snookered

I was about to head to Cassino for the presentation of a new book written by a member of the English speaking group I sometimes spend some time with. It was going to be interesting, a good test for my Italian, and I would catch up with some friends. The book is Stanley Kubrick and Me (not yet out in English) by Emilio D'Alessandro.

Then I remembered that my car insurance sticker, kindly paid for me by a friend as is usual, hadn't arrived. I take the bill and the money to him and a few days later I collect my windscreen display coupon and all is well. It saves me a trip to Cassino. This year, as I was picking olives, he came and collected the money from me. Even more helpful service. Until he went out with with the coupon still in his car, and I needed it to leave the house.

I think I am in prison until he returns from places unknown and brings me my escape passage. The car is insured, but if I were to be stopped by the carabinieri it would be an instant fine, probably of about 40 euros, for not having the current piece of paper with me. I learnt this the hard way by going out without the car's libretto, papers, a couple of years ago. Until then I didn't really understand which pieces of paper were to be carried in the car and which I could file away.

In this land of breaking the rules as a daily part of living, there are some I am not prepared to risk. If there is a chance that I will be parted from my money the rules do not seem to bend my way.

Today I am grateful for a peaceful evening and a glass of wine. 

head in the sand

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shades of grey

Five watercolours (begun in Scotland a few weeks ago and finished five days ago) somehow didn't make it to the blog.

They are now in New Zealand where they will be pegged up with accompanying text. They are working sketches for a series entitled "Shades of Grey" - and no, I haven't read the book. 

I am also grateful for cousins who have delivered 18 watercolours to NZ in the last few weeks.

time out

I'm still here, just resting! It was a marathon week, ending yesterday with an extremely long memorial service at the German cemetery which stoically proceeded to the end despite all the rain. There would have been some pretty wet uniforms being dried out last night.

*****

The olives were picked by an amazing international group of volunteers who climbed ladders, sat up in trees, knelt on nets and generally showed me what wonderful friends I have. We were almost a G8, and certainly were GR8.

Countries represented in, under or up the olive trees: Holland, England (via France), Belgium, Mexico, USA, Italy (bless you Franca, you saved the nation's reputation) and for New Zealand yours truly (now somewhat frayed around the edges).

232 kilos of olives produced 32 litres of green, tangy oil. Output was down considerably this year as the olives are not ripening. Many people are holding off picking waiting for more mature crops with sweeter oil, but at this stage of the year I am very grateful that mine are safely pressed.  Who knows what the weather will bring.

This year's oil is perfect on home made bread with plenty of seeds in it. Thanks to my well prepared friend who travelled a long way to help with the olives and even brought his kitchen with him!

Today I am grateful for safe travel.

follow your dream...

Recently I met a delightful young tenor. Later I googled his name, and found him on Youtube.

If ever there was a good example of someone deciding to follow a dream, this is one. Being proactive is so important.

Imagine, this talent with a different personality might still be working packing meat in Texas, or worse still, wounded or lost in Iraq.

Click on the following links to follow the story:

The history

The dream

The newspaper reports

The voice.

First you need a dream. Then you must dare to make it come true.

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what's it all about?

Yesterday Zacchi escaped down onto the lower terraces where we were picking, and was not impressed at being caught and returned to the safe enclosure. The lower terraces are far more exciting, bordering woods, a jungle, and eventually the road.  Once caught and carried back up he growled ferociously, then vented all his fury on poor Piccolina.  It's a bit of a pattern; if I impose my will over his, he takes it out on Piccolina. There is a very definite pecking order in our house, and it is actually quite important that Zacchi reminds Piccolina of this as she is very strong and often hurts him, even if in play.

But yesterday's spat was rather extreme, so this morning at the first opportunity I reprimanded him (for continuing to bark when I had told him to stop) by throwing a little water at him, my established punishment for the dogs. He was the most well behaved little fellow after that, and didn't once try to join us down where we were picking.

  

Bravo, Zacchi, oggi hai fatto bene. (And don't worry, I don't cook with that frying pan, it is warped and is added to the collection of once loved cooking ware that these two share. Pickle, where is your pot?) 

Today I am grateful for two semi-obedient multi-lingual little dogs. 

in the cantina

This time it's a flood of olives :-)
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