Motherhood means ...
...cracking open a bottle of Albert Sounit's best crémant de Bourgogne to celebrate the extraordinary fact that in the entire house there is not a single item of ironing to be found!
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Thursday, 19 August 2010
Monday, 16 August 2010
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Our Lady of Luino
The graceful, golden Madonna that greets, with an all-enveloping gesture of welcome, those arriving at Luino's picturesque harbour.
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Dawn raid
Sultry, about 20° with a sky loaded with layers of dirty wadded cotton-wool.
Woken this morning at dawn by a riot in the chicken coop. Not only the usual morning cacophany of seven juvenile cockerels and a big guy, but also the bell-like call of distress and the cackling of panic.
Jumped out of bed, sending a surprising number of cats skittering (can they all be mine?). Bleary-eyed, I belted down three flights of stairs, out of the front door, and sprinted through the sleeping village. Then came the 500m uphill hop-skip-and-jump across the cobbles and the stepping stones to the coop. In PJs and bare feet.
There, as my eyes finally focused, I saw a large fox, shining gold in the morning sunlight and looking handsome as all get-out. He was pacing the perimeter fence dangerously.
Having lost one Chicken Licken to the chicken hawk the other day, I was glad to see Foxy Loxy off.
This time...
Image: The Fox of Highgate, linocut 38 x28 cm, Jazmin Velasco.
Jumped out of bed, sending a surprising number of cats skittering (can they all be mine?). Bleary-eyed, I belted down three flights of stairs, out of the front door, and sprinted through the sleeping village. Then came the 500m uphill hop-skip-and-jump across the cobbles and the stepping stones to the coop. In PJs and bare feet.
There, as my eyes finally focused, I saw a large fox, shining gold in the morning sunlight and looking handsome as all get-out. He was pacing the perimeter fence dangerously.
Having lost one Chicken Licken to the chicken hawk the other day, I was glad to see Foxy Loxy off.
This time...
Image: The Fox of Highgate, linocut 38 x28 cm, Jazmin Velasco.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
The pleasures of summer in Carmine No. 4
Abandoning our sensible hats and letting the sunshine wash over us like sparkling lake water.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Motherhood means ... No. 23
Motherhood means ... missing those mess-making, dead-raising, crazy-making little monsters when they're off practising their guttural accents on Oma, and their breast-stroke in the Rhine.
Mind you, there's something to be said for a tidy house, a quiet cemetery and a (relatively) sane Mama...
PS About 28°. Sky threatening rain.
Mind you, there's something to be said for a tidy house, a quiet cemetery and a (relatively) sane Mama...
PS About 28°. Sky threatening rain.
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
Saturday, 7 August 2010
When I grow up...
Hot, with bright sunshine sparkling on the lake.
When asked yesterday what she wanted to be when she grows up, my just-turned-4 principessa did not hesitate.
A housewife? No.
A ballerina? Not at all.
A singer? A jockey? A breeder of cats? A vet? Not in the least.
No.
My fragile little blossom wants to be...
Pippi Longstocking.
Yes. Pippi Longstocking.
"Why?" I asked, devastated that she does not have her sights set on being an astronaut, a diplomat, or at the very least a pop star...
Because Pippi has cool hair.
Because Pippi has freckles.
Because Pippi has a monkey for a friend and a horse to ride on. (I have to agree a horse would be helpful slogging up the hill with the shopping, the swimming kits and two tired brats - as long as I didn't have to carry the horse as well.)
Because Pippi is strong enough to throw nasty adults across the room. Because, like Huck Finn, Pippi lives on her own without having to eat all her lunch, clean her teeth or go to bed unless she wants to. And Pippi gets to climb trees...
...and flash her knickers...
On second thoughts -- it all sounds like it might be quite fun being Pippi Longstocking. Where do I send my CV?
When asked yesterday what she wanted to be when she grows up, my just-turned-4 principessa did not hesitate.
A housewife? No.
A ballerina? Not at all.
A singer? A jockey? A breeder of cats? A vet? Not in the least.
No.
My fragile little blossom wants to be...
Yes. Pippi Longstocking.
"Why?" I asked, devastated that she does not have her sights set on being an astronaut, a diplomat, or at the very least a pop star...
Because Pippi has cool hair.
Because Pippi has freckles.
Because Pippi is strong enough to throw nasty adults across the room. Because, like Huck Finn, Pippi lives on her own without having to eat all her lunch, clean her teeth or go to bed unless she wants to. And Pippi gets to climb trees...
...and flash her knickers...
On second thoughts -- it all sounds like it might be quite fun being Pippi Longstocking. Where do I send my CV?
Friday, 6 August 2010
The pleasures of summer in Carmine No. 2
Caprese salad with basil and tomatoes fresh from the garden.
PS
Today started decidedly cold, but after lunch things perked up and the sun is now beating down on the multiple clothes horses I have laden with newly-washed duvets and pillows.
PS
Today started decidedly cold, but after lunch things perked up and the sun is now beating down on the multiple clothes horses I have laden with newly-washed duvets and pillows.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
The pleasures of summer in Carmine No. 1
Walking in the woods, amid the intense green vibration of thousands of plants turning sunlight to food, along the ancient Roman road, under the overhanging craggy mountainside populated by hawks and mountain sheep.
And accompanied by companion, playmate, and source of endless mischief: Jakob! Lord of Misrule ...
And accompanied by companion, playmate, and source of endless mischief: Jakob! Lord of Misrule ...
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Peace-keeping in Carmine
After enough rain overnight to revive the wilters mentioned in yesterday's post, the day is warm and sunny.
In the house today we are close to all-out internecine thermo-nuclear war. Mama has her blue beret on and is about to wade in, big guns blazing. I fear all that will solve this diplomatic problem is a 20-ft wall topped with razor wire and an air-drop of jigsaw puzzles on both sides to keep the warring factions busy...
In the house today we are close to all-out internecine thermo-nuclear war. Mama has her blue beret on and is about to wade in, big guns blazing. I fear all that will solve this diplomatic problem is a 20-ft wall topped with razor wire and an air-drop of jigsaw puzzles on both sides to keep the warring factions busy...
Monday, 2 August 2010
First Monday in August
Warm and overcast. This morning I woke to the patter of tiny raindrops and the hope that it was enough to revive my wilting chilli peppers. But as soon as I hit the bathroom the sound was gone - perhaps it was all a nice dream...
Today is the first Monday in August, the month when all of Italian civilisation grinds slowly but surely to a halt. In Carmine Superiore, we conversely ascend to the height of the social season as each house bids welcome to its owners or to their guests, and our open-door policy brings chatty neighbours at all hours of the day and evening.
The garden is producing - if you can find anything amid the foot-high grass that I'm feeling just too chilled out to tackle (next year, next year). Tomatoes, aubergines, a second round of strawberries and roses, blueberries, blackberries, chilli peppers and zucchini. The lavender is all but over, but my excuse for not tidying it up and putting it into twee lacy bags is that there are still butterflies and bees hanging about (and I prefer hanging about reading).
The children - a multitudinous and ever-changing cast - have plenty to entertain them : sticks to sharpen into lethal weapons, trees to fall out of, siblings to scar for life, streams to damn, wildlife to catch and cage, cats to torture with love. Younger brothers shoot their older brothers with stones from improvised catapults, older brothers boost younger ones onto high walls overlooking dizzying drops in the hopes of doing away with them. Younger girls trip over bath towels made to serve as princess ballgowns, and the older ones huddle in corners trying to reconstitute lipsticks stolen from mother and then snapped in two. Morning and evening the joyous ring of children arguing, insulting one another, laying down the law and demanding justice, sounds through Carmine's streets and rattles Carmine's stones.
The holidays are here!
Today is the first Monday in August, the month when all of Italian civilisation grinds slowly but surely to a halt. In Carmine Superiore, we conversely ascend to the height of the social season as each house bids welcome to its owners or to their guests, and our open-door policy brings chatty neighbours at all hours of the day and evening.
The garden is producing - if you can find anything amid the foot-high grass that I'm feeling just too chilled out to tackle (next year, next year). Tomatoes, aubergines, a second round of strawberries and roses, blueberries, blackberries, chilli peppers and zucchini. The lavender is all but over, but my excuse for not tidying it up and putting it into twee lacy bags is that there are still butterflies and bees hanging about (and I prefer hanging about reading).
The children - a multitudinous and ever-changing cast - have plenty to entertain them : sticks to sharpen into lethal weapons, trees to fall out of, siblings to scar for life, streams to damn, wildlife to catch and cage, cats to torture with love. Younger brothers shoot their older brothers with stones from improvised catapults, older brothers boost younger ones onto high walls overlooking dizzying drops in the hopes of doing away with them. Younger girls trip over bath towels made to serve as princess ballgowns, and the older ones huddle in corners trying to reconstitute lipsticks stolen from mother and then snapped in two. Morning and evening the joyous ring of children arguing, insulting one another, laying down the law and demanding justice, sounds through Carmine's streets and rattles Carmine's stones.
The holidays are here!
Sunday, 1 August 2010
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Tuesday, 24 August 2010
Motherhood means ... No. 24
Motherhood means ...
...cracking open a bottle of Albert Sounit's best crémant de Bourgogne to celebrate the extraordinary fact that in the entire house there is not a single item of ironing to be found!
...cracking open a bottle of Albert Sounit's best crémant de Bourgogne to celebrate the extraordinary fact that in the entire house there is not a single item of ironing to be found!
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Thursday, 19 August 2010
Monday, 16 August 2010
Sunday, 15 August 2010
Our Lady of Luino
The graceful, golden Madonna that greets, with an all-enveloping gesture of welcome, those arriving at Luino's picturesque harbour.
Saturday, 14 August 2010
Dawn raid
Sultry, about 20° with a sky loaded with layers of dirty wadded cotton-wool.
Woken this morning at dawn by a riot in the chicken coop. Not only the usual morning cacophany of seven juvenile cockerels and a big guy, but also the bell-like call of distress and the cackling of panic.
Jumped out of bed, sending a surprising number of cats skittering (can they all be mine?). Bleary-eyed, I belted down three flights of stairs, out of the front door, and sprinted through the sleeping village. Then came the 500m uphill hop-skip-and-jump across the cobbles and the stepping stones to the coop. In PJs and bare feet.
There, as my eyes finally focused, I saw a large fox, shining gold in the morning sunlight and looking handsome as all get-out. He was pacing the perimeter fence dangerously.
Having lost one Chicken Licken to the chicken hawk the other day, I was glad to see Foxy Loxy off.
This time...
Image: The Fox of Highgate, linocut 38 x28 cm, Jazmin Velasco.
Jumped out of bed, sending a surprising number of cats skittering (can they all be mine?). Bleary-eyed, I belted down three flights of stairs, out of the front door, and sprinted through the sleeping village. Then came the 500m uphill hop-skip-and-jump across the cobbles and the stepping stones to the coop. In PJs and bare feet.
There, as my eyes finally focused, I saw a large fox, shining gold in the morning sunlight and looking handsome as all get-out. He was pacing the perimeter fence dangerously.
Having lost one Chicken Licken to the chicken hawk the other day, I was glad to see Foxy Loxy off.
This time...
Image: The Fox of Highgate, linocut 38 x28 cm, Jazmin Velasco.
Thursday, 12 August 2010
The pleasures of summer in Carmine No. 4
Abandoning our sensible hats and letting the sunshine wash over us like sparkling lake water.
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Motherhood means ... No. 23
Motherhood means ... missing those mess-making, dead-raising, crazy-making little monsters when they're off practising their guttural accents on Oma, and their breast-stroke in the Rhine.
Mind you, there's something to be said for a tidy house, a quiet cemetery and a (relatively) sane Mama...
PS About 28°. Sky threatening rain.
Mind you, there's something to be said for a tidy house, a quiet cemetery and a (relatively) sane Mama...
PS About 28°. Sky threatening rain.
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
Saturday, 7 August 2010
When I grow up...
Hot, with bright sunshine sparkling on the lake.
When asked yesterday what she wanted to be when she grows up, my just-turned-4 principessa did not hesitate.
A housewife? No.
A ballerina? Not at all.
A singer? A jockey? A breeder of cats? A vet? Not in the least.
No.
My fragile little blossom wants to be...
Pippi Longstocking.
Yes. Pippi Longstocking.
"Why?" I asked, devastated that she does not have her sights set on being an astronaut, a diplomat, or at the very least a pop star...
Because Pippi has cool hair.
Because Pippi has freckles.
Because Pippi has a monkey for a friend and a horse to ride on. (I have to agree a horse would be helpful slogging up the hill with the shopping, the swimming kits and two tired brats - as long as I didn't have to carry the horse as well.)
Because Pippi is strong enough to throw nasty adults across the room. Because, like Huck Finn, Pippi lives on her own without having to eat all her lunch, clean her teeth or go to bed unless she wants to. And Pippi gets to climb trees...
...and flash her knickers...
On second thoughts -- it all sounds like it might be quite fun being Pippi Longstocking. Where do I send my CV?
When asked yesterday what she wanted to be when she grows up, my just-turned-4 principessa did not hesitate.
A housewife? No.
A ballerina? Not at all.
A singer? A jockey? A breeder of cats? A vet? Not in the least.
No.
My fragile little blossom wants to be...
Yes. Pippi Longstocking.
"Why?" I asked, devastated that she does not have her sights set on being an astronaut, a diplomat, or at the very least a pop star...
Because Pippi has cool hair.
Because Pippi has freckles.
Because Pippi is strong enough to throw nasty adults across the room. Because, like Huck Finn, Pippi lives on her own without having to eat all her lunch, clean her teeth or go to bed unless she wants to. And Pippi gets to climb trees...
...and flash her knickers...
On second thoughts -- it all sounds like it might be quite fun being Pippi Longstocking. Where do I send my CV?
Friday, 6 August 2010
The pleasures of summer in Carmine No. 2
Caprese salad with basil and tomatoes fresh from the garden.
PS
Today started decidedly cold, but after lunch things perked up and the sun is now beating down on the multiple clothes horses I have laden with newly-washed duvets and pillows.
PS
Today started decidedly cold, but after lunch things perked up and the sun is now beating down on the multiple clothes horses I have laden with newly-washed duvets and pillows.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
Wednesday, 4 August 2010
The pleasures of summer in Carmine No. 1
Walking in the woods, amid the intense green vibration of thousands of plants turning sunlight to food, along the ancient Roman road, under the overhanging craggy mountainside populated by hawks and mountain sheep.
And accompanied by companion, playmate, and source of endless mischief: Jakob! Lord of Misrule ...
And accompanied by companion, playmate, and source of endless mischief: Jakob! Lord of Misrule ...
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Peace-keeping in Carmine
After enough rain overnight to revive the wilters mentioned in yesterday's post, the day is warm and sunny.
In the house today we are close to all-out internecine thermo-nuclear war. Mama has her blue beret on and is about to wade in, big guns blazing. I fear all that will solve this diplomatic problem is a 20-ft wall topped with razor wire and an air-drop of jigsaw puzzles on both sides to keep the warring factions busy...
In the house today we are close to all-out internecine thermo-nuclear war. Mama has her blue beret on and is about to wade in, big guns blazing. I fear all that will solve this diplomatic problem is a 20-ft wall topped with razor wire and an air-drop of jigsaw puzzles on both sides to keep the warring factions busy...
Monday, 2 August 2010
First Monday in August
Warm and overcast. This morning I woke to the patter of tiny raindrops and the hope that it was enough to revive my wilting chilli peppers. But as soon as I hit the bathroom the sound was gone - perhaps it was all a nice dream...
Today is the first Monday in August, the month when all of Italian civilisation grinds slowly but surely to a halt. In Carmine Superiore, we conversely ascend to the height of the social season as each house bids welcome to its owners or to their guests, and our open-door policy brings chatty neighbours at all hours of the day and evening.
The garden is producing - if you can find anything amid the foot-high grass that I'm feeling just too chilled out to tackle (next year, next year). Tomatoes, aubergines, a second round of strawberries and roses, blueberries, blackberries, chilli peppers and zucchini. The lavender is all but over, but my excuse for not tidying it up and putting it into twee lacy bags is that there are still butterflies and bees hanging about (and I prefer hanging about reading).
The children - a multitudinous and ever-changing cast - have plenty to entertain them : sticks to sharpen into lethal weapons, trees to fall out of, siblings to scar for life, streams to damn, wildlife to catch and cage, cats to torture with love. Younger brothers shoot their older brothers with stones from improvised catapults, older brothers boost younger ones onto high walls overlooking dizzying drops in the hopes of doing away with them. Younger girls trip over bath towels made to serve as princess ballgowns, and the older ones huddle in corners trying to reconstitute lipsticks stolen from mother and then snapped in two. Morning and evening the joyous ring of children arguing, insulting one another, laying down the law and demanding justice, sounds through Carmine's streets and rattles Carmine's stones.
The holidays are here!
Today is the first Monday in August, the month when all of Italian civilisation grinds slowly but surely to a halt. In Carmine Superiore, we conversely ascend to the height of the social season as each house bids welcome to its owners or to their guests, and our open-door policy brings chatty neighbours at all hours of the day and evening.
The garden is producing - if you can find anything amid the foot-high grass that I'm feeling just too chilled out to tackle (next year, next year). Tomatoes, aubergines, a second round of strawberries and roses, blueberries, blackberries, chilli peppers and zucchini. The lavender is all but over, but my excuse for not tidying it up and putting it into twee lacy bags is that there are still butterflies and bees hanging about (and I prefer hanging about reading).
The children - a multitudinous and ever-changing cast - have plenty to entertain them : sticks to sharpen into lethal weapons, trees to fall out of, siblings to scar for life, streams to damn, wildlife to catch and cage, cats to torture with love. Younger brothers shoot their older brothers with stones from improvised catapults, older brothers boost younger ones onto high walls overlooking dizzying drops in the hopes of doing away with them. Younger girls trip over bath towels made to serve as princess ballgowns, and the older ones huddle in corners trying to reconstitute lipsticks stolen from mother and then snapped in two. Morning and evening the joyous ring of children arguing, insulting one another, laying down the law and demanding justice, sounds through Carmine's streets and rattles Carmine's stones.
The holidays are here!
Sunday, 1 August 2010
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