Monday, March 16, 2020

Lockdown Day 7


Our property in the countryside is somewhat isolated but reasonably easily accessible . It’s perched on the side of a mountain in the Apennines over a river valley with steep mountains in front and behind it. There are many other farms in those mountains whose access is extremely difficult even treacherous as the river becomes an untraversable torrent. The area is covered with isolated farms ingeniously terraced to make the most of the steep mountainsides. 

There were farm fields on a ridge far up in the mountains that I could see from our kitchen window and I always wondered why they went so high into the countryside to cultivate that property, until one morning, I realized that the sun, rising directly behind it, hit that field first thing in the morning and, of course, I had always enjoyed watching its reflection set on that very hillside. It got at least 12 hours of sunlight in the growing season. They had to be totally self sufficient, isolated as they were.    

When we lived exclusively out at the house, 9 kilometers from town, there were forced periods of isolation and confinement like snow storms or landslides. There were also challenges like power and phone outages that lasted for days or, in the case of the phone and internet access, sometimes weeks. Each required its coping strategy.

With a small child to entertain the strategies could be quite challenging. Seemingly endless games of Monopoly, puzzles, and Scopa, and Briscola, with the beautiful 40 card Neapolitan decks, were the antidote to television or computer and sometimes imperative, as in the case of power outages. It was unnerving and frustrating feeling trapped inside. You developed patience and fortitude. It was all character building. 

Europe has lived through two devastating wars in the last 100 years. WW II ended for Italy 75 years ago next month, the 25th of April.  The city I live in took devastating bombing in April of 1945, the last battles of the war were fought here just above the gothic line.  The parents, grandparents, and great grandparents here are children of the war years. The people of this area know the hardships and impoverishment of living in isolation. 

Italians are gregarious, demonstrative and affectionate. It is a real sacrifice to be forced not to socialize and they’re being totally compliant. There have been a couple of blips. The city of Lucca has just had to cordon off the promenade on the top of its famous wall, as did the seaside city of Viareggio for their promenade after last weekend, when it was crowded with people seeking companionship, even at a distance, in the sunshine. Otherwise people are only leaving their homes to go grocery shopping, standing in calm lines at a distance of one meter apart, or run other essential errands. There has been no panic shopping.

Two wars and periods of extreme economic hardship and isolation have strengthened this small community’s character. They are pragmatic, responsible, resourceful and family oriented which encourages a compassionate respect for others. During this period there is a “we’re all in the same boat” solidarity, using the same metaphor in Italian. Reading any of the literature or poetry from the early 20th century here, one gets a sense of the strength and seriousness of this community having lived through this before.

For me, the snow days and power outages at the house, entertaining a young child and the rewards and challenges of family life, are over. Our son’s character and resourcefulness is well established in its way too. 

The sacrifices made in this short term will pay off. We all find ways of coping in this isolation knowing it could be worse, in its own way. 




Sunday, March 15, 2020

Lockdown Day 6





On my way to the car I come out into the silent empty medieval city and walk up a hundred or so stone steps to the Duomo, the doors of which are now sadly shut, masses cancelled and the bells, which kept us all company and marked the rhythm of our days, silenced. The spectacular view looking west over the gently rounded Apuan Alps is unchanged. The sky is a deep cerulean. The air is crisp on this clear spring morning, Sunday, the !5th of March.

I’m evading lockdown by escaping to our property in the country. Under the circumstances this is strictly forbidden as the State doesn’t want people traveling beyond their communities and/or risking spreading the virus through rest stops on highways, for instance, if they were traveling to their holiday properties. My heart jumped as I rounded the corner to see the police checking documents, you’re required to have an official self-certified affidavit as to why you are out in the car and where you are going. Fortunately, I could turn off before them and In this case zip out the back road with no one the wiser. 

As I drive I pass the beautiful light pink magnolia’s and the coral pink pesco bushes in early bloom, the rose pink camellia’s in full bloom. 

It’s our son’s 22nd birthday. This is the vast mountainside property he grew up on in the contrast of freedom and confinement. Freedom, in that he was free to go anywhere in the area, into the woods, down to the river, no traffic, no nosey neighbors, only the spectacular countryside. Confinement, because if and when he needed or wanted to leave to go to school, guitar lessons, soccer, gym practice or, most importantly, see his friends he needed someone to drive him, which was eventually the impetus for getting a place closer to town, It had its limitations but he had an idyllic childhood, I hope.  

I drive out here every few days to feed the barn cats we had to leave behind and do whatever maintenance is needed. It evokes mixed feelings of pride, joy and profound loss. 

Today I wonder what Pietro would think of this health crisis and lockdown. He would probably be very disturbed and anxious, as he always was in challenging times. He showed up at the door shaken and in tears to tell me about 9/11. It must have been the vestige of his difficult childhood in a large impoverished family immediately following the war. The existential threat of uncertainty.  He would also be of the gender and generation which is under the greatest threat from the virus. 

I’ve fed the cats. With guarded optimism, the extreme statistics seem to be leveling off, I pruned the wisteria and will sneak back, driving through the old town, to unload the firewood that I’ve bagged from the cords that Pietro cut, and we gathered and stacked over the years, and that I am still using in the small cast-iron wood stove my apartment, which murmurs and cackles to keep me company on these long evenings.


Lockdown Day 5


Today is Saturday, March 14, 2020. On Saturday mornings in Barga you
usually find throngs of genial outdoor market goers, and the
supermarket full of happy shoppers laughing and chatting away to
friends, relatives, strangers, and possibly even enemies, alike. It's
a day at the Fair.

Today, on this cool, overcast but bright spring morning, as I headed 
for the supermarket, the streets were almost empty.
A few utility and service vehicles rattled by. When I approached the
store and blinked away the glare my heart sank to see that there was 
indeed a line to enter. It wasn't long, maybe a dozen people, 10 to 15 
minutes wait. It was too demoralizing to take a photo. 
The people were unusually calm and quiet but, as always, 
pleasant and polite. We smiled and shrugged to 
one another. What else is there to do? We said silently. The
supermarket was in its normal orderly state except for taped lines of
demarcation, stand here, maintain the distance, they read, the clerks,
even more of their usual pleasant, patient selves. I returned through
still almost empty streets.

For the last few days I've been mostly inside reading, drawing,
staring out the window at my beautiful view and feeling fortunate but
a little sad. Although accustomed to a solitary existence, this is
different, but it also has the heartening effect that at least I know
I'm not missing anything out there.

Everything is in slomo. I make nice meals patiently, and enjoy them
slowly. There's absolutely no rush to do anything. Now would be a good
time to tackle spring cleaning. But even that can wait a little as
this is going to be the situation for at least a couple of weeks and I
can put that on the list of things to do and work through it slowly
and thoroughly. I cut and put together a wedding dress commission
which will not happen as scheduled but will happen eventually.

I'm enjoying my usual habit of taking what I call wild romps through
the internet, clicking from link to link in an effort to follow a
research thread. The latest was the word shrive, which came up in my
now third reading of Ulysses. Why not, I have nothing but time.

Baths are my favorite indulgence and I can enjoy them with abandon and
add to that going braless and wearing sweat pants with impunity. I
ain't goin nowhere, and no one’s coming to visit.  In considering some 
online purchases I thought of a choice between buying books or 
a vibrator. Books won.

Keeping to an orderly schedule, going for a solitary walk, thinking
long and hard. The weather is helping, trees are blooming pink, 
as spring has crept up on us almost imperceptibly because we had 
no winter to speak of and we weren't anxiously looking around every
corner for its arrival.

There is none of the usual clatter of cars passing or buses honking 
down on the main road or delightful chatter going on below outside 
my window. All I hear are the birds.


Tuesday, May 28, 2019

Never too long at the Fair


I sit up in bed
Watching the clouds
Rally
Between the mountain spurs
They gather and disperse
Through the valleys
The crowd at the carnival
Light against dark
Winding its way
Amongst the rides
The birds as Barkers
Step this way
The greatest show on earth

Saturday, May 25, 2019

Memorial Day Do-Over



On a Memorial Day weekend

Today you took your promised girl to the beach
Like your grandmother had promised us
But never did
And never would

Your Father tended the grass
As he'd promised he would
And did
But never will again

Today I mowed the grass
As promised
I would and will again

Sunday, May 5, 2019

May Day May Day


on a cold rainy day in may

time is measured

not with a yardstick

but in cups of tea

in logs

chucked into the wood stove

distance not

through the fog

but far away places

that exist only in my mind

tempo in rain splat

that crackles

like the fire

Tuesday, October 30, 2018

Goodnight



I think

Goodnight

As I slide
Between cool sheets

Goodnight

I think

Goodnight

As I stretch
To make myself
Comfortable

Goodnight
I think

Goodnight

As I curl in
To myself

Goodnight