Thursday, 23 August 2012
My husband is my amanuensis.* Every once in a while.
Anyway, we passed this edifice, then he typed some “texts” for me, and voila!, we have a couples’-date for Satiddy-night fun!
* I learned that word from Rex Stout.
Sunday, 22 July 2012
The light at oh-dark-thirty this morning (Sunday version, and therefore later than on weekdays) was not muted by overcast, and I found the low-angle sunlight stabbing this mundane mailbox.
Several houses down a giant fig tree overhangs the sidewalk, and the fruit* is ripe and beyond ripe, pungent and attended by insects. Given the overpowering odor, I am not surprised that this food-producing tree was singled out early by desert people for harvest.
* Apparently not actually a fruit, but an infructescence, for those who do not want common usage to trump technical meanings. Speaking of meanings, our otherwise tame word sycophant has an etymological link to the fig, if the internets are to be believed.
Saturday, 23 June 2012
And fior di riso means fine rice.
Cute farm (that is: fattoria).
Monday, 13 February 2012
I wish I knew the backstory on this—I mean beyond the obvious….
Sunday, 25 December 2011
It’s a long story, but around here, “it’s a feast,” announced at the onset of a group meal, has a complicated history that’s become a bit loaded. We’re trying out substitute vocabulary: banquet.
The noun form works perfectly, but the wrinkle is in the verb—they aren’t as interchangeable.
The photo is at the pre-dessert lag when we all hoped what we’d consumed would compact to make room for…two kinds of pie! With fresh-whipped cream!
Friday, 8 July 2011
We all want to spiff things up, yet maintain continuity in the good parts. In Il Gattopardo (translated as The Leopard, but it really refers to a serval cat), Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa has Tancredi say “everything must change so that everything can stay the same,” and I think this is the marketing version of the same sentiment….
The fish, however, is making the big (involuntary) change. But not into my basket. We came home with veggies, citrus, and tofu—the kind of strange mix that comes from not having menus in mind when browsing well-stocked aisles.
Sunday, 3 July 2011
Louise Erdrich sucked me in. Yesterday I would have told you that maybe by Tues or Wed I would finish Louise Erdrich’s The Master Butchers Singing Club (2003). Turned out I finished it before dark today. Strange, enticing characters, none out of the stereotype box.
And very little on the singing club.
Thursday, 30 June 2011
Partly closed buildings exhibit unexpected signs to herd the after-hours crowd, at least around here, gently.
I confess that I read GWTW at least twice and maybe three times before I was twenty, and mostly for the racy, romantic parts. Much of the rest went right by me.
Tonight I listened to four interesting contemporary women authors discuss Scah-lett, Melanie, the guys, and Margaret’s characters in general, along with other topics related to the book, over at the Atlanta History Center, which is currently showcasing Peggy Marsh and her MS.*
Afterwards, my chauffeur took me home down Peachtree, which was the perfect cap for the evening.
* I couldn’t photograph Peggy’s desk, which would have been my choice for tonight’s visual; it’s tiny, perfect for the closet where she stored it in their small apartment in a building on Peachtree. The desk, quite properly, is front-and-center in the exhibit.
Monday, 6 June 2011
I suppose that if I spent more time cruising shelves in the groc store, I’d know about products like Happy Time. A few post-Google clicks, and I discover that the stuff is made “with caring Bamboo Extract and delicious Orange Blossom.”
We found Happy Time (in our shower, duh!) at the agriturismo where we stayed downslope from Francavilla Marittima, in the boot arch zone just above the Gulf of Taranto. The Ancient Greeks established themselves early here, and it was part of Magna Graecia—that is, the Greek lands beyond the Greek homeland.
Sunday, 29 May 2011
“There’s an archaeological site,” Someone Else said, “let’s stop.!”
And thus we had a wonderful guided tour of Sybaris—to the Greeks, or Copia—to the Romans. We saw the ruins of Copia, except for a stretch of the Greek’s road. (Read the Greek community’s history here.
You’re looking SSE toward the Roman center-of-town, which had a large circular city fountain, the theater, and at least one temple.
Apparently the coast side of Copia had a harbor and city gate, but the sea is now several hundred meters away. I guess sediment from the mountains washed down over the ruins protecting wall bases and floors, as well as the roads.
I’m not sure of the hydrology, but we saw and heard two busy pumps, keeping the water at bay. One place we could see the current water level, nearly 2m below the road—so the pumps must run continuously to keep the site from flooding—at least during rainy periods—and we experienced that recently. The yellow pipe is part of the water-removal system.
Thus, we have left Sicily, and are doing a quick perusal of the Ionian coast (Jonian is the spelling here). The B&B we stayed at hooked us up with a local Calabrian restaurant, and we dined with two French couples staying at the same B&B—a linguistic olympics for all of us, as we switched among French, English, and Italian, especially to discuss the foods we were eating. John used Google translate several times; for example, you gotta really know a language to know “white mulberry*” (Morus alba) in it—they were raw, fresh, sweet, and part of the fruit course along with dark, sweet cherries. Yum.
The white mulberries are probably a legacy of the silk industry. A town up the way, Catanzaro, was known historically for its velvet, silk and other textiles; I’m guessing that’s the link to the Morus alba trees….
* mûre