
In my eyes, shady greens, greys and browns. Spots of red, pink and white. Luminous sky. Muted fresco colours.
In my nose, chiesa dust, wax for the pews, decades-old laundry smells from the vestments drawer, locked there by the hands of predecessor women who've now left us. Then mossy dankness by the old river-fed wash-tub where we go to get cool.
In my ears, the streams babbling, a boat way on down across the lake, cats squabbling, tourists gossiping, children calling, cockerel crowing.
In my mouth, taste of homegrown tomatoes and basil. Fresh white bread, pickled garden cucumbers, grana padano and sweet gorgonzola.
Under my fingers, grey stone warm outdoors cool indoors, perfect white linen and handmade church lace, sleek cat-fur, soft-smooth child skin. And the striated wood of my old desk.
Nice to be home.
In my eyes, shady greens, greys and browns. Spots of red, pink and white. Luminous sky. Muted fresco colours.
In my nose, chiesa dust, wax for the pews, decades-old laundry smells from the vestments drawer, locked there by the hands of predecessor women who've now left us. Then mossy dankness by the old river-fed wash-tub where we go to get cool.
In my ears, the streams babbling, a boat way on down across the lake, cats squabbling, tourists gossiping, children calling, cockerel crowing.
In my mouth, taste of homegrown tomatoes and basil. Fresh white bread, pickled garden cucumbers, grana padano and sweet gorgonzola.
Under my fingers, grey stone warm outdoors cool indoors, perfect white linen and handmade church lace, sleek cat-fur, soft-smooth child skin. And the striated wood of my old desk.
Nice to be home.
Thursday, 23 July 2009
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Monday, 20 July 2009
Sunday, 19 July 2009
Saturday, 18 July 2009
Recession depression
Rain driving across the car park. Wind whipping through the underpass. Dirty cotton wool clouds sagging overhead. Oily puddles underfoot.
Traffic noise. TV noise. Spy 'copter ever over head. Planes on the flightpath. Mothers on the warpath.
Grubby teens. Fags and chips. Plastic shoes and plastic bags. Bad haircut, palette-knife make-up, gory lipstick. Eyebrow studs like boils. Nose studs like zits. Tattoos like tidemarks, regretted soonest. No-one cares stubble. Middle-age spread 'n' bee-ohh. Scuffed white stilletos. Dirty sandal toenails.
Chewing gum pavements. Broken glass and swirling trash. Paint peeling. Plaster flaking. Dirty windows, landfill gardens. Dog dirt gutters. Crowds of stinking wheelie bins.
New shops empty. Old shops abandoned. Summer sale. Massive sale. Prices slashed! Jobs slashed. Wrists slashed. Recession depression.
Grumbling pensioners. Missing-the-point politicians. Global warming. Swine 'flu. Deaths in Afghanistan. Bombs in Jakarta. Winning the Ashes. Losing out to China. Islamists, fascists, racists, terrorists. Closing hospitals. Failing schools.
Signs screaming. Minds screaming. No stopping. No entry.
No. Through. Road.
No. Way. Out.
Traffic noise. TV noise. Spy 'copter ever over head. Planes on the flightpath. Mothers on the warpath.
Grubby teens. Fags and chips. Plastic shoes and plastic bags. Bad haircut, palette-knife make-up, gory lipstick. Eyebrow studs like boils. Nose studs like zits. Tattoos like tidemarks, regretted soonest. No-one cares stubble. Middle-age spread 'n' bee-ohh. Scuffed white stilletos. Dirty sandal toenails.
Chewing gum pavements. Broken glass and swirling trash. Paint peeling. Plaster flaking. Dirty windows, landfill gardens. Dog dirt gutters. Crowds of stinking wheelie bins.
New shops empty. Old shops abandoned. Summer sale. Massive sale. Prices slashed! Jobs slashed. Wrists slashed. Recession depression.
Grumbling pensioners. Missing-the-point politicians. Global warming. Swine 'flu. Deaths in Afghanistan. Bombs in Jakarta. Winning the Ashes. Losing out to China. Islamists, fascists, racists, terrorists. Closing hospitals. Failing schools.
Signs screaming. Minds screaming. No stopping. No entry.
No. Through. Road.
No. Way. Out.
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
'Nostalgia'
When B. was born, M. brought me roses. Later, I tried to find the same rose to plant in the garden as a tribute to our little Principessa. 'Nostalgia' was the closest I got.
Happy birthday, B.
Monday, 13 July 2009
And now for the weather...
Weather forecast for the next fortnight, as found on an official meteorological website :
"During this forecast period we can expect rather changeable and unsettled weather to continue with areas of low pressure over or close to [your chosen holiday destination]. Some wet days then with spells of rain spreading from the west or southwest across all areas, the heaviest rain probably in the west and northwest. But in between the wetter days, some sunshine but also showers, and on some of those days the showers will be heavy with hail and thunder and localised torrential downpours. Highest temperatures in the south and east and here they will be above normal at times but elsewhere temperatures will be generally close to normal. Later in this period it may become generally drier in the south and east."
Is there space to pack me scuba gear...?
"During this forecast period we can expect rather changeable and unsettled weather to continue with areas of low pressure over or close to [your chosen holiday destination]. Some wet days then with spells of rain spreading from the west or southwest across all areas, the heaviest rain probably in the west and northwest. But in between the wetter days, some sunshine but also showers, and on some of those days the showers will be heavy with hail and thunder and localised torrential downpours. Highest temperatures in the south and east and here they will be above normal at times but elsewhere temperatures will be generally close to normal. Later in this period it may become generally drier in the south and east."
Is there space to pack me scuba gear...?
Saturday, 11 July 2009
Carmine between the wars
As Carmine starts to fill up with its summer population, the weather remains cool morning and evening, but hot during the day. Perfect!
Two sketches of Carmine made by a German visitor in 1927. They were discovered at an auction house in Germany, and now they're back where they started out - in Carmine!
Friday, 10 July 2009
Quote of the week No. 24 : Advice to writers
Chilly this morning, but the clear skies with only slight whisps of cloud promise another hot day.
"Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot."
It just has to be... DH Lawrence (1885-1930), English writer, whom EM Forster hailed as "the greatest imaginative novelist of our generation", and whose most (in)famous themes included sexuality, homosexuality, emotional spontaneity and human instinct. HIs most famous novel, Lady Chatterley's Lover, was banned on publication in 1928, but was published in Italy and in France. In 1960 it was finally published (by Penguin) in the UK, following a 6-day trial for obscenity, and the first run of 200,000 copies was sold out within the week amid scenes of bedlam in bookshops.
These days we're so jaded that only children's books elicit such a response from the reading public.
Thursday, 9 July 2009
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Motherhood means...No.14
With last night's full moon, the weather has changed dramatically. Cooler (much), and cloudy.
Motherhood means... knowing that you're over the worst when the T-shirts come back as immaculate as they went out...
[Or perhaps yesterday was just a fluke...]
Motherhood means... knowing that you're over the worst when the T-shirts come back as immaculate as they went out...
[Or perhaps yesterday was just a fluke...]
Monday, 6 July 2009
B. goes to the beach
Twenty-eight degrees at mezzogiorno. Azure skies and a life-saving breeze.
More summertime photos by B. (aged not-quite-three) :
More summertime photos by B. (aged not-quite-three) :
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Saturday, 4 July 2009
A gift for Friday evening...
Last night, a rainbow brought the children howling out of the house in ecstasies.
And we sat in the churchyard under its great arch telling the story of Noah and his Ark. We imagined him sailing on the lake with all the animals aboard, finally grounding on one of the mountains of Lombardy. And we wondered how long it took the zebras and the giraffes to get back to Africa, the tigers to India, the kangaroos to Australia and the limas to Peru. And why the lion didn't eat the lamb, or the fox gobble up the chickens.
By the time we had finished, the sign of God's promise to Noah had shimmered out of existence and a silvery moon was shining in the sky.
And a little somebody was fast asleep.
Friday, 3 July 2009
Are they talking about me?
Weather ditto yesterday, although I'm sure it will start raining as soon as the first of our summer houseguests arrive...
Perhaps she's simply aware she is the subject of the conversation and is straining her burning ears trying to hear what's being said about her.
Perhaps she is a mere bystander, eavesdropper on the pivotal conversation taking place among the men.
Perhaps there is no connection, and her purpose is solely to draw the eye to something happening further to the left, now lost in the plaster dust of centuries.
And there must be layers and layers of thought and meaning here. Not meant by the fresco's creator(s), but still there. The Christian meaning of this episode in San Bartolomeo's story (1st century AD). The experience in the face of the model as she posed for the piece. The intention of the 15th-century Lombard who crossed the lake to paint the fresco. Even some brushstrokes from the 21st-century restorer in her white overalls. And, of course, the meaning I as the viewer bring to bear whenever I catch her eye.
For me, this figure is the epitomy of paranoia, poor thing. Every half-word she overhears she interprets as being about herself. She exists suspended in neverending uncertainty - friend or enemy? Well-wisher or betrayer? Ally or detractor? Every offhand word a veiled criticism. Every silence an accusation. For her, "hell is other people", and that hell exists within herself, isolating her from everyone around her, even those who seek to be her friend.
So what is she saying to you?
Life of San Bartolomeo, detail
Chiesa di San Gottardo, Carmine Superiore
I'm always interested in characters in frescos that look directly out at me. Those figures that seek eye contact, as if they want to communicate something important. And in our little church this particular woman always catches my eye, and I immediately fall into imagining what is happening in this fragment. The woman on the edge of what seems to be a group at the left seems to know something is happening behind her back, but what? And how does she feel about it?
Perhaps she has been causing trouble, and the man in the centre of the group to the right, perhaps her husband, is placating irate neighbours.
Perhaps she's simply aware she is the subject of the conversation and is straining her burning ears trying to hear what's being said about her.
Perhaps she is a mere bystander, eavesdropper on the pivotal conversation taking place among the men.
Perhaps there is no connection, and her purpose is solely to draw the eye to something happening further to the left, now lost in the plaster dust of centuries.
And there must be layers and layers of thought and meaning here. Not meant by the fresco's creator(s), but still there. The Christian meaning of this episode in San Bartolomeo's story (1st century AD). The experience in the face of the model as she posed for the piece. The intention of the 15th-century Lombard who crossed the lake to paint the fresco. Even some brushstrokes from the 21st-century restorer in her white overalls. And, of course, the meaning I as the viewer bring to bear whenever I catch her eye.
For me, this figure is the epitomy of paranoia, poor thing. Every half-word she overhears she interprets as being about herself. She exists suspended in neverending uncertainty - friend or enemy? Well-wisher or betrayer? Ally or detractor? Every offhand word a veiled criticism. Every silence an accusation. For her, "hell is other people", and that hell exists within herself, isolating her from everyone around her, even those who seek to be her friend.
So what is she saying to you?
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Deadline, what deadline?
Temperature yesterday above 30°, and looks like the same today. Let's hope there will also be another cracking thunderstorm to amuse the kids and water the garden.
Oh my God, whaddya mean 30th June was last Tuesday? Crikey, now we're for it! Quick, dash off an email...
"Dear Overworked Commissioning Editor Somewhere in England's Green and Leafy Intellectual Heartland, I do hope you are well, and that you are on holiday at your retreat in Normandy, your copy-ed is on emergency maternity leave and/or the typesetters are on strike (delete as appropriate)... rewriting, blah, blah, blah... improvements... new ideas, blah, blah... bestseller... extension... grovelling... grateful... relieved..."
As Douglas Adams wrote, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." And now come to think of it there has been a strange noise, like the beating of angel's wings, every time I walk past the study with an armful of plastic robots/craft materials/ironing/cats/buckshee nappies/empty ice lolly makers...
Better get on and finish The Book.
Oh my God, whaddya mean 30th June was last Tuesday? Crikey, now we're for it! Quick, dash off an email...
"Dear Overworked Commissioning Editor Somewhere in England's Green and Leafy Intellectual Heartland, I do hope you are well, and that you are on holiday at your retreat in Normandy, your copy-ed is on emergency maternity leave and/or the typesetters are on strike (delete as appropriate)... rewriting, blah, blah, blah... improvements... new ideas, blah, blah... bestseller... extension... grovelling... grateful... relieved..."
As Douglas Adams wrote, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." And now come to think of it there has been a strange noise, like the beating of angel's wings, every time I walk past the study with an armful of plastic robots/craft materials/ironing/cats/buckshee nappies/empty ice lolly makers...
Better get on and finish The Book.
And while I'm doing that...why don't you check out The Raisin Chronicles. All I can say is "Sweden's Got Talent"...
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
The backyard swimming pool - Carmine style
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Friday, 31 July 2009
In the heat of the afternoon
A hot and sultry kind of day with a cracking storm this morning, followed by fairly heavy intermittent showers.
Carmine Superiore shimmers like a mirage
in thirty degrees of heat haze.
in thirty degrees of heat haze.
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Summertime...
Hot and sunny once again. 27° at 4pm as I dashed to Cannobio for emergency plumbing supplies (when will this house ever be finished?).
Summer is coming along nicely, with hordes of children dashing about the place - today with homemade bows and arrows. And more arriving on Saturday... I think we're on track for another Enid Blyton Summer.
Summer is coming along nicely, with hordes of children dashing about the place - today with homemade bows and arrows. And more arriving on Saturday... I think we're on track for another Enid Blyton Summer.
Monday, 27 July 2009
Nonio and other sights
Weather continuing hot, dry and bright.
Yesterday, we threw our knapsacks on our backs ("val-deri, val-dera...") and headed off early to the small village of Nonio, on the western bank of the pretty Lago d'Orta.
Expect steep and narrow roads, a place announcing itself as the "village of cats" (although we saw not a single one as Pandissima chugged through in second), and if you're lucky, a magical sighting through the trees of a crone in a blue shawl watching her goats in the dappled sunlight.
Here, at the Località Laghetti, we found man-made fishing lakes, a refugio serving food and drinks, walking routes leading into the quiet of the mountains, and a large number of chappies making lots of noise with guns.
Lunch was in the picturesque town of Omegna, at the northernmost tip of Lago d'Orta, and our afternoon devotions took place back in Carmine, at the S. Messa for the Festa della Madonna del Carmelo. The beaming faces of so many friends and neighbours was a heartening sight.
Our evening meal was attended by terrifyingly large numbers of children, small and a bit bigger, leaving the "play" room looking like a bomb site...
Yesterday, we threw our knapsacks on our backs ("val-deri, val-dera...") and headed off early to the small village of Nonio, on the western bank of the pretty Lago d'Orta.Expect steep and narrow roads, a place announcing itself as the "village of cats" (although we saw not a single one as Pandissima chugged through in second), and if you're lucky, a magical sighting through the trees of a crone in a blue shawl watching her goats in the dappled sunlight.
Here, at the Località Laghetti, we found man-made fishing lakes, a refugio serving food and drinks, walking routes leading into the quiet of the mountains, and a large number of chappies making lots of noise with guns.
Lunch was in the picturesque town of Omegna, at the northernmost tip of Lago d'Orta, and our afternoon devotions took place back in Carmine, at the S. Messa for the Festa della Madonna del Carmelo. The beaming faces of so many friends and neighbours was a heartening sight.
Our evening meal was attended by terrifyingly large numbers of children, small and a bit bigger, leaving the "play" room looking like a bomb site...
Saturday, 25 July 2009
Quote of the week No. 25 : Love thy neighbour...
Bright, but after yesterday evening's storm, it's close-the-doors windy. And there's a very handsome stray hunting dog lying disconsolate at my side as I work, waiting to be reunited with his chums (who, in his absence, have managed to bag a 100-kilo wild boar this morning not too far from Carmine...).
Eric Hoffer, (1902-1983), American writer and philosopher :
"The remarkable thing is that we really love our neighbors as ourselves: we do unto others as we do unto ourselves. We hate others when we hate ourselves. We are tolerant of others when we tolerate ourselves. We forgive others when we forgive ourselves. We are prone to sacrifice others when we are ready to sacrifice ourselves..."
Eric Hoffer, (1902-1983), American writer and philosopher :
"The remarkable thing is that we really love our neighbors as ourselves: we do unto others as we do unto ourselves. We hate others when we hate ourselves. We are tolerant of others when we tolerate ourselves. We forgive others when we forgive ourselves. We are prone to sacrifice others when we are ready to sacrifice ourselves..."
Friday, 24 July 2009
Sensing Carmine
Hot and sunny. Summer holidays in full swing, although for some reason Mama this afternoon finds herself chained to her desk and working - now how the hell did that happen?!
In my eyes, shady greens, greys and browns. Spots of red, pink and white. Luminous sky. Muted fresco colours.
In my nose, chiesa dust, wax for the pews, decades-old laundry smells from the vestments drawer, locked there by the hands of predecessor women who've now left us. Then mossy dankness by the old river-fed wash-tub where we go to get cool.
In my ears, the streams babbling, a boat way on down across the lake, cats squabbling, tourists gossiping, children calling, cockerel crowing.
In my mouth, taste of homegrown tomatoes and basil. Fresh white bread, pickled garden cucumbers, grana padano and sweet gorgonzola.
Under my fingers, grey stone warm outdoors cool indoors, perfect white linen and handmade church lace, sleek cat-fur, soft-smooth child skin. And the striated wood of my old desk.
Nice to be home.
In my eyes, shady greens, greys and browns. Spots of red, pink and white. Luminous sky. Muted fresco colours.
In my nose, chiesa dust, wax for the pews, decades-old laundry smells from the vestments drawer, locked there by the hands of predecessor women who've now left us. Then mossy dankness by the old river-fed wash-tub where we go to get cool.
In my ears, the streams babbling, a boat way on down across the lake, cats squabbling, tourists gossiping, children calling, cockerel crowing.
In my mouth, taste of homegrown tomatoes and basil. Fresh white bread, pickled garden cucumbers, grana padano and sweet gorgonzola.
Under my fingers, grey stone warm outdoors cool indoors, perfect white linen and handmade church lace, sleek cat-fur, soft-smooth child skin. And the striated wood of my old desk.
Nice to be home.
Thursday, 23 July 2009
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Monday, 20 July 2009
Sunday, 19 July 2009
Saturday, 18 July 2009
Recession depression
Rain driving across the car park. Wind whipping through the underpass. Dirty cotton wool clouds sagging overhead. Oily puddles underfoot.
Traffic noise. TV noise. Spy 'copter ever over head. Planes on the flightpath. Mothers on the warpath.
Grubby teens. Fags and chips. Plastic shoes and plastic bags. Bad haircut, palette-knife make-up, gory lipstick. Eyebrow studs like boils. Nose studs like zits. Tattoos like tidemarks, regretted soonest. No-one cares stubble. Middle-age spread 'n' bee-ohh. Scuffed white stilletos. Dirty sandal toenails.
Chewing gum pavements. Broken glass and swirling trash. Paint peeling. Plaster flaking. Dirty windows, landfill gardens. Dog dirt gutters. Crowds of stinking wheelie bins.
New shops empty. Old shops abandoned. Summer sale. Massive sale. Prices slashed! Jobs slashed. Wrists slashed. Recession depression.
Grumbling pensioners. Missing-the-point politicians. Global warming. Swine 'flu. Deaths in Afghanistan. Bombs in Jakarta. Winning the Ashes. Losing out to China. Islamists, fascists, racists, terrorists. Closing hospitals. Failing schools.
Signs screaming. Minds screaming. No stopping. No entry.
No. Through. Road.
No. Way. Out.
Traffic noise. TV noise. Spy 'copter ever over head. Planes on the flightpath. Mothers on the warpath.
Grubby teens. Fags and chips. Plastic shoes and plastic bags. Bad haircut, palette-knife make-up, gory lipstick. Eyebrow studs like boils. Nose studs like zits. Tattoos like tidemarks, regretted soonest. No-one cares stubble. Middle-age spread 'n' bee-ohh. Scuffed white stilletos. Dirty sandal toenails.
Chewing gum pavements. Broken glass and swirling trash. Paint peeling. Plaster flaking. Dirty windows, landfill gardens. Dog dirt gutters. Crowds of stinking wheelie bins.
New shops empty. Old shops abandoned. Summer sale. Massive sale. Prices slashed! Jobs slashed. Wrists slashed. Recession depression.
Grumbling pensioners. Missing-the-point politicians. Global warming. Swine 'flu. Deaths in Afghanistan. Bombs in Jakarta. Winning the Ashes. Losing out to China. Islamists, fascists, racists, terrorists. Closing hospitals. Failing schools.
Signs screaming. Minds screaming. No stopping. No entry.
No. Through. Road.
No. Way. Out.
Wednesday, 15 July 2009
'Nostalgia'
When B. was born, M. brought me roses. Later, I tried to find the same rose to plant in the garden as a tribute to our little Principessa. 'Nostalgia' was the closest I got.
Happy birthday, B.
Monday, 13 July 2009
And now for the weather...
Weather forecast for the next fortnight, as found on an official meteorological website :
"During this forecast period we can expect rather changeable and unsettled weather to continue with areas of low pressure over or close to [your chosen holiday destination]. Some wet days then with spells of rain spreading from the west or southwest across all areas, the heaviest rain probably in the west and northwest. But in between the wetter days, some sunshine but also showers, and on some of those days the showers will be heavy with hail and thunder and localised torrential downpours. Highest temperatures in the south and east and here they will be above normal at times but elsewhere temperatures will be generally close to normal. Later in this period it may become generally drier in the south and east."
Is there space to pack me scuba gear...?
"During this forecast period we can expect rather changeable and unsettled weather to continue with areas of low pressure over or close to [your chosen holiday destination]. Some wet days then with spells of rain spreading from the west or southwest across all areas, the heaviest rain probably in the west and northwest. But in between the wetter days, some sunshine but also showers, and on some of those days the showers will be heavy with hail and thunder and localised torrential downpours. Highest temperatures in the south and east and here they will be above normal at times but elsewhere temperatures will be generally close to normal. Later in this period it may become generally drier in the south and east."
Is there space to pack me scuba gear...?
Saturday, 11 July 2009
Carmine between the wars
As Carmine starts to fill up with its summer population, the weather remains cool morning and evening, but hot during the day. Perfect!
Two sketches of Carmine made by a German visitor in 1927. They were discovered at an auction house in Germany, and now they're back where they started out - in Carmine!
Friday, 10 July 2009
Quote of the week No. 24 : Advice to writers
Chilly this morning, but the clear skies with only slight whisps of cloud promise another hot day.
"Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you've got to say, and say it hot."
It just has to be... DH Lawrence (1885-1930), English writer, whom EM Forster hailed as "the greatest imaginative novelist of our generation", and whose most (in)famous themes included sexuality, homosexuality, emotional spontaneity and human instinct. HIs most famous novel, Lady Chatterley's Lover, was banned on publication in 1928, but was published in Italy and in France. In 1960 it was finally published (by Penguin) in the UK, following a 6-day trial for obscenity, and the first run of 200,000 copies was sold out within the week amid scenes of bedlam in bookshops.
These days we're so jaded that only children's books elicit such a response from the reading public.
Thursday, 9 July 2009
Tuesday, 7 July 2009
Motherhood means...No.14
With last night's full moon, the weather has changed dramatically. Cooler (much), and cloudy.
Motherhood means... knowing that you're over the worst when the T-shirts come back as immaculate as they went out...
[Or perhaps yesterday was just a fluke...]
Motherhood means... knowing that you're over the worst when the T-shirts come back as immaculate as they went out...
[Or perhaps yesterday was just a fluke...]
Monday, 6 July 2009
B. goes to the beach
Twenty-eight degrees at mezzogiorno. Azure skies and a life-saving breeze.
More summertime photos by B. (aged not-quite-three) :
More summertime photos by B. (aged not-quite-three) :
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Saturday, 4 July 2009
A gift for Friday evening...
Last night, a rainbow brought the children howling out of the house in ecstasies.
And we sat in the churchyard under its great arch telling the story of Noah and his Ark. We imagined him sailing on the lake with all the animals aboard, finally grounding on one of the mountains of Lombardy. And we wondered how long it took the zebras and the giraffes to get back to Africa, the tigers to India, the kangaroos to Australia and the limas to Peru. And why the lion didn't eat the lamb, or the fox gobble up the chickens.
By the time we had finished, the sign of God's promise to Noah had shimmered out of existence and a silvery moon was shining in the sky.
And a little somebody was fast asleep.
Friday, 3 July 2009
Are they talking about me?
Weather ditto yesterday, although I'm sure it will start raining as soon as the first of our summer houseguests arrive...
Perhaps she's simply aware she is the subject of the conversation and is straining her burning ears trying to hear what's being said about her.
Perhaps she is a mere bystander, eavesdropper on the pivotal conversation taking place among the men.
Perhaps there is no connection, and her purpose is solely to draw the eye to something happening further to the left, now lost in the plaster dust of centuries.
And there must be layers and layers of thought and meaning here. Not meant by the fresco's creator(s), but still there. The Christian meaning of this episode in San Bartolomeo's story (1st century AD). The experience in the face of the model as she posed for the piece. The intention of the 15th-century Lombard who crossed the lake to paint the fresco. Even some brushstrokes from the 21st-century restorer in her white overalls. And, of course, the meaning I as the viewer bring to bear whenever I catch her eye.
For me, this figure is the epitomy of paranoia, poor thing. Every half-word she overhears she interprets as being about herself. She exists suspended in neverending uncertainty - friend or enemy? Well-wisher or betrayer? Ally or detractor? Every offhand word a veiled criticism. Every silence an accusation. For her, "hell is other people", and that hell exists within herself, isolating her from everyone around her, even those who seek to be her friend.
So what is she saying to you?
Life of San Bartolomeo, detail
Chiesa di San Gottardo, Carmine Superiore
I'm always interested in characters in frescos that look directly out at me. Those figures that seek eye contact, as if they want to communicate something important. And in our little church this particular woman always catches my eye, and I immediately fall into imagining what is happening in this fragment. The woman on the edge of what seems to be a group at the left seems to know something is happening behind her back, but what? And how does she feel about it?
Perhaps she has been causing trouble, and the man in the centre of the group to the right, perhaps her husband, is placating irate neighbours.
Perhaps she's simply aware she is the subject of the conversation and is straining her burning ears trying to hear what's being said about her.
Perhaps she is a mere bystander, eavesdropper on the pivotal conversation taking place among the men.
Perhaps there is no connection, and her purpose is solely to draw the eye to something happening further to the left, now lost in the plaster dust of centuries.
And there must be layers and layers of thought and meaning here. Not meant by the fresco's creator(s), but still there. The Christian meaning of this episode in San Bartolomeo's story (1st century AD). The experience in the face of the model as she posed for the piece. The intention of the 15th-century Lombard who crossed the lake to paint the fresco. Even some brushstrokes from the 21st-century restorer in her white overalls. And, of course, the meaning I as the viewer bring to bear whenever I catch her eye.
For me, this figure is the epitomy of paranoia, poor thing. Every half-word she overhears she interprets as being about herself. She exists suspended in neverending uncertainty - friend or enemy? Well-wisher or betrayer? Ally or detractor? Every offhand word a veiled criticism. Every silence an accusation. For her, "hell is other people", and that hell exists within herself, isolating her from everyone around her, even those who seek to be her friend.
So what is she saying to you?
Thursday, 2 July 2009
Deadline, what deadline?
Temperature yesterday above 30°, and looks like the same today. Let's hope there will also be another cracking thunderstorm to amuse the kids and water the garden.
Oh my God, whaddya mean 30th June was last Tuesday? Crikey, now we're for it! Quick, dash off an email...
"Dear Overworked Commissioning Editor Somewhere in England's Green and Leafy Intellectual Heartland, I do hope you are well, and that you are on holiday at your retreat in Normandy, your copy-ed is on emergency maternity leave and/or the typesetters are on strike (delete as appropriate)... rewriting, blah, blah, blah... improvements... new ideas, blah, blah... bestseller... extension... grovelling... grateful... relieved..."
As Douglas Adams wrote, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." And now come to think of it there has been a strange noise, like the beating of angel's wings, every time I walk past the study with an armful of plastic robots/craft materials/ironing/cats/buckshee nappies/empty ice lolly makers...
Better get on and finish The Book.
Oh my God, whaddya mean 30th June was last Tuesday? Crikey, now we're for it! Quick, dash off an email...
"Dear Overworked Commissioning Editor Somewhere in England's Green and Leafy Intellectual Heartland, I do hope you are well, and that you are on holiday at your retreat in Normandy, your copy-ed is on emergency maternity leave and/or the typesetters are on strike (delete as appropriate)... rewriting, blah, blah, blah... improvements... new ideas, blah, blah... bestseller... extension... grovelling... grateful... relieved..."
As Douglas Adams wrote, "I love deadlines. I like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by." And now come to think of it there has been a strange noise, like the beating of angel's wings, every time I walk past the study with an armful of plastic robots/craft materials/ironing/cats/buckshee nappies/empty ice lolly makers...
Better get on and finish The Book.
And while I'm doing that...why don't you check out The Raisin Chronicles. All I can say is "Sweden's Got Talent"...
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
The backyard swimming pool - Carmine style
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)