Tuesday, 30 August 2011
Monday, 29 August 2011
The dawn breaks...
Seventeen degrees at 8am with a pleasing breeze and blue skies. A scorching 30° at three.
On June 16, 2011, Mama is sitting with a cold cup of tea at the kitchen table. The house is a chaos of toys, childrens' clothes and peanut husks. The dog's barking, the kids are trying to murder one another, the cats are mewing to be fed something palatable and the washing machine is lumbering its way towards a breakdown. Mama knows how it feels.
That was the first day of the 10-week summer holidays, 2011. The whole period had been planned with the precision of the world's first female field-marshal going into battle (obviously, with something to prove). A course here, a trip there, judicious use of treats, regular homework every day, and a leetle solo spa trip for Mama at the end of it all, just to recharge the batteries. On June 16, 2011 at 10am, it didn't seem as if it was going to work...
But we all survived, possibly despite the field-marshal's planning, to see this dawn break on the new term:
On June 16, 2011, Mama is sitting with a cold cup of tea at the kitchen table. The house is a chaos of toys, childrens' clothes and peanut husks. The dog's barking, the kids are trying to murder one another, the cats are mewing to be fed something palatable and the washing machine is lumbering its way towards a breakdown. Mama knows how it feels.
That was the first day of the 10-week summer holidays, 2011. The whole period had been planned with the precision of the world's first female field-marshal going into battle (obviously, with something to prove). A course here, a trip there, judicious use of treats, regular homework every day, and a leetle solo spa trip for Mama at the end of it all, just to recharge the batteries. On June 16, 2011 at 10am, it didn't seem as if it was going to work...
But we all survived, possibly despite the field-marshal's planning, to see this dawn break on the new term:
The summer ebbed and flowed about us. A hot June was followed by an astonishingly cold and wet July that did for the amateur tomato crop from Cannero to Brissago, but did better for the hard fruit that, as I write is ripening promisingly on the trees. August was hotter than usual, just to make up for July.
Holiday-makers came and went. Tidal waves of children pounded the cobbles. They insinuated themselves into seats at other people's lunch tables and learned how to pluck a chicken, make friends with feral cats, turn basil into pesto, spin linguini out of flour and eggs, and hit a tin can with a catapult at 30m.
Our little church was visited by ravening hordes of tourists, especially for the new Porte Aperte project, which we started this year. One enterprising 13-year-old, hearing that the tour was being given in English or Italian, but not German, spotted the gap in the market, wrote his own tour and in a couple of days earned a small fortune for the maintenance of the church. Bravo!
Today, though, Mama sighed a sigh of relief at 6:30am as she walked the dog, watched the dawn and gathered her wits. She felt a momentary pang of guilt as she looked forward to being child-free, to a good, long, tummy-taming walk in the woods, a peaceful hour weeding the garden, and the sight of the carpet minus a single peanut husk.
The pang soon went away.
Friday, 26 August 2011
C'est pas la lessive...
...c'est l'art.
Unexpected art installation in the charming French winemaking town of Arbois.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Quote of the week No. 49
"Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."
Pic: Val d'Err, Grigioni
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
Reported conversations No. 27: someone trying to tell me something
Mostly blue skies, with the land still damp from a brief but bombastic thunderstorm two nights ago. Thirty-three degrees at 3pm - a bit of a shock after the cool stone walls of Carmine Superiore.
Showing a group of visitors around the Chiesa di San Gottardo the other day, with the children close at my heels. A kind-looking German woman, ready to be charmed, asks in halting Italian: "And are these your grandchildren, dear?"
Ouch! Perhaps I should just give in gracefully and let the hairdresser low-light my grey out of existence after all? Then I could at least pretend I'm not old enough to be my kids' grandmother.
Later...
AJ cuddles Mama in the summer-sunshine garden. AJ pinches more than an inch and remarks: "Mama, you feel like a teddy bear".
Oh poop! Where are the bathroom scales? Too much pasta, polenta and parmiggiano, and not enough puff-puff up the hill. Soon-turning-50 panic settling in to a spot just above the spare tyre.
But then, just last evening...
The whole family is poring over a satirical cartoon in The Economist, and Pappa is trying to teach the children (and Mama, I suspect) something about debt, credit and the value of money in your pocket, when B. flicks to an ad on the back cover:
Pappa, interest piqued by a pair of long legs and some high-end luggage, asks: "Who's that?"
B., my 5 year-old angel, replies: "It's ... Mama!"
Showing a group of visitors around the Chiesa di San Gottardo the other day, with the children close at my heels. A kind-looking German woman, ready to be charmed, asks in halting Italian: "And are these your grandchildren, dear?"
Ouch! Perhaps I should just give in gracefully and let the hairdresser low-light my grey out of existence after all? Then I could at least pretend I'm not old enough to be my kids' grandmother.
Later...
AJ cuddles Mama in the summer-sunshine garden. AJ pinches more than an inch and remarks: "Mama, you feel like a teddy bear".
Oh poop! Where are the bathroom scales? Too much pasta, polenta and parmiggiano, and not enough puff-puff up the hill. Soon-turning-50 panic settling in to a spot just above the spare tyre.
But then, just last evening...
The whole family is poring over a satirical cartoon in The Economist, and Pappa is trying to teach the children (and Mama, I suspect) something about debt, credit and the value of money in your pocket, when B. flicks to an ad on the back cover:
Pappa, interest piqued by a pair of long legs and some high-end luggage, asks: "Who's that?"
B., my 5 year-old angel, replies: "It's ... Mama!"
Oh, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you! Now I know what daughters are for.
Thursday, 4 August 2011
A little night music
Spagna e dintorni - Francesco Cuoghi, chitarra barocca e chitarra - Giovedì 18 Agosto, ore 21:00. A rare opportunity to experience the unique atmosphere of the Chiesa di San Gottardo and the view of Lago Maggiore by night. Oh yes, and hear some beautiful classical guitar.
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
Summer in Carmine
To visit the Chiesa di San Gottardo at Carmine Superiore, and to hear the stories behind its unique frescoes, contact Pro Loco Cannobio (Cannobio's tourist information office) for an appointment, or email me louise[at]carminesuperiore[dot]it.
You can reach Carmine Superiore from the lakeside strada nazionale in about 10 minutes. However, parking at lake level in Carmine Inferiore may prove difficult. An alternative is to take a bus from Cannobio or Cannero, or to walk. From Cannobio it's about 90 minutes and from Cannero (the easier route) it's about 60 minutes. Sensible shoes recommended.
Carmine Superiore is a favourite place for a picnic. May I mention, however, that there is no municipal refuse collection, and there are no public toilets. Please be prepared to take all your trash home when you leave - a small sealable freezer bag is useful for used toilet tissue and feminine hygiene items. Please don't leave us to pick up after you.
Happy summer!
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Tuesday, 30 August 2011
Monday, 29 August 2011
The dawn breaks...
Seventeen degrees at 8am with a pleasing breeze and blue skies. A scorching 30° at three.
On June 16, 2011, Mama is sitting with a cold cup of tea at the kitchen table. The house is a chaos of toys, childrens' clothes and peanut husks. The dog's barking, the kids are trying to murder one another, the cats are mewing to be fed something palatable and the washing machine is lumbering its way towards a breakdown. Mama knows how it feels.
That was the first day of the 10-week summer holidays, 2011. The whole period had been planned with the precision of the world's first female field-marshal going into battle (obviously, with something to prove). A course here, a trip there, judicious use of treats, regular homework every day, and a leetle solo spa trip for Mama at the end of it all, just to recharge the batteries. On June 16, 2011 at 10am, it didn't seem as if it was going to work...
But we all survived, possibly despite the field-marshal's planning, to see this dawn break on the new term:
On June 16, 2011, Mama is sitting with a cold cup of tea at the kitchen table. The house is a chaos of toys, childrens' clothes and peanut husks. The dog's barking, the kids are trying to murder one another, the cats are mewing to be fed something palatable and the washing machine is lumbering its way towards a breakdown. Mama knows how it feels.
That was the first day of the 10-week summer holidays, 2011. The whole period had been planned with the precision of the world's first female field-marshal going into battle (obviously, with something to prove). A course here, a trip there, judicious use of treats, regular homework every day, and a leetle solo spa trip for Mama at the end of it all, just to recharge the batteries. On June 16, 2011 at 10am, it didn't seem as if it was going to work...
But we all survived, possibly despite the field-marshal's planning, to see this dawn break on the new term:
The summer ebbed and flowed about us. A hot June was followed by an astonishingly cold and wet July that did for the amateur tomato crop from Cannero to Brissago, but did better for the hard fruit that, as I write is ripening promisingly on the trees. August was hotter than usual, just to make up for July.
Holiday-makers came and went. Tidal waves of children pounded the cobbles. They insinuated themselves into seats at other people's lunch tables and learned how to pluck a chicken, make friends with feral cats, turn basil into pesto, spin linguini out of flour and eggs, and hit a tin can with a catapult at 30m.
Our little church was visited by ravening hordes of tourists, especially for the new Porte Aperte project, which we started this year. One enterprising 13-year-old, hearing that the tour was being given in English or Italian, but not German, spotted the gap in the market, wrote his own tour and in a couple of days earned a small fortune for the maintenance of the church. Bravo!
Today, though, Mama sighed a sigh of relief at 6:30am as she walked the dog, watched the dawn and gathered her wits. She felt a momentary pang of guilt as she looked forward to being child-free, to a good, long, tummy-taming walk in the woods, a peaceful hour weeding the garden, and the sight of the carpet minus a single peanut husk.
The pang soon went away.
Friday, 26 August 2011
C'est pas la lessive...
...c'est l'art.
Unexpected art installation in the charming French winemaking town of Arbois.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Quote of the week No. 49
"Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you."
Pic: Val d'Err, Grigioni
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
Reported conversations No. 27: someone trying to tell me something
Mostly blue skies, with the land still damp from a brief but bombastic thunderstorm two nights ago. Thirty-three degrees at 3pm - a bit of a shock after the cool stone walls of Carmine Superiore.
Showing a group of visitors around the Chiesa di San Gottardo the other day, with the children close at my heels. A kind-looking German woman, ready to be charmed, asks in halting Italian: "And are these your grandchildren, dear?"
Ouch! Perhaps I should just give in gracefully and let the hairdresser low-light my grey out of existence after all? Then I could at least pretend I'm not old enough to be my kids' grandmother.
Later...
AJ cuddles Mama in the summer-sunshine garden. AJ pinches more than an inch and remarks: "Mama, you feel like a teddy bear".
Oh poop! Where are the bathroom scales? Too much pasta, polenta and parmiggiano, and not enough puff-puff up the hill. Soon-turning-50 panic settling in to a spot just above the spare tyre.
But then, just last evening...
The whole family is poring over a satirical cartoon in The Economist, and Pappa is trying to teach the children (and Mama, I suspect) something about debt, credit and the value of money in your pocket, when B. flicks to an ad on the back cover:
Pappa, interest piqued by a pair of long legs and some high-end luggage, asks: "Who's that?"
B., my 5 year-old angel, replies: "It's ... Mama!"
Showing a group of visitors around the Chiesa di San Gottardo the other day, with the children close at my heels. A kind-looking German woman, ready to be charmed, asks in halting Italian: "And are these your grandchildren, dear?"
Ouch! Perhaps I should just give in gracefully and let the hairdresser low-light my grey out of existence after all? Then I could at least pretend I'm not old enough to be my kids' grandmother.
Later...
AJ cuddles Mama in the summer-sunshine garden. AJ pinches more than an inch and remarks: "Mama, you feel like a teddy bear".
Oh poop! Where are the bathroom scales? Too much pasta, polenta and parmiggiano, and not enough puff-puff up the hill. Soon-turning-50 panic settling in to a spot just above the spare tyre.
But then, just last evening...
The whole family is poring over a satirical cartoon in The Economist, and Pappa is trying to teach the children (and Mama, I suspect) something about debt, credit and the value of money in your pocket, when B. flicks to an ad on the back cover:
Pappa, interest piqued by a pair of long legs and some high-end luggage, asks: "Who's that?"
B., my 5 year-old angel, replies: "It's ... Mama!"
Oh, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you, thank-you! Now I know what daughters are for.
Thursday, 4 August 2011
A little night music
Spagna e dintorni - Francesco Cuoghi, chitarra barocca e chitarra - Giovedì 18 Agosto, ore 21:00. A rare opportunity to experience the unique atmosphere of the Chiesa di San Gottardo and the view of Lago Maggiore by night. Oh yes, and hear some beautiful classical guitar.
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
Summer in Carmine
To visit the Chiesa di San Gottardo at Carmine Superiore, and to hear the stories behind its unique frescoes, contact Pro Loco Cannobio (Cannobio's tourist information office) for an appointment, or email me louise[at]carminesuperiore[dot]it.
You can reach Carmine Superiore from the lakeside strada nazionale in about 10 minutes. However, parking at lake level in Carmine Inferiore may prove difficult. An alternative is to take a bus from Cannobio or Cannero, or to walk. From Cannobio it's about 90 minutes and from Cannero (the easier route) it's about 60 minutes. Sensible shoes recommended.
Carmine Superiore is a favourite place for a picnic. May I mention, however, that there is no municipal refuse collection, and there are no public toilets. Please be prepared to take all your trash home when you leave - a small sealable freezer bag is useful for used toilet tissue and feminine hygiene items. Please don't leave us to pick up after you.
Happy summer!
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