Today I took Eleanor and Florence with me to the seamstress ("sarta") to measure Florence for her crucifixion costume and for Eleanor to have her first fitting. (Side note: they finally did the math, and Orietta will be our Madonna! Perfect -- she's so lovely!).
The sarta's name is Edwina, and she's the most beautiful woman: about 35 to 40, lovely dark hair, and such a pretty face. She has three boys, ages 2, 7, and 12. The 2-year-old (Samuel) was in there today. His riding toy (mechanized) took up about 1/10th of the floor space, and he moved it so frequently and rapidly that he effectively took up the entire floor space! He was absolutely adorable, bellowing, "Pronti, VIA!" ("Ready, GO!").
Samuel and Edwina
Eleanor tried on her costume, and I have to say that Edwina takes her work seriously: where I would have made a sack with square-ish sleeves, Eleanor's costume has inset, slightly puffed sleeves, bust darts, and a sweetheart neckline. Amazing!
Just wait until you see the pictures of us...but it won't be until after Good Friday!
Yesterday, after our field trip (to be blogged about later), James & I went down to the village to see a bike race that was coming through town. I thought they were being kind on the poor fools, because it didn't actually go through centro. Turns out, the sadistic course planners had other things in mind.
One of the articles I read said, "the course offers something for everyone," which -- based on what I can see / already know of it means, "the course offers everyone his or her own personal version of hell."
When we arrived in the village, just outside the Porta Romana, there were a few bystanders and several policemen and volunteer traffic directors. We waited. And waited. And got an update on the location of the riders ("just a few minutes away!"). And waited. It's a good thing I had (as ever) some knitting in my purse!
Turns out, the riders were condemned to going up the 18% grade (posted, not an exaggeration, I swear) that passes conveniently by the cemetery. I haven't yet had a report on how many decided to call it quits there.
After circling the town, including a few 90-degree turns at speed, they had the dubious pleasure of going down the 15% grade to Ponte Naia. Now, I drive that way to take the kids to volleyball. Bearing in mind the recent financial troubles plaguing Italy, I leave it to you to imagine the road. If it's any assistance, Michael won't ride that road with me because he keeps bumping his head on the ceiling of the car.
Looking at the route, the course notes said that as it happens, it was actually one of the less gruelling days. Now, I love biking, and can't wait to get back out there now that the weather's better, but really? Amazing, that's all I have to say.
I have two videos for you -- one's of the two leaders; the rest of the pack was far behind. The second clip's quite a bit longer -- about 3 1/2 minutes, but there are a couple of things I'd love for you to note. Not knowing in advance, of course I didn't get perfect shots of a few of the silly things. I did give you the whole cavalcade, so you could see the extent of the support vehicles -- and towards the end, a turquoise/pale green car (I think) was going a bit fast, and ended up driving in what would have been the opposing direction lane through the turn, and around the traffic circle the wrong way! In my clip, you can't see the first part, but if you're paying attention you'll see it going around the traffic circle in the wrong direction.
A short time after that, our friendly traffic cop can be heard saying, "Piano, piano!" ("Slowly, slowly!") as the cars are coming through. Unfortunately, I didn't turn my camera in time for you to see his accompanying gestures...
Beforehand, I had no idea of what this race consisted. It turned out to be only the third day of a weeklong trip through Italy. Today's fun included crossing the mountain range -- making yesterday's course look like a walk in the park! For more information, I have this link.
The coffee culture here is so interesting to me. Everyone, but everyone, drinks coffee in its many permutations and variations. You can even pick up "Pocket Coffee" at any grocery store or tobacconist, which is essentially a dark chocolate filled with espresso.
The thing is, it's like breathing. It's a function so obvious and basic that no one comments on it or thinks about it. We see things like a truck stopped (blocking traffic) so the driver can run into the local caffetteria to get a fix. Today a customer brought in two cups to the butchers'... and they downed it then and there with no perception that it (to our eyes) was -- quite funny! And I see this sort of thing all the time. Meet someone in the street? Let's go get a cup of coffee. Around 10:00 every morning, everyone flocks to get their fix, and the "bars" are packed with people at the tables (many outside now that spring is arriving!) or standing next to the barista. The teachers bring their coffee into the classroom -- or a student may run out to get some for them. Almost every time we've been to the doctor's, Cinzia (the nurse? assistant?) has run out or been on her way in bearing coffee for herself and the doctor.
When I was in Vienna (admittedly a long, long time ago!), where they also really love their coffee, I remember it as more of an event. The morning coffee was a protracted affair, lovingly considered.
Here? Well, it's more like an absolute right or basic need. The prices are great (1.10 for a wonderful cappuccino in a china cup with saucer, etc.) because no Italian would countenance a high price -- it would be like charging for oxygen, you know? Even at the airport, you can get a great cup of java for less than $2. Again, with china cups, saucers, and metal spoons.
Our gym? You know, where people go to get/stay fit? Top of the menu, well above the protein shakes, etc. that you'd expect: a full range of coffee styles and preparations. Cappuccino: 1 euro.
Last week I noticed a small organ (maybe three feet high, two and a half feet wide, and a foot and a half deep) that appeared to be from Roman times. It was foot pumped and it had two pumping pedals. So naturally I went over to play it, but it was awfully hard to play, since only one of the pedals worked. This week when I got to my lesson, my teacher was with another student, so I told him I'd be right back. I ran over to the house and I got my screwdriver and a few screws that might have worked, but I couldn't find the wood screws; I just did the Italian thing and took one from my bedroom door handle, and off I went. After my lesson, I asked him if I could try to fix the organ because the pedal was broken. He said, "Yeah, sure, whatever." So I flipped the organ onto its side, dug in, and saw that the bellows was moved by a rope attached to a pulley attached to the pedal. The problem with it was the fact that the bracket which attached the rope to the pedal wasn't actually attached to the pedal properly: only one of the two necessary screws remained.
I discovered it was a soft wood when the first screw went in and I tried to use the pedal: the screw tore off a chunk of wood. Thus I knew this wouldn't work. So I then noted that the rope was actually two ropes that had been tied together in the middle. I started to untie it, and my teacher said, "Let me just show you how to lock up." So he did, and then promptly left me alone in the building.
When I had finished re-tying the knot (this time tighter), I put the organ back upright, and started to play. After a few minutes, I decided to lock up the music school and go home.
Love,
Jeremy
p.s. I remembered to replace the screw in my bedroom door handle.
I have long wondered how to deal with panhandlers in a compassionate, helpful way. We don't have many here in Todi, but there are a few whom I see often. After discussing it with one of my friends, we decided on an action plan. While I usually tell them to go talk to the priests (reasoning that they're in a better position to point them to help than I am), I have a new strategy: offer them work. This morning I put the strategy into action. There was a panhandler at our local grocery store whom I see often. I asked if he wanted work, and he replied affirmatively. I told him to clean up the parking lot (which was unfortunately trashed up), and I would pay him when I got out of the store.
He immediately set to work: the first action was to hide from my view. I kept an eye on him, and he didn't pick up a single thing.
I mentioned the interaction to the checkout cashier (and the people behind heard as well), and she confirmed that she's offered him a sandwich in the past, which has been refused.
Anyway, in this case I was able to move on with a clear conscience: I had offered him useful work which was refused. I have no obligation to give him money just because he's a living, breathing human being -- even out of compassion -- if he himself refuses the help offered.
And I can rest secure in the knowledge that I can identify those who really need the help as opposed to those who simply want a handout. Love, Alexandra
This year, the parish is hosting weekly Stations of the Cross at a church I'd never even noticed! The Post Office sits in the Piazza Garibaldi, and has a lovely fresco in it. It seems to be at the edge of the piazza, overlooking the valley. However, there is a small, unassuming door to the right which leads into the Chiesa del Monte. And this is where the Stations are held this year.
Never one to resist the opportunity to see a new church, it was obviously the thing to do last Friday. I showed up at 4:15 (Don Andrea had told me 4:00 and the bulletin said 4:30), and there were a few older women milling around, so I figured I was in the right place.
Another lady came up, asked if the church was closed, and (on being told that it was), dashed back to her house to get her key! She arrived back shortly, and opened up. What a sight!
The church is about 12 feet wide, and maybe 24 feet deep; if you think I'm exaggerating, I will tell you that two candelabra bulbs lit the space (which I got to replace by standing on some rickety wicker chairs, by virtue of the fact that I was the tallest present). The corpus used in the procession was on its bier in the middle of the church, taking up much of the space, and the altar likewise took a big chunk. The walls were frescoed in the mid-1800s, so they are in great shape, and so lovely!
There were about 25 of us shoehorned into the remaining space, and we all had a good time pirouetting to venerate the individual stations as they came up...no need to move other than a simple rotation...
Next week, I'm going to get the whole family to go, just so see whether we can all fit in!
