woohoo I was dancing :-)

(and better still, so was the 80 year old who can barely walk unaided while she decides about an operation).

Today was the 80th birthday of a good friend's mother. I wasn't sure I would make it to the festa, but in the end I decided that people are more important than other things, so abandoned all thought of work and set out for Cassino and beyond. I arrived in time to eat some great food at the long table under the loquat tree, and of course the cake! It's huge, I said to my friend. It was only 12 eggs, she replied. That reminded me that the Christmas cake another family makes has 40 eggs in it. It's a different world, it really is.

The music was playing, the aunts and uncles were all there... and I danced a very fast waltz on the cobblestones with one of the uncles.

The sun was shining, all that was missing was another generation running about underfoot.

It's nice to know that some traditions are still very much alive.



But this post is supposed to be about butter. You see, there are things that Italy does absolutely brilliantly, and then there are... well, life must have balance, mustn't it?

And so recently my wonderful travelling friends bought me some butter in Holland. Vegemite and olive all are a bit tricky together, and Italian butter... least said, soonest mended. Suddenly I had three butters to choose from. But which one is best of the three? I have promised to report in.

The three are (if I am reading the packets correctly) Botergoud, Gezouten and Lurpak.
(Later: I wasn'treading them correctly. The second one is Albert Heijn, and all are gezouten, salted).
The first one I tried was Botergoud. The taste sensation was wonderful. Then I tried the others. I didn't quite get the same effect from either of them. But, remembering Proust, I decided that I needed to be a little more scientific than this. It was surely just that this was the first butter that tasted like NZ butter that I had savoured in eight months.

The next day I tried another one first, Albert Heijn. It was good, almost as good as the first one, but maybe lacked that wonderful creamy after-taste that the first one surprised me with.

In between my taste testing I found myself reaching for the incredibly easy-to-spread Botergoud. That was purely a convenience thing when the bread was soft and squishy.

Now, several testing days later, I think that it is almost a tie. If I had to rank them it I would have to eat more, to be sure, and at the moment I am trying to limit the amount that I savour each day. Tiny little testing cubes of toast or bread. Butter. And now some Vegemite.

Yummmm

Today I am grateful for Marcel Proust's writings, and butter.

you know you live in italy when...

You know you live in italy when you go to visit a friend in hospital and the only park you can find is near some roman ruins. This is the town side view of the amphitheatre at the foot of Monte Cassino.
This one has a protective fence around it, but only because you have to pay to go in and see it properly!

How old the culture of this country is, even if politically it is about the same age as New Zealand.

Today I am grateful for the patient's happy smile.

150cm wide, 50cm high and a comment

I posted this painting on Facebook last night. I value comments from artists and people who know this place, and also people who might just happen to like the painting although with a subject this particular I think it possibly has little relevance to many people. Occasionally I seek specific critiques from artists whose opinions I respect in case I have a blind spot in my own vision, or when I am stuck with something and don't want to face that I have to re paint a part, so I seek that external push.

This comment on FB, from someone who used to live here but now lives in Rome, makes all the angst and attention to detail worth while :-)

Bello bellissimo, come vorrei che tutti vedessero questi luoghi con gli occhi pieni della magia con cui tu li dipingi! Grazie Kay

Now for a few days sorting domestic things, (like picking olives and eating pizza) then it's back to the easel again!

Have a happy day, I am going to! (PS, I did a ten minute watercolour sketch this morning, a quick birthday card for an 80 year old ... oooooh how I love watercolours! Can't wait to be back in that peaceful zone again!)

Today I am grateful for positive comments.

harsh treatment

yesterday
today
Gone are most of my stylised trees. I'll be back later, hoping to finish it completely tonight. Not easy, being this drastic, and I liked the playful version with the trees about to roll off the canvas. But this is a serious work... and I need to make the rest of the trees realistic too!

Big big sigh...

But...

I am excited about where natural instinct is taking my painting when I let it! I can feel some fun works coming :-)

Today I am grateful for resolve.

inspirational

I've been a bit slack with exercise lately. I'm not too bad at running up and down the stairs, but along the road? The dogs would tell you that I am slipping up badly.

I phoned my dad tonight. No reply. No worries, I thought, he'll be out running. I tried later. Yes, the chirpy 91 year old replied, I've been run-walking for two hours and ten minutes. You see, he has got some records to set. Some young things have been coming up the ranks and breaking some of his earlier ones.

We talked about his progress. No, he's not running nearly as well as he would like to. He has slowed down. His physio gave him some advice, but not trusting it entirely he tested it out. He has good reason. At 50 he was told to give up running, it was not good for him. At 63 he ran his first marathon, and at 71 his first track event. His medal haul is a heavy stash. It includes world event golds and silvers. But in this instance the physiotherapist was right. He needs longer breaks between his training runs. So he runs longer distances, but only every second day.

The doctor (when he was 50) was wrong, he chuckles, reflecting on his disobedience. You've got to take a chance or two sometimes... nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Be careful, I'll quote you on that, I reply. He chuckles again. Life is good. Then he says, perhaps after he sets those new records he'll retire. Neither of us believe him. And a few sentences later he admits that he has no intention of stopping. He will just keep on running.

But for now, his eyes are on records. Good ones. Ones that will stay in the record books for a while.

He is listed in World Famous Athletes. I'd say it's well deserved. But then I would say that, wouldn't I?

I hope you've bought yourself new shoes, I say, making a resolve to at least put mine on again tomorrow. I remember saying (often) that I still have plenty of time. I don't need to run my first marathon until I am 63.

I guess I'll have to at least run as far as the first lamp post tomorrow. Those years are flying by far too fast.

Today I am grateful for my inspirational father.

saints, souls, and sinners

Today is All Saints Day, and tomorrow All Souls Day. I'm not too sure what I think about All Souls Day, it is outside my own education. But this morning I read about Steve Job's last words as he moved through into another world, saying "Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow" which gives food for thought even for sceptics. Then later in the day I was reluctant to leave the station at Cassino after saying goodbye to young friends. Something made me linger. Was it a roaming soul, seeing two Kiwis racing to their train with a minute to spare, that had suggested I turn back to the station?

I asked if they wanted the train to Rome, then ran on ahead to ask the guard to wait while they got their bags down the underpass and up the other side. They'd possibly have coped without me, but I think that by the time they had worked out which was their platform they would have made it up the steps just in time to see the train disappearing into the distance. (I didn't notice that one was wearing a Crusaders shirt until they were safely on the train, and we then managed a short conversation and got their tickets stamped before they were on their way).

One of the young couple I farewelled is, as far as I am concerned, my niece. But in Italy, technically, and probably also in NZ, as my Italian friends pointed out, she is nothing to do with me, there is no blood connection. If she is "nothing to do with me" as was so bluntly suggested, why did I have tears of excited anticipation as her train arrived, why was the hug between us so warm and why was I so sad to say good-bye, blinking back the tears again? Kith and kin, kin and kith. I don't think it is important to know the difference, because yesterday and today there was none.

But I digress. So, thinking again of saints and souls, I wondered why the word "sinners" fell out onto my keyboard and into the title of this post.

One of the first things my young Catholic husband taught me, forty years ago, was that Limbo was a place, and I could hope to go there but not to Heaven. Limbo, it seemed, was reserved for good Protestants and bad Catholics, those who could not reach Heaven. I dismissed the idea back then and haven't given it much thought since, until today. I still prefer to think of limbo as a dance, that incredible test of balance and flexibility, rather than a world of mis-placed souls. Even this, though, is related to death and the life cycle. Perhaps it is appropriate to research it today after all. And tomorrow, as I see on the bill-boards in town, even local government will be praying for the souls of the departed.

I think it's time the dogs walked me. One of us needs to get some exercise and fresh air.

Today I am grateful for good weather.

good morning world

It's a busy time. Soon my volunteers will be picking the olives, but there are a few things to do first. One of them is book in with a press somewhere. I think closest is best this time.

Last night was a very quiet night in Atina; I suspect that the festivities closer to home might have been more fun. Never mind, it's good to get out and about too. I was, of course, resplendent in witches hat, lace gloves, and black and red garb. I resisted the temptation to black out a tooth. And no, you DON'T need a photo.

Here is what Burnt by the Tuscan Sun has to say about Halloween (she's fast becoming a favourite blog in my cyber life).

It's 1 November, All Saints Day, a public holiday. The church bells have just been ringing out across the valley. It's time to head downstairs. Today it's off to Cassino with my visitors, and then back to the grindstone tomorrow.

Today I am grateful for young folk asleep downstairs.