Lost in a Fog

Fog blankets my world in a coat of silence and has done so for the past four days. It’s cold, damp tendrils curl around one’s body insidiously waiting to wring out every last ounce of warmth. Needless to say I am back to wearing my scarf, with which I am sorely tempted to wipe my ever-running nose. The fog has allowed me to take some interesting pictures though and every now and again the sun creeps through to light the world in dazzling whiteness.

When I informed Maria that I had disclosed in my blog that I wanted to marry her brother because he makes EVERYTHING, her response was, “Ahhhh, and he’s handsome, too….Vittorio.”

Last weekend was a holiday and on Sunday, there was some sort of event involving the giostra del’archidado, the joust, from back in June. A number of long tables were set up in Piazza della Repubblica, covered with cloths, and mounded with bread, huge garlic cloves, bottles of wine and olive oil, and decorated with olive branches. The wedding party and members of the five quintieri were present, resplendent in their medieval finery, as were town dignitaries in their requisite dark suits. I saw the 5 neighborhood standards (flags) leaning against the wall. A large man in stained white trousers, which he had earlier been trying in vain to clean at Bar Signorelli, was waving his hands extravagantly and talking into a large camera held by a film crew as he enjoyed his moment in the spotlight. And, boy, did he want the spotlight on him. He was peering so deeply into the camera, as he would a lover’s eyes, that I am pretty sure he left a greasy nose print on the lens.

What most interested me was that a pair of Chianina cattle with inward curving horns, that were hitched to a colorfully painted wagon full of straw and led right onto the piazza. These cows were enormous, each standing as high at the shoulder as its human handler if not a bit higher. They were a good 6 feet tall at the shoulder, if I had to guess, and were gleaming white with large, soft, long-lashed brown eyes. It is rare to see Chianine (plural) because they are raised indoors. I understand they are easily stressed and to produce the magnificent beef they are world-renowned for, they must be kept in a tranquil, controlled environment. I was impressed by how calm they were in spite of the small crowd, the running children, and the wild gesticulations of the Man of the Hour making love to his camera. I will post some pictures that I took of the occasion.

News on The Waiter front, since I am sure you are all dying to know…..the woman I saw his son with is his sister, however I have been assured that he is “practically married” to the mother of his little boy. From the other things I have been told about him, he sounds like a good man. He is still friendly to me, generally acknowledging my presence in some small way; a nod, a chin tilt, a small, quick smile. Sometimes I go in the afternoon for coffee and he usually serves me. He’ll nod at the coffee machine and I’ll nod at him, and Voila!, a steaming caffe latte appears in front of me with the proper combination of sugar and diet sweeteners I prefer. He is a master of nonverbal communication. I am, of course, sorry that he is involved with someone, but glad that he is a nice guy. As long as he is happy in his life, that is all I could wish for him.

Speaking of being acknowledged, I was surprised to be standing at the bus stop in Camucia several weeks ago and having two men I recognize from Cortona, one in a tiny Ape, honk and wave at me. These gentlemen do not so much as look at me when I encounter them on the hill, so to say I was shocked would be an understatement. When I mentioned it to Terri, she responded, “They can’t talk to you here or it will generate a slew of conjecture and never-ending gossip. This is a very small town where everyone knows everything about everyone, even stuff that isn’t true.” While I love Cortona and will always treasure my time here, it is too small a world for me to be happy in for the long run. There are people here who have never been as far as Rome, 2 ¼ hours away, while I have experienced a bigger world.

With just three weeks to go in my journey, my thoughts turn toward home more and more often. I called the boys yesterday, before school their time, and had a really nice conversation with them, especially the elder one whom I often have difficulty communicating with. It is my goal, when I return home, to try to forge a more open relationship with both boys, one which encourages communication. I must make time to listen, something I have sadly failed to do in the past. It is time for new beginnings.